“One time I was home from school on vacation,” Forbes said carefully. “I found her diary in the attic. I didn’t know it was a diary or I wouldn’t have read it. It looked like a plain notebook. After I got started I couldn’t stop. It gave such a picture of the way she lived just after she was married. Then all at once there was a change of tone. She did the same things, but now she was enthusiastic about them. There’d be an entry about a boat ride or a strawberry party with a group of friends. And then on a separate line, on a line by itself, there’d be an exclamation point. Or two. Once, after an entry about a picnic on an island, there were three. I haven’t thought about it for years. It was before I was born. I never did figure out those exclamation points.”
“You didn’t let yourself figure them out,” Shayne said. “Because if you’d counted nine months from one of those exclamation points, you must have known it would bring you down to the day you were born.”
There was silence.
Rourke opened the door again. This time, when Forbes Hallam, Sr., came in, carrying a small suitcase, the tension broke. Hallam looked as tired as everybody else, but in a different way.
He said abruptly, “What’s the meaning of this?” After looking around the room, he snapped, “Put on your shirt, Forbes!”
“Does it matter?” Forbes asked wearily.
Shayne stood up and stretched. “The night’s over. Do what your father says, Forbes. Get dressed. Anybody who wants another drink get it now. The bar’s about to close.”
“Perkins!” Hallam exclaimed, seeing the president of Despard’s chief competitor. “What are you doing here?”
The other shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Ask Shayne.”
Shayne grinned. “He’s trying to make up his mind whether anything I have to say could possibly be worth eight thousand bucks. We haven’t said a word about T-239 since one-thirty this morning, but now we’re about to get back to the dull subject of paint. Have you realized yet, Mr. Perkins, that your company’s been swindled?”
The word dropped like a stone. The Boston industrialist looked at Candida, his face suddenly nasty.
Shayne plugged in the tabletop microfilm viewer. Taking out the little reel of film he had found in the locked box in Candida’s bedroom, he fitted it into place. A strip of reinforced tape kept the film from slipping. Shayne used the scalpel to cut it loose. Rourke helped him thread the loose end into the empty sprocket. He snapped on the light inside the machine and turned the crank.
“There’s no doubt in anybody’s mind that T-239 is a wonderful paint,” he said. “But Forbes said something that’s been picking at me for two days. He said there was an earlier version of the paint. It licked the peeling problem, but after a certain amount of exposure to the weather, white paint turned yellow. Probably the formula wasn’t much different from the one they finally used.”
He found the page he wanted. “Despard, you’re the R. and D. man. You remember what went into the first batch. Take a look at this.”
Despard put on his glasses. Bending over the viewer, he peered into its lighted interior and sharpened the focus. His lips moved as he read to himself.
Suddenly he broke into his high, nervous giggle and looked at Hallam.
“You dog, you,” he said roguishly.
CHAPTER 19
Hallam’s expression remained unchanged, but Perkins took a backward step, looking as though he had taken a hard punch in the stomach. His tanned face had gone yellow, like the first batches of T-239.
“I want to use the phone.”
“When I’m finished,” Shayne told him. “And don’t look at Candida. She’s a fellow victim. She was tricked into passing on a copy of the report that was completely authentic in every respect except one. The recipe in it was for the original mixture, before it was modified as a result of performance records in the early tests. Does everybody understand what I’m saying? To put it another way, the performance figures were genuine, but they applied to the final version, after various things were switched around or modified. Planting fake information is an old spy technique. It happens all the time in the cold war. The paint United States Chemical is announcing on television tomorrow morning will look fine in the cans, but it’ll turn yellow before the end of the first season. And as soon as the bad news begins to come in, United States will be up for grabs. After a coup like this, Hallam’s own position in his firm will be impregnable.”
“I have to hand it to you,” Jose told his brother-in-law. “Nobody like you Yankees to see tricky ways to make a dollar.”
“Don’t congratulate him yet,” Shayne said. “His problem now is that his idea was a little too good.”
Hallam, still stony-faced, picked up an unclaimed glass of whiskey and drained it, watched by a half dozen pairs of eyes.
“First time I ever saw you take a drink at nine-thirty in the morning,” Despard observed.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” Hallam said defensively. “Now this-this nonsense.”
“How can you say it’s nonsense?” Jose said. “You’ve done some tricky things in your time, but this takes the blue ribbon. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for it. It’s great, fantastic. It’s just not something I could have come up with myself. I don’t have that kind of mentality.”
“You fool.” Hallam gave him a baleful look. “Just because this wild man makes an improvable assertion-”
“You’re the only one who could have done it,” Shayne said roughly. “That’s been obvious all along. Jake.”
The bartender looked up vaguely. “Want me?”
“When you were keeping that time sheet on the Despard executives last April, was this man in the club on either of the important days?”
Jake’s eyes swung to Hallam, who returned his look stolidly. “Mr. Hallam Senior? His name wasn’t even on the list.”
“I know that. Nobody suspected the president of the company of selling company secrets.”
“Well,” Jake said slowly, rubbing his chin, “I wouldn’t be too surprised if he was in. I didn’t see him so much lately, but when I first went to work there he was in and out all the time.”
“All right, Jake,” Shayne said. “You can go home now.”
“No, thanks, Mike, I’m having a good time just sitting here.”
Shayne went on, “Hallam had to be sure his son was in the club the day he planted the report, and again the day he picked up the money. That wouldn’t be too hard to arrange. The reason he’s drinking whiskey so soon after breakfast is that he tried to do two things at once, out-maneuver a business rival and disinherit an illegitimate son.” His voice hardened. “Sit down, Hallam.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m not staying.”
“How long have you known that Forbes isn’t your son?” Hallam took a step toward the door, trying to leave. The whiskey had hit him hard. He stayed to hear Shayne supply his own answer.
“A year at least. Candida’s no dumbbell. You couldn’t just send her the report anonymously through the mail. She had to be convinced that she was dealing with somebody who needed money and didn’t care where it came from. This part of the plan began to move when Forbes told you he needed money because his girl was pregnant. You said you’d take care of it, as you’d taken care of so many other emergencies for him. There’s one book in Ruth’s room-the only book. It’s called Thirty Easy Steps to a Richer, Fuller Life, and she read it so many times it’s falling apart. She was a setup for a father who claimed to be at his wits’ end about what to do with his irresponsible son. Somehow Forbes had to be made to realize that this is a cold world. He needed a taste of real trouble. How about this? What if he lost some money to a professional gambler, and his father refused to help? Nothing too serious would happen. He’d have to sell his car and pay off the debt in monthly chunks, and maybe he’d finally settle down to work. Ruth agreed to set up a poker game.” He turned to Forbes. “How does it sound so far?”