"What sort of way?" Shayne urged her.
"Well, it was just-it wasn't nothing, really." The girl spread out her hands and her blush deepened as she looked up at Shayne. "You get used to it, sort of, working in a hotel. He'd say things to me sometimes-and-and touch me. But always joking, it was," she added hastily. "I never thought it meant anything. But Miss Mary she got mad once or twice and told him it wasn't nice to say those things and he had ought to be ashamed of himself. But he'd just laugh it off and say I didn't mind, did I? And I'd tell him no, of course. And that's all."
"Did they entertain much? Seem to have many friends in Miami?"
"No, they didn't for a fact. Miss Mary, she'd stay in mostly in the evenings. Have her dinner served up there a lot, and then she'd read."
"While her brother was out?" Shayne supplied.
"Well, yes. He likes a good time, all right. But that's why folks come to Miami on vacation, isn't it?"
Shayne agreed it was, and after a few more questions he dismissed her with thanks. He shook his head wryly at Gerdon when she went out.
"There went a beautiful theory up in thin smoke. I'm beginning to think maybe it is Barnes who was murdered. The rather vague description fits him all right. We may have to ask her to come over to the morgue to look at him."
"Anything you want," Gerdon said. There was another knock at the door and a very thin pimply-faced college boy came in and stood stiffly at attention.
Yes, he took care of twelve-ten until midnight, and knew both the occupants by sight-the girl much better than her brother because she was mostly in and wanting service while he was on duty.
His descriptions of Mary and Charles Barnes coincided in all important details with the maid's. He guessed Charles was twenty-five and his sister maybe twenty-one or two. He put Charles at five-eleven and about a hundred sixty pounds. He was equally positive about the absence of any scar on his face. Sometimes he'd have a late call close to midnight for a scotch and soda after Charles had come in, but he never saw him drunk. Miss Mary always had a double martini before dinner when it was served in their suite, and very rarely a drink later. Then, only one. She tipped well, but not excessively, and according to him it was a pleasure to take care of twelve-ten in comparison to some of the other people he had on his floor.
As he was leaving, a girl came in the ofi amp;ce with two sheets of paper that had typing on them.
Gerdon studied them in frowning silence for a time. They were day-by-day notations of out-going calls from twelve-ten, kept by the hotel for billing purposes, and they disclosed little of real interest to Shayne except the recurrence of calls to a certain number in Miami which he recognized at once as the Hibiscus Hotel.
The first day or so after registration there had been a spate of local calls to various numbers, and two long-distance to New York. Then the calls lessened to two or three or four each day. Generally before noon, and only a few in the evenings.
Shayne studied the list as Gerdon passed it to him, found the first listing of the Hibiscus number almost a week after they arrived. Then it appeared irregularly every day or so afterward. The last time that number had been called was 4:30 p.m. of that day.
There was also a scribbled notation from the desk to the effect that both Mr. and Miss Barnes were now out, and it was believed both of them had been away most of the evening.
And that was all Shayne was able to get from the Roney Plaza about Charles and Mary Barnes.
Gerdon politely asked if he cared to go over the suite, but Shayne declined the offer. He did suggest that a definite watch be kept for the return of either of the Barneses, immediate notification of the Miami police and quiet surveillance in that event.
He also asked for a tap on the telephone in the suite to trace all incoming calls and to gather as much information about the callers as possible.
Then he thanked Gerdon for his co-operation and hurried back to Miami.
EIGHTEEN: 11:35 PM
Chief Gentry was seated at his desk listening intently to the telephone when Shayne burst into his office in long strides. The chief looked up with a frown, shaking his head to indicate he didn't want to be interrupted when Shayne appeared on the point of breaking in.
The detective dropped into a chair and lit a cigarette morosely while Gentry continued to listen, interjecting an occasional, "I see," and, "Yes, go on."
There was a smugly satisfied look on Gentry's florid face when he finally said, "Thank you very much. I'll let you know if there's anything else," and put the phone down.
"That was New York," he told Shayne. "They checked the Barnes address and found it's a penthouse apartment on 63rd. Charles Barnes lives there with his younger sister, Mary. They closed the place a couple of weeks ago and took off for a month's vacation in Miami. How do you like that?"
"Just fine," Shayne said unhappily, squinting at him through blue cigarette smoke.
"And the forwarding address they left for mail is the Roney Plaza Hotel on the Beach," Gentry went on impressively. "All we need now is to check with the Roney to see if Barnes has a scar on his cheek-and we'll begin to know where we stand."
He reached for the phone, but Shayne stopped him with a gesture. "I just came from the Roney. Charles Barnes has no scar. His description fits the dead man to a T."
"I'll be- You just came from the Roney? How come?"
"I thought it was an angle that might be worth checking," Shayne said wearily. "Remember, the girl told me she and her brother were staying at the Roney?"
"The Paulson girl? But we know she had room three-sixteen at the Hibiscus."
"If it was the Paulson girl. If it wasn't Mary Barnes all the time."
"Wait a minute. You told me-"
Shayne got up and began to pace the floor, his rugged features twisted in a mask of concentration.
"I told you that he said her name was Nellie Paulson. The man with the scar. She didn't give any name to me. I hadn't got around to that when he came busting in and she locked herself in the kitchen. Naturally, I believed him," groaned Shayne. "His story about chasing her down the back stairs of the Hibiscus coincided precisely with her story, so I accepted the name he gave her."
"But we know from the Jacksonville description of Paulson that he was lying about being Nellie Paulson's brother," barked Gentry. "Who the devil is he if he isn't Barnes?"
"He isn't Barnes," said Shayne flatly. "At least he isn't the man registered at the Roney as Barnes." He dropped into a chair and stretched his long legs out wearily.
"If the dead man is Barnes-and I'm beginning to think he is-then it looks as though the girl who talked to me must be his sister Mary. Don't you see how it hangs together? She said her brother had gotten tangled up with some broad while on this vacation. That he called her from the Hibiscus tonight to come and get him out of a jam. The records show several calls from the Barnes suite in the Roney to the Hibiscus in the past week. So what kind of jam does it look as though he might have been in?
"The old badger game, of course. With Miss Nellie Paulson of room three-sixteen in the Hibiscus. But some thing happens before Mary gets there to help him out. A knife in his throat, no less. And Mary walks in before they have time to get rid of the body. She takes one look at her brother, and runs to use the phone in three-sixty. By the time she gets back, his body has gone out the window. Then scar-face jumps her and she runs to me. And then runs away from me when he follows her there."
"To Lucy's apartment," said Gentry sharply. "With a note from you telling Lucy to look after her."