“I don’t know anything about him except that when Morton introduced him that time she said he was an actor, but neglected to mention any roles he’d played. I imagine she picked him up and brought him to Miami to gigolo her around. She has a reputation for having handsome young men escorts. She had one a few years ago she’d gotten out of some sort of shady deal and was reforming him,” he ended with a grin.
“He’s another one with an alibi from seven o’clock on,” Shayne muttered. “If we could prove Miss Morton didn’t know her watch was an hour slow when she wrote that note to me-they’d all three have alibis.”
“I don’t know what three you’re talking about,” the reporter admitted, “but Ralph Morton is the boy who is really up the creek without any alibi.”
“That’s all to the good,” Shayne said cheerfully. “And if it’s true, it’ll earn me ten grand just like that.” He snapped his fingers loudly and hurried on: “Now I can afford to buy you another drink.” He beckoned to the waiter and got out his billfold.
When the waiter came over he said, “Bring Mr. Rourke anything he wants to drink. Nothing for me.” He laid a bill on the table and got up.
“What’s your hurry, Mike? Don’t you think it’s a little late to keep that date with Bea now?” He grinned and added, “I imagine she and Lucy are sound asleep by now.”
Shayne stopped in mid-stride and turned back to the grinning reporter. “What gave you the idea she’s at Lucy’s?”
Rourke shrugged his thin shoulders. “Where else would you drop her off while you came to your apartment, knowing the cops would probably be there? You must have some sort of hex on Lucy to get her to take in your other women and then lie about it. She denied everything when I called and asked to speak to Miss Lally.”
“My secretary never lies,” Shayne told him with a scowl. “She also goes to church on Sunday, is kind to her aged mother-and I’m going to get her an unlisted number so my idiotic friends won’t bother her with their gags.”
He turned and strode out and down the block to his car, got in and drove directly to the Boulevard, then north to Lucy Hamilton’s apartment.
It was well past midnight and the neighborhood was quiet, the windows dark, and Shayne sat behind the steering-wheel for several minutes before deciding to go in instead of telephoning to make certain Miss Lally was still with Lucy.
He went in and pushed the button for three long, steady rings before the buzzer released the door latch. Sweat was streaming down his face when he grabbed the knob and went in and up the stairs.
Lucy’s pajamaed and robed figure was outlined in the doorway, and he saw that she was looking past him with stony eyes as he approached. Her body stiffened when he put his hands on her shoulders, and she stepped back, folded her arms across her breasts.
“So you didn’t bring her back with you,” Lucy said in a cool, detached voice, while burning anger replaced the stony stare in her brown eyes.
Shayne went in and closed the door, demanded harshly, “Didn’t bring who back?”
“That Lally woman! Your dear Beatrice. The next time, Michael Shayne, that you-”
“Hold it, Lucy, for God’s sake,” he groaned. “What do you mean? Isn’t she here?”
“You should know,” she spat at him.
“Why should I know?” He caught her shoulders again and shook her roughly. “What’s this all about?”
She ducked away from him. “She went to you fast enough when you whistled. Oh, no, I wasn’t to come. And that nasty-nice smile of hers when she told me coyly you’d warned her particularly not to tell me where you were meeting her.”
Shayne sank down on the couch and asked hoarsely, “What happened, Lucy? Where did she go?”
“Where you told her to, of course-and the minute she hung up the receiver after you telephoned. Wild horses wouldn’t have held her-and practically telling me to my face she was-”
Shayne reached both arms out and pulled her down beside him. “Get hold of yourself, Lucy. This is serious. I didn’t phone her to come anywhere. Tell me exactly what happened.”
Chapter Nine
Lucy pulled away from him and sat sideways on the edge of the couch to face him, seeing for the first time the worried lines in his gaunt face. “There’s nothing to tell,” she said, “except what you already know. You told her to meet you-”
“If she said I told her to meet me some place, she lied,” Shayne cut in harshly. “I made that phone call for the benefit of another guy who was listening in and wanted to be assured she hadn’t talked to the police.”
“I’m not talking about that call,” she said, the puzzled expression clearing from her eyes. “She told me all about that. It was the second call-half an hour later.”
“Second call?” He stared at her in astonishment. “I only called once. Tell me about this other one-exactly what time was it?”
“A little after midnight. We turned on the midnight newscast and listened to the first part, about the Morton case, then turned it off and I-”
“Hold it,” said Shayne swiftly. “Was anything said that could have tipped off a listener that Miss Lally was spending the night here with you?”
“No.” Lucy shook her head decisively. “The only mention of her was that the police hadn’t located her for questioning. It was mostly about Miss Morton’s husband-how he had been positively identified as being in her room at six-fifteen, and it seemed practically certain he had murdered her.”
Shayne leaned back against the cushion and said, “All right. Now go on about the phone call. Place the time as close as you can.”
“Between ten and fifteen minutes after twelve,” she told him. “Do you mean someone else called and pretended to be you-and lured her away from here?”
“You should be able to recognize my voice over the phone by this time,” Shayne growled. “My God! Lucy, I thought I could trust you to take care of her.”
“But I didn’t answer the phone that second time,” she snapped. “I didn’t even hear it ring. I was under the shower with a bathing-cap over my hair and ears. She answered it. You couldn’t expect her to recognize your voice-or was that a gag about you two meeting for the first time tonight?”
“It wasn’t a gag, Lucy,” he said with weary impatience. “Tell me what happened without all these interpolations.”
“I came out of the shower and opened the door a crack to let the steam out and some air in. She was just ending the conversation, and I heard her say, ‘Just as fast as I can get there.’ I stuck my head out the door and asked her who had called. That’s when she turned all nasty-nice and coy. She blushed and tossed her head with a certain gleam in her eyes and said it was you and she was to hurry and meet you right away.”
“And?” Shayne demanded when she paused thoughtfully.
“I was just thinking about the way she can use her eyes when she hasn’t got those awful glasses on,” she interposed, and seeing the scowl on Shayne’s face hurried on:
“I said I’d throw on something in a hurry and go with her, thinking you wouldn’t want her to leave here alone, but she said oh, no! that you had said particularly she was to come alone. I decided-well-that you had your private reason for telling her that, so I didn’t argue with her, but I did ask where she was meeting you.
“She really got defensively coy then and said she was so sorry but you wanted her to keep it a deep secret and not to tell me anything. So, what would you expect me to think or do? If you think I’m going to interfere with your making love to every-”
“You should know me better than that,” he broke in irritably, suddenly sitting erect and looking into her troubled brown eyes. He laid a big hand over her interlaced fingers in her lap. “Don’t worry, angel. But we’ve got to think fast what to do about her.”
She swallowed hard and said, “I guess I messed things up, but I don’t know what I could have done, Michael. She’s bigger than I am, and I couldn’t have held her by force. I–I guess I could have followed her-if I hadn’t been so-so angry. Do you think she’s in danger? Do you think it was the murderer who pretended to be you on the phone?”