“But I liked it not, Mr. Shayne. To Herr Gorstmann I say that I am the American citizen and I must not do this.
“Then he is with threats for me. The eyes of the Gestapo, he relates, are everywhere. I have cousins in Germany. Of my good wife, there is her mother in Hamburg. If I refused Herr Gorstmann there would be trouble-death for those so unfortunate who remain under the Nazis. Could I say no to Herr Gorstmann?” He spread out his hands appealingly.
“Yes,” Shayne growled. “If there was an ounce of guts in that fat body of yours you would have refused. You should have called me or the police as soon as Gorstmann came to you with his threats. Good God!” he pounded out, “your relatives in Germany will have to take their chances. We’re at war, Otto. You can’t sabotage a whole nation to protect a few individuals in Germany. If you had been a real American citizen you wouldn’t have hesitated one moment. You had no choice except to throw him out.”
Shayne ground his cigarette out savagely on the floor and thrust his gaunt face close to Otto’s. His voice was harsh and uncompromising.
“I thought you were on the square, Otto. I’ve even pitied you because you’ve had hard going with your restaurant. And you sit here and calmly admit you’re actually a traitor.”
Otto Phleugar got to his feet with trembling dignity. All the color had disappeared from his rosy cheeks. “Harsh words are those, Mr. Shayne. I have been sick with fear and hate for the thing I was doing. I know not what Herr Gorstmann does. He has American friends who come and talk. I tell you this for you to decide. At night I do not sleep-I am awake with what is inside me and from it there is no escape.” He sank back into his chair and covered his face with fat palms.
Shayne fumbled for another cigarette, staring down at the pathetic little man with his lined face tight and drawn. After a time, he muttered, “Hell, I guess I don’t blame you too much. I can see the spot you were in. There’s only one thing to decide. How can we grab Gorstmann and his friends without them knowing you turned them in?”
“I do not count now.” Otto took his hands away from his face. His round blue eyes met Shayne’s with courage. “I have been weak and afraid. Now I am strong. What you say, it will be done.”
“There’s no need for you to take the rap if it can be avoided,” Shayne argued. “After all, you have come clean before any real harm can have been done.”
“Ach, but it is good to say out loud to you what has weighed in my heart.”
“This Gorstmann-is he the top man?”
“He has, I think, the high authority. From Herr Hitler even perhaps.”
“Does he appear to head quite a gang?”
“That I do not think. I do not see many come here. Some are those of your own American underworld.”
Shayne rubbed his bony chin thoughtfully. He carefully described Leroy and Joe, the pair who had entered his apartment earlier that evening. “Have you seen those two here, Otto? Contacting Gorstmann?”
Otto nodded his head vigorously. “Those two I have seen often.”
“I’ll see about rounding the whole gang up,” Shayne promised. “On the whole, you may have done the country a real service by letting them establish themselves here. There’s no reason for you to show in the roundup at all. Just go on as before. Pretend you’re completely cowed. Don’t try to contact me or anyone else unless something very important turns up.”
“You are mine good friend.” Otto Phleugar stood up with Shayne. He appeared to have gained inches in stature since the interview began. His blue eyes were watery but he stood stiffly at attention. “In you, mine good friend, I will trust.”
Shayne took his hand. “You’re all right, Otto. It isn’t your fault that a mad dog is running things in Germany.”
Otto went to the door with him and unlatched it. Shayne went back to the dining-room and stopped short when he saw that Phyllis was gone from their table.
Gorstmann came up to him and bowed stiffly, held out the dinner check folded twice. “The lady asked me to give you this, sir,” he said.
Shayne took it, noting that Helen Brinstead had also left the dining-room. He unfolded the check and read Phyllis’s hurried scrawclass="underline"
That man Leroy came in and spoke to the heliotrope girl. They went out together. I’m following them in a taxi.
Shayne’s big hands shook a trifle as he read the terse note. He asked Gorstmann, “How long ago did my wife leave?”
“Not more than five minutes.”
Shayne took a five-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Gorstmann. He directed, “Split what’s left from this with my waiter,” and slid the dinner check into his pocket. He got his hat and hurried outside.
There was no sign of either Helen or Phyllis outside the Danube Restaurant.
Shayne went to his car, swung out of the lot, and drove a block south. He parked in front of a two-story stucco apartment building and hurried into the small foyer. He had Helen’s apartment number, so he didn’t stop at the desk, but went up the stairway in long strides and down the hall to her apartment.
No light showed over the transom. He knocked and waited. There was no sound of movement beyond the closed door. Shayne knocked again, then got out a crowded key ring and began trying keys in the lock. The fourth one unlocked the door.
He stepped in and switched on the light, made a swift survey of the tiny two-room apartment without finding anyone at home. There was a man’s dirty shirt and underwear in the closet with Helen’s clothes, and the remains of a tray dinner was in the kitchenette sink.
Shayne went back to the living-room and switched off the light. He had hold of the knob when he heard footsteps stopping outside. He let go of the knob and stepped back softly.
A key turned the night latch, and the door opened. A hand fumbled along the wall for the light switch. When the light came on, Shayne said, “Hello,” to the man who was closing the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The man whirled as Shayne spoke, his breath whistling explosively through a gap in his upper teeth. He was short, muscular, and dark, with close-cropped black hair growing low on his forehead. He backed away from Shayne, crouching a little, and his right hand crept upward toward the unbuttoned top of his sack coat.
He asked, “What are you doing here?” in a hoarse voice that quavered a trifle.
Shayne laughed shortly. “I was about to ask you the same question. And I’d like to know how you come to be entering Helen’s apartment with a key of your own.”
He watched incredulity, dismay, then bewilderment succeed each other on Mace Morgan’s face. The last emotion changed to relief as the escaped convict slowly took in the implication of Shayne’s words and his first fear that he had been tracked down as a fugitive began to leave him. He straightened out of his crouch and glanced down at the flat key in his hand as though surprised to see it there.
“You see,” Shayne went on equably, “I thought I had the only extra key to this dump. I didn’t know that Helen passed them out in wholesale quantities. But hell! A man never knows about a woman. They’re all chippies at heart, and what they give to one man they’ll generally give to another. Am I right?”
The paralyzing glitter of fear was leaving Mace Morgan’s eyes. He eagerly followed the lead offered him by Shayne.
“Yeh,” he said. “Yeh, I guess you just about hit it on the head, pal. I’m like you. I thought I had the only extra key. It’s funny, huh? Ha-ha. We’re both suckers.”
“Looks that way.” Shayne stepped backward, getting out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and offered it to Mace, took one himself, and lit them both with the same match.
“I just got back to town,” Shayne explained. “Thought Helen would be glad to see me and I came right over. But I guess she hasn’t been lonely while I was gone.”