“You think he really thought his partner was out to bump him last night?”
“That’s the way he told it to me, and he acted plenty worried.” Shayne leaned back and tugged abstractedly at his left ear lobe.
“Reason I asked, near as I could tell this Godfrey didn’t have a thing on his mind last night except getting a good dinner and going to bed early.”
Shayne said, “Suppose I check with Will Gentry.”
“Suppose you do,” Black agreed.
Shayne crossed the room to the telephone, gave the hotel operator a number, and waited. The police chief’s gruff voice answered almost immediately.
“Mike Shayne, Will. I’m trying to locate an attorney named Gibson — Elliott Gibson. I’ve got a hunch he’s around headquarters. Could you find out?”
“He’s raising hell here in my office right now,” Gentry told him. “Why do you want him?”
“In connection with a client of his,” said Shayne cautiously. “A man named Brewer.”
There was a brief silence, then a long, audible sigh at the other end of the line. “You’d better come down here, Mike. Right away.” Gentry hung up with a bang.
Shayne turned to Black. “It’s something, all right. Gentry wants us right away.”
Miami’s chief of police rolled his rumpled eyelids far up and looked at Shayne curiously when he entered the office followed by Henry Black. Another man was pacing nervously up and down before Gentry’s desk. He paused in midsentence as the two private detectives came in.
Gibson was younger than Shayne had expected Brewer’s attorney to be — not more than thirty — with indefinable signs of weakness about his eyes and mouth. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and ruddy-faced, yet there was the impression of flabby muscles rather than physical well-being. He had the smooth, bland sort of good looks that some men and many women would probably consider charming, and Shayne had a hunch that the attorney was accustomed to coast along in his profession on the strength of his charm rather than on intelligence or ability.
He nodded curtly, without speaking, when Gentry introduced him to Shayne and Black as Gibson, and when they seated themselves at the chief’s invitation, the lawyer burst out impatiently.
“I warn you, Chief, that I shall hold you strictly accountable for wasting time this way. I don’t see what information two private detectives can possibly have about this affair. Even though one of them happens to be the ubiquitous Michael Shayne,” he added with an ironic note that brought the redhead’s ragged brows up in a questioning scowl at Gentry.
The chief said, “Mr. Gibson is insisting that I wire ahead and have his client’s partner removed from the New York plane and brought back in irons.”
“On what charge?” asked Shayne.
“Suspicion of murder,” said Gentry easily. “Though as a lawyer, he should be able to realize it’s difficult to make a charge like that stick when we have no evidence of murder.”
“You haven’t looked for such evidence,” Gibson said angrily. “You’ve sat here chewing on that stale cigar and done exactly nothing. Mr. Brewer is missing, isn’t he? He hasn’t been seen since going out on the bay with Hiram Godfrey in his boat yesterday afternoon. I’ve repeatedly explained that Mr. Brewer was in deathly fear of his partner, that he often told me Godfrey would be his murderer if he ever came to a violent end. And Godfrey ducked out on the early plane this morning.”
Gentry lifted a big hand to silence Gibson, then rumbled at Shayne, “You said over the phone you wanted to see Gibson in connection with Brewer. What connection, Mike?”
“Wait a minute.” Shayne looked at the attorney and asked, “Are you saying that Brewer didn’t reach your office last night?”
“He did not. I haven’t seen him for several days. What makes you think—”
“How long did you wait for him?” Shayne cut in.
“What do you mean? How long did I wait for whom?”
“Brewer,” said Shayne patiently. “How late did you stay in your office last night?”
“Until shortly past six.”
“Weren’t you worried when he didn’t show up?”
“Why should I have been worried?” Gibson looked honestly puzzled. “I wasn’t expecting him last evening. I had no reason to be worried until this morning when his office called to say he hadn’t come in, and apparently hadn’t been home all night. As soon as I made some inquiries and learned that he had gone out in Godfrey’s boat yesterday and no one had seen him return from that trip, I came to the obvious conclusion. Which seems borne out, I must say, by Godfrey’s hurried departure this morning.”
Shayne shook his red head slowly. “Do you deny that Brewer telephoned your office after returning from the boat trip, asking you to wait there for him?”
“Certainly, I deny it. If I had expected him and he didn’t appear, I should have started a search for him much sooner. Why do you ask that question?”
“Because he told me, in my office, at about five-thirty yesterday afternoon that you were expecting him in your office just a couple of blocks up the street. And that’s where he was going when he left a few minutes later.”
Gibson stared with openmouthed amazement. “You saw Brewer late yesterday? You can swear he did return safely from that boat trip with Godfrey?”
“He claimed that Godfrey tried to kill him while they were alone on the bay,” said Shayne, “but lost his nerve at the last moment. He was afraid the attempt on his life would be repeated last night, and came to me for protection.”
“Then Godfrey must have done it later — instead of in the afternoon as I suspected,” said Gibson excitedly. “Now that you have Shayne’s confirmation,” he added, turning to Gentry, “do you still refuse to arrest Godfrey for murder?”
“First, let’s clear up this telephone call Brewer spoke of,” Shayne interjected hastily. “Could your secretary or someone else have taken it and forgotten to tell you?”
“No,” Gibson stated flatly. “My secretary had the afternoon off and I was alone in the office. You must have misunderstood him.” He paused, frowned, then went on impatiently. “Perhaps he did plan to see me. He knows I often work late.”
Shayne said, “All right. Perhaps I misunderstood him. If he did reach your office late — around six — after you left, would anyone have seen him?”
“Probably not. I have a ground-floor suite with a private entrance in the arcade.”
“Look, Mike,” growled Gentry, “maybe I had better pull Godfrey off that plane. If Brewer actually expected to be murdered.”
Shayne said wearily, “You tell them, Hank.”
Henry Black had been silent since they entered the office. He took a black notebook from his pocket, flipped the pages, and began to read in a monotone.
“Phone call five twenty-six from Mike Shayne. Milton Brewer of Godfrey and Brewer in his office to hire me and another operative to keep a close tail on his partner, Hiram Godfrey, suspected of intention to murder. Two hundred and expenses to shadow subject entire night and see off on eight-o’clock plane. Subject placed supposedly at firm’s office on West Flagler, blue Buick convertible parked outside. Description of subject—”
“Cut that part for the moment,” Shayne interrupted. “Give Gentry what he wants fast. You can go over the details later.”
Black closed the notebook and resumed. “Mathews and I found the Buick convertible parked outside the office when we arrived at five thirty-four. Lights were on in the office, but shades down. We waited until five forty-eight when a man answering Godfrey’s description came out the front door after turning out all the lights. He got in the Buick, and we tailed him. We didn’t lose him for a single instant until that plane took off this morning. Every movement is written down here, and Mathews kept his own report for corroboration.” He tapped the notebook with a thin forefinger and added plaintively, “And for that job somebody owes me two hundred bucks and expenses.”