Inspector Quinlan’s cold blue gaze had not left her face for an instant. He said, quietly, “Will you swear to that, Miss Moore?”
“On a stack of Bibles,” she answered promptly.
She didn’t look at Shayne.
CHAPTER TEN
Inspector Quinlan waved Shayne back into his chair as he started up with a muttered curse. To Lana, Quinlan said, “Tell me about last evening. All about it.”
She pouted prettily.
“All of it?”
“Everything.” The inspector’s voice was grim and demanding. “This is a homicide investigation, Miss Moore.”
She said, “Oh-you mean murder? Who-”
“You’re not being questioned about the murder, Miss Moore. Tell me about you and Shayne last night.”
She glanced at Shayne and the court reporter, then faced the inspector. “I haven’t anything to hide,” she said defiantly. “I was in a cocktail bar having a drink all by myself when he-Red here-came in and sat down by me and offered to buy me one. I didn’t see any harm in that, and then we had dinner together and he-” She hesitated, looking doubtfully at Quinlan and moistening her red lips with the tip of her tongue.
“Don’t hold back anything,” he advised. “You won’t be giving out any information if you tell about the gambling.”
Lana looked relieved. “He wanted to gamble, so I went back with him and watched while he played and won a lot of money. Then I wanted to go home so we got a taxi and-”
“Wait a minute,” Quinlan interrupted. “Didn’t anything else happen at the Laurel Club?”
She wrinkled her forehead and said dubiously, “Not that I know of. Nothing important anyway.”
“Were you with him all the time?”
“Every minute. That is”-she managed to look embarrassed-“except for a few minutes when he-well, he excused himself.”
“To go to the men’s room?”
“I guess so. He said for me to wait for him in the lounge. So I did, and when he came back we got a taxi-”
“How long was he away from you?” Quinlan demanded.
Lana considered this with a serious pucker between her eyes. “It might have been five or ten minutes. I’m not positive.”
“Proceed. You got in a taxi and went home,” Quinlan prompted.
“We went straight to my apartment-the Armentieres. He wanted to come up for a minute and I thought it would be all right because he had acted like a perfect gentleman up until then, so I told him he could come up for just one drink.” She paused and shrugged eloquently. “I should have known better, I guess. A man seems to think that because a girl lives alone and gets lonely and accepts a drink and dinner from a man that she’s inviting him to make a pass at her. He quit being a gentleman as soon as we were in the apartment. He was horrid-and I got rid of him as last as I could. That was a little before midnight, because I was in bed by twelve.” Her tawny eyes looked guilelessly at Quinlan.
The inspector turned cold wary eyes on Shayne. “What does this do to your story?”
“Knocks it all to hell,” Shayne said bitterly. “If you’re going to listen to a chippie-”
“You-!” Lana started up with her eyes blazing at Shayne.
Quinlan said, “Sit down.” It was a command.
She sank back in her chair biting her underlip and murmuring something about being insulted.
The inspector didn’t look at Lana. He was watching Shayne closely.
“I can prove my story,” Shayne said. “Get the man in here who picked her up. Ask him what condition he found her in-what the apartment looks like this morning.”
Quinlan picked up the telephone of an intercommunication service and said, “Send Handley in.” The trim young detective entered promptly and the inspector asked, “What condition was Miss Moore’s apartment in-and what condition was she in?”
“What condition, sir?”
“Did you have to wake her up? Was she dressed? How did she look?”
“She opened the door promptly after I knocked,” Handley told him. “She was wearing one of those-thingamajigs…”
“A hostess gown,” Lana interpolated sweetly.
“That’s right,” Handley agreed. “Blue silk. She was drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper in the living-room. She seemed quite astonished when I told her she’d have to come to headquarters, but she didn’t make any fuss about it.”
“Women!” said Shayne bitterly. “I tell you she was lying flat on the floor with a blue nightgown on and passed out as cold as a turkey when I left that apartment not more than an hour ago.”
Lana Moore drew in an audible and outraged breath and looked bewildered. “Of all the nerve! That’s the biggest lie I ever heard.”
Handley set his jaw and his eyes were scornful; Quinlan shook his head sadly as though he regretted the necessity of embarrassing the girl.
“What condition was the apartment in, Handley?”
“I didn’t see anything out of the way, sir,” Handley answered. “I went in the kitchen while Miss Moore was dressing, and I managed a look in the bedroom after she came out of it. Everything looked all right.”
Quinlan looked at Shayne again, and again moved his head from side to side.
“I’m not nuts,” Shayne said with angry emphasis. “It’s a damned frame, and if you can’t see it you’re blind as hell.” He appealed to the inspector: “Get your chemist over there and I swear he’ll find evidence of blood on the rug where I was lying when I woke up this morning. She may have washed it off, but it’ll be in the nap.”
Lana shuddered delicately and asked the inspector, “What’s he trying to prove? I don’t know what any of this is about, but he certainly sounds crazy to me.”
“What about Lieutenant Drinkley and you?” Quinlan asked abruptly, and watched her closely.
“Lieutenant-Drinkley?” She repeated it slowly and gave the impression of trying to recall the name. “I don’t recall ever having met him. I meet a lot of soldiers.”
Shayne’s eyes glittered. He started to speak through hard set lips, but the inspector gestured for silence.
“Shayne is trying to talk himself out of a murder rap,” Quinlan told Lana. “You can’t blame him for trying. You’ve been very helpful, Miss Moore. If you’ll wait in the outer office I’ll have your testimony transcribed and ask you to sign it.”
“Make it under oath,” Shayne snapped angrily, “and you’ll have a goddamned perjury on your hands.” He hunched forward, staring at the tips of his shoes. His right thumb and forefinger pulled at the lobe of his left ear.
When Handley took the girl out and closed the door, Quinlan said calmly, “Looks as though you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”
Shayne nodded. “She did a good job. It takes a woman to think up a deal like that.” He spoke with grudging admiration.
“What’s the angle, Shayne? You talked before about her luring you there to get you beaten up. Now you’re trying to make me believe she pulled this frame. There has to be a reason for a thing like that.”
“There is. A good one.”
“What?”
Shayne shrugged. “Another damned case.” His tone was depressed. “I was beginning to crack down-that’s all.”
“Anything to do with the Lomax emeralds?”
“Sort of,” Shayne admitted cautiously. “They tie together, though I’m damned if I know how.”
“Are you trying to make me believe that girl had something to do with Trueman’s death? That the whole thing was a gag to be sure you didn’t have any alibi for it?”
Shayne straightened up and stopped tugging at his ear. “Damned if I know. It’s hard to believe the whole thing was prearranged. No one knew I was going to have an argument with Dan Trueman and lay myself open to a murder accusation. What kind of a story did the morning paper run?”
“A full account of the whole thing. Your argument with Trueman was played up, and it was made clear that we were hunting you-for questioning at least.”