“Like a photograph, sir?” she asked with a smile, but in a tone suggesting she would be surprised if he replied in the affirmative. Men dining alone aren’t usually interested in being photographed in night clubs.
“Maybe,” Shayne said. “Depends.”
“On what, sir?”
“On whether you’ll sit down and have a drink with me afterward.”
She looked him over estimatingly and decided she approved. Then she glanced over the house. “I’ve covered most of the diners here now,” she said. “I guess I can afford a break.”
Raising the camera, she said, “Smile pretty now.”
Shayne obediently smiled and a flash bulb exploded.
“Be right back,” she said. “Soon as I put some films to soak.”
Crossing the room, she disappeared through a door at the rear. Shayne signaled for his waiter, ordered more cognac and told him also to bring whatever Miss Henderson customarily drank. When she returned five minutes later, the drinks were already on the table.
As Shayne held a chair for her, she said in a pleased tone, “How’d you know I drink rum and coke?”
“It isn’t very complicated,” he said dryly as he reseated himself. “I just asked the waiter to bring your usual drink.”
“Oh,” she said with mock disappointment. “I hoped you’d gone to a great deal of trouble to learn my tastes. I thought maybe you were a secret admirer.”
“Just an admirer. There’s nothing secret about it.”
“Um, I like gallant men,” she said. She raised her glass. “I’m Rose Henderson.”
“Mike Shayne,” the redhead said, raising his own glass.
Her glass remained suspended and she looked surprised. “The private detective?”
“Uh-huh.”
The glass traveled the rest of the distance to her lips and she drank deeply. When she set it down again she asked half-mockingly, “Was it my beauty and charm that made you invite me to have a drink? Or am I a suspect in some case you’re investigating?”
“Some of both,” he said easily. “Your beauty and charm would have made me invite you even if I’d come in just for pleasure. But actually I was looking for you.”
“Oh? What crime have I committed?”
“None that I know of. William Whitney’s father has engaged me to find him.”
Her smile faded. In a wary tone she said, “I told the police all I know about him. I only had a few dates with him.”
A figure suddenly loomed next to the table. Glancing up, Shayne saw it was the headwaiter. He was glowering down at Rose Henderson.
In a stiff voice the man said, “You’re not supposed to sit with customers, Rose.”
The girl looked up at him in astonishment. “Since when, Charlie?”
“Since right now.”
Elevating her nose, the blonde said, “Don’t you order me around, Charlie Velk. I’m not one of your waiters. I work for Hank Goodrich, not you.”
The headwaiter started to reach for her wrist, but abruptly halted the movement when Shayne stared at him in an ominously intent way and edged slightly forward in his chair.
Dropping his hand to his side, Velk looked down at Shayne for an instant with an expression of controlled rage. Then he did a curt about-face and walked away.
“What’s his trouble?” the redhead inquired. “Jealousy?”
“He always fusses when I sit with a customer,” Rose said with indifference. “Though this is the first time he hasn’t waited until afterward. He must think that you’re heavier competition than usual.”
“He your boy friend?”
She smiled complacently. “He’d like to be. But I’m not on a leash to anyone.”
In a casual tone Shayne asked, “Was he jealous of Bill Whitney?”
She gave him a quick glance. “Of course not. Bill and I weren’t serious.”
“Neither are you and I,” the detective pointed out. “But he tried to break us up.”
She looked a little uncomfortable. “I think I’d better leave now. Some new people have come in.” She started to rise. “I’ll bring your picture over in a few minutes.”
Shayne rose also. “How late do you work?”
“Just till midnight. Another girl takes over then.”
“May I stop back and buy you a drink somewhere else?”
She gave him a contemplative look. “You won’t find out anything about Bill from me. I don’t know anything.”
“I’m not all business,” Shayne told her. “Maybe I just want to buy you a drink.”
She studied him again. “All right,” she said.
She moved away and Shayne watched the smooth movement of her hips as she disappeared through the door she had used before. In a few moments she reappeared with a stack of photographs and began going from table to table, handing them out and receiving money in return.
When she reached Shayne’s table, she smiled a little distantly and said, “One fifty please, sir.”
Shayne paid, glanced at the picture and thrust it into a pocket. As the girl moved away again, he saw headwaiter Charlie Velk stop her and say something in a heated tone. Rose tossed her head and walked away from him.
Shayne called for his check, paid the bill and left.
III
Exactly at midnight Shayne entered Club Swallow again. As he passed the hatcheck counter he winked at the brunette Pauline and said, “I’ll keep my hat this time. I’m not staying.”
The headwaiter met him at the entrance to the club proper. He gave Shayne a cold smile. “Miss Henderson left a message for you,” he said. “She wasn’t feeling well, so she went home early.”
“Oh?” Shayne said with a frown. Glancing about the club, he saw that an evening-gowned redhead not nearly as attractive as Rose was now moving from table to table with a camera. “Where’s home?”
“We can’t pass out such information about club employees,” Velk said with evident enjoyment. “And you won’t find it in the book. She has an unlisted number.”
Shayne studied the man’s handsome chin moodily. He growled, “With your personality, it’s a wonder the patrons don’t get indignant just as a matter of course.”
Turning on his heel, Shayne stalked away.
As he started to pass the checkroom counter, he paused, then changed direction and went over to it. Glancing toward the club-room entrance, he saw that Velk had disappeared.
“You know Rose Henderson, Pauline?” Shayne asked.
“The photographer? Sure, Mr. Shayne.”
“What time did she leave tonight?”
“Leave?” the girl said. “She hasn’t yet.”
“You sure?” he asked sharply.
“Certain. She always calls goodnight as she goes past.”
Shayne tugged at his left earlobe. “Any back exit?”
“Yes, but Rose never uses it. She always goes out the front way.”
Thanking the girl, Shayne returned to the archway into the main room. The midnight floor-show was just starting and the house lights had dimmed. Charlie Velk was nowhere in sight.
The redhead circled the room to the door he had seen Rose enter earlier. It led to a hallway at the rear of the club. On one side of the hall there was a door labeled: Dark Room — Keep Out. Across from it another door with a red sign over it reading: Exit.
Shayne pulled open the dark room door, glanced in and saw it was empty. Then he opened the door marked: Manager.
Three people were in the room. A large, heavy-shouldered man with sleek blond hair sat behind a desk. Rose Henderson sat sullenly in a chair before the desk, her lips tightly compressed. Charlie Velk leaned against a wall. The big man, whom Shayne assumed was the club manager, Hank Goodrich, whom Rose had mentioned, was emphasizing his points by pounding a clenched fist on the desk top.