“All right. So it was the real thing. How do you explain this letter?”
“I don’t. I hoped you might.”
Shayne shrugged again and picked up his brandy. “If it’s a bluff and you know it’s a bluff… call it, of course. Simply tear it up and forget it. Or, better yet, fix up a decoy envelope and mail it. I’ll see that James Morgan is arrested when he calls for it at General Delivery.”
The financier from Cuba was silent for a long moment, fidgeting with the unlighted cigar in his hands and studying it as though he had never seen one before. Without raising his eyes to the detective, he asked in a low voice:
“Suppose the man has such an imitation? No matter how he got hold of it. What then?”
“Let’s understand each other,” said Shayne, slowly. “Do you suspect the bracelet may have been copied without your knowledge? And that you weren’t told of the substitution after it was stolen?”
“No. That’s impossible,” cried out Peralta. “Who could possibly have done that?”
As though in answer to his question, the door was pushed open without warning and Laura Peralta entered the library.
FIVE
Neither her newspaper pictures nor the brief glimpse Shayne had caught of her at the candlelit dining table did Mrs. Peralta justice.
She was in her early thirties, he thought, and her figure was svelte rather than plump as the pictures had made it appear. Actually, she was quite tall for a woman, he realized, as she stood in the doorway teetering a trifle on very high heels. Tall enough to carry her full hips and prominent bosom with a faint swagger that was reminiscent of Mae West in one of her most seductive roles.
Her features were smooth and even, with a touch of arrogance in the slightly uptilted nose, but there was a hint of smouldering fire in the brown eyes that regarded Shayne from beneath heavy, dark lashes.
Her voice was a low contralto, carefully modulated and with a precise enunciation that indicated theatrical voice culture rather than an expensive finishing school in her youth.
“Who is this man, Julio?”
Michael Shayne got to his feet slowly. A faint grin twisted his lips as he met her eyes squarely and held her gaze across the twenty feet that separated them. From the chair beside him, he heard Peralta’s nervous voice explaining:
“A business associate, my dear. We’re endeavoring to have a quiet and private talk here,” he went on petulantly. “I’ll join you upstairs very soon.”
Shayne knew that Laura Peralta wasn’t actually listening to her husband. She doubtless heard the words as he spoke them, but her eyes were probing Shayne’s eyes, her mind was probing Shayne’s mind.
She shook her head slightly as though puzzled, moved toward him, swaying slightly at the hips and paying no attention at all to the older man in the room.
“The children say you are a detective. Why did you force your way in here tonight, Mr. Shayne? What hold have you over my husband that induced him to admit you?”
Shayne shrugged. “Hadn’t you better ask him that question?”
She was close to him now. He could smell her, and she smelled good. She stopped two feet away and had to tilt her head upward only slightly to look directly into his eyes. She said pleasantly, as though she were discussing an absent person in whom she had little interest:
“Julio is an awful fool at times. He thinks there’s only one place for women and they should stay there. What do you think, Michael Shayne?”
Her voice and the look she gave him were challenging and provocative. Shayne heard Peralta clearing his throat rather loudly, but he followed the woman’s lead by ignoring his host.
“I don’t believe this is exactly the best time or place to discuss my ideas about women, Mrs. Peralta. Some other time, perhaps?” He didn’t need to add “When we’re alone” because that was implicit in the way he spoke.
Her lips quirked faintly and she swung away from him to confront her husband, who had lighted his cigar and was now puffing on it nervously. Her voice took on an intonation of subtle mockery when she addressed him:
“Why do you sit there glowering, Julio? I thought you agreed this afternoon that it was up to the police and the insurance company to get back the bracelet. Why should you go around hiring private detectives to do their work?”
He said wearily, “I told you from the beginning, Laura. I feel a certain responsibility. After all, you are my wife.”
“Still harping on that?” she flung at him. “Just because I didn’t lock it up in the safe that one night. I never promised anyone I would. That’s a chance they take when they insure jewelry.”
He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. It was clear to Shayne that this was an old, warmed-over quarrel between them, and that Laura Peralta fiercely resented having her actions questioned.
She put her hands on her hips now, and squared her shoulders belligerently at her husband.
“I don’t believe you, Julio.” There was anger and scorn in her voice. “You know Chief Painter told us this afternoon that it was practically in the bag and he certainly neither needed nor wanted outside help. I think you’ve some other reason for calling Mr. Shayne in, and I demand to know what it is.”
“What other reason can you think of?”
“I don’t know unless you have some silly idea of trying to put some restraints on my personal liberty as you threatened recently. Go ahead and hire a private eye to follow me around Miami in the evenings and report to you,” she stormed at him. “See if I care. There’ll be no grounds for divorce, I can assure you of that.” She turned to glare over her shoulder at Shayne who was listening with grim amusement. “If you’re starting your assignment this evening, I’ll make it easy for you. In half an hour or so, you’ll find me in the roulette room of the Green Jungle in North Miami. Know where it is?”
Shayne nodded.
“I’ll be there all evening if I win,” she told him with a toss of her head. “Or the length of time it takes me to lose the five hundred my husband allows me to spend on entertainment each evening. If I’m unlucky, perhaps you’ll buy me a drink after I go broke.”
“Perhaps I will,” Shayne agreed pleasantly.
She turned away haughtily and swept out of the room, swinging her buttocks just enough to indicate she was aware two males were watching her exit-one of whom was married to her.
Julio Peralta shook his head and sighed despondently when the door closed behind his wife. “I don’t understand Laura,” he murmured. “I’m afraid I simply don’t understand American women at all. I realize she is young and high-spirited, and that this household may seem dull to her. But she is my wife. I ask only that she keep that fact in mind and do nothing to disgrace the name. In the name of all that is holy, Mr. Shayne, is that too much to ask?”
Shayne shrugged and resumed his seat. He said drily, “We were discussing the possibility that a cheap imitation of the emerald bracelet might have been substituted for the genuine without your knowledge before the robbery occurred. How many people were in a position to have accomplished that?
Peralta puffed on his cigar nervously. “Yesterday I would have said it was an utter impossibility. But since this letter arrived, I’ve been trying to see how it could have been done. How long would it take,” he demanded anxiously, “to make up a convincing substitute of imitation gems?”
“We’d have to ask a jeweler that. A few days would be enough, I should think.”
“And it would be a good enough imitation so it mightn’t be noticed by anyone except an expert?”
“I think so. Depends what you mean by an expert, I guess.” Shayne paused, then went on somewhat harshly because he did not like saying this to the older man: “I’ve been told by jewelers that it is almost impossible to foist off even an extremely good imitation on the owner of a particular piece who loves jewelry and has owned that piece for any length of time. I can’t vouch for this personally, but the experts claim there is a sort of aura about the real thing that can never be duplicated except to the casual observer.”