He finished off the cognac and went down in the elevator and out through the side entrance without seeing any of Gentry’s men. He got in his car and drove leisurely to the Golden Cock, watching through the rear-view mirror, but seeing no car that appeared to be tailing him.
He drove past the doorman and parked his car where he could find it in a hurry and as near the exit as possible, got out and sauntered back to the entrance.
The manager hurried to greet him, saying, “Well, well, back again, Shayne. Miss Morton hasn’t showed up yet, but I have a nice table where you can-”
“Thanks, Harold,” he said, “but I just dropped in for a drink. Miss Morton has been located.” He turned from the dining-room entrance and went into the crowded cocktail lounge, stopping just inside the doorway to light a cigarette and letting his gaze wander slowly over the faces toward him, hoping to spot the man who should be watching for him if he had already arrived. He nodded to several acquaintances who lifted a hand or voice in greeting, then moved into the room. He noted the presence of three plainclothesmen who had the unmistakable brand of homicide squad stamped all over them. He wondered idly whether they anticipated the coming contact or merely hoped to pick up information because Sara Morton was known to frequent the Golden Cock.
He forced his way in as close to the bar as possible, caught the bartender’s eye, and held up two fingers. “Cognac coming up, Mr. Shayne,” he said with a smile of recognition, and less than half a minute later, Shayne stretched a long arm past two rows of shoulders to exchange two one-dollar bills for the double shot. He transferred the glass to his left hand and let his right arm dangle at his side with the palm turned outward as he moved casually into the crowd. Twice he paused to chat with friends, grinning to himself when the headquarters men followed him, keeping a wary eye on his movements, but not coming in close enough to prevent a note being slipped into his hand.
Twice he stiffened and held himself ready to close his hand when knuckles touched his palm, but nothing happened. He relaxed and moved on to give the man a better chance to step in beside him unobtrusively.
A girl in a red dress, with big breasts and hopeful eyes, caught his left arm and began chattering vivaciously:
“Mike Shayne! Of all things! It’s been ages, darling. Still chasing murderers and blond gun-molls-and catching the molls?” She squealed with delight at her witticism.
Her stooped, gray-haired escort said mildly, “Don’t mind Ethel, Mr. Shayne. She’s had six bourbons, and if I don’t get her out of here-”
Shayne didn’t hear what he was saying. Two men stood close to his right side, their backs toward him. A waiter passed in front of them with a laden tray balanced precariously in his right palm. Both men stepped back to avoid him, bringing them in contact with Shayne’s hand.
He felt the sharp corner of a wadded bit of paper pressed against his palm. One of the homicide dicks he had spotted stood in front of him and not more than three feet away, eyeing him with poorly concealed interest.
Shayne suddenly developed a chummy interest in the chatter of the girl in the red dress and her gray-haired companion, not moving a muscle except to grip his right hand into a fist.
He laughed heartily when the girl laughed, turned his head casually to glance at the two men who had been momentarily close enough to pass a note.
One was tall with a hook-nosed profile and not much chin. All he could see of the other man was square shoulders and the round back of a partially bald head.
Shayne excused himself, saying, “Nice to have seen you again, Ethel,” and began moving casually but definitely toward the exit, his right hand clenched at his side.
Forcing himself to walk slowly as he neared the door, he was ready to step out and increase his speed through the lobby when a tall, quiet-faced man straightened from a lounging position against the wall and caught his right arm just above the wrist. At the same instant a bulky man pushed in on the other side to wedge him tight against his brother officer.
“We can do this without any fuss,” the tall man said quietly, “or we can have fuss and cuffs.”
Shayne set his teeth hard together. “You boys must be new,” he grated. “I don’t remember seeing you around.”
“We’ve seen you around, shamus,” the bulky man assured him. “Do you walk in the manager’s office quiet, or do we make it a pinch?”
“Is it a pinch?” Shayne demanded hotly. He twisted his right wrist unobtrusively and strained to free it, but the tall man gripped it solidly and brought his other hand across to close over Shayne’s fists as though he guessed the redhead wanted to drop something from it.
“It’s a pinch if you want it that way,” he said.
“What charge?” Shayne growled.
“Drunk in a public place will do long enough to go over you,” said the bulky cop implacably.
They started forward, and Shayne went with them. “Wait’ll I see Will Gentry,” he said bitterly. “You two mugs will be pounding the pavement by this time tomorrow. You must be damned new in Miami, or you’d know Will and I are just like-” He tried to lift his right hand to demonstrate.
“Don’t get your guts in an uproar, Shayne,” the tall man advised. “You’ll get your chance to complain to the chief.”
They reached a paneled door marked Manager. It stood slightly ajar. They pushed it open and shoved Shayne inside.
“Hello, Mike.” Will Gentry sat solidly in a swivel chair behind the manager’s desk.
Shayne’s eyes glittered with anger. “So this is the way you decided to play it,” he said savagely.
Gentry shifted his dead cigar to the other corner of his mouth and agreed imperturbably, “This is the way I’m playing it.” He narrowed his eyes at Shayne’s clenched fist and added, “Open it up and let’s see the note, Mike.”
Chapter Six
“What note?” Gentry glanced inquiringly at the two officers.
The bulky one nodded emphatically and said, “He didn’t drop it. Soon as he started out I followed him and watched his fist after I gave Allen the office, and he grabbed him at the door.”
“Open up, Mike,” Gentry ordered.
The trenches in Shayne’s cheeks deepened. He drew in a long breath and said:
“So you did tap my wire. I had a hunch you were going to pull something like that. That’s why I kept the guy from giving anything away over the phone. I didn’t mind you casing the joint here and trying to pick him up,” he went on angrily, “but you should have warned these clucks to leave me alone until I got the line I needed. We’ll never solve the case now-the way you’ve messed it up.”
“What about the man who passed the note?” Gentry asked the bulky one.
“I’m not sure which one of four or five guys might’ve done it. I stayed close as I could without interfering, but there was such a-”
“I imagine the note will give us the information we need,” Gentry broke in happily. “He’ll spill what he knows when we get him to headquarters.”
“But there isn’t any note,” Shayne told him. “Whoever he is, he may not even be here yet. Or if he was out there, he saw me get picked and beat it.”
“No one has beat it since you were picked up,” Gentry assured him. “I’ve got men blocking the exits. Give it to me, Mike.” He creaked the swivel chair forward and held out his heavy hand, palm up.
Shayne shook his red head slowly. “I’ve never lied to you, Will. In all the years-”
“You lied to me tonight,” rumbled Gentry, “when you swore Miss Morton hadn’t succeeded in contacting you today. Don’t forget I’ve got a transcript of your telephone conversation to prove it.”
“You’re a fool, Will.” Shayne spoke the words flatly, regretfully. “If you weren’t so damned bent on proving me a liar you’d realize I was playing the guy along, pretending I knew all about him when I didn’t know anything. You’ve ruined my one chance to get any real information out of him.”