“Certainly. But I assure you Julia is perfectly well and safe. One moment. A Miss Elizabeth Connaught. She lives with her parents.” He gave Shayne a West Palm Beach street address and telephone number.
Shayne made a note of it, thanked him, and his wide mouth was set in grim lines when he cradled the receiver.
This information meant that Dorinda had lied like hell to him last night — or Julia Lansdowne had lied like hell to her father today. The latter was just as possible as the former, but why the devil, if she were Julia Lansdowne, had she hurried back to Palm Beach without letting him know where she was after leaving his apartment? She must have realized he would start a search for her when she didn’t go to Lucy Hamilton, and that he would almost certainly contact her parents when he failed to find her.
Shayne swore under his breath. She had been ashamed and terrified, of course. But if she had trusted him at all—
He couldn’t let it drop now. He had to know the truth. Even though Dorinda was safe in Palm Beach, there was still Mrs. Davis to consider.
He got up abruptly and stalked to the outer office where Lucy was preparing to go out for lunch. He grinned and asked, “Want to go for a ride — to make up for last night?”
Lucy’s brown eyes brightened. “I wasn’t really sore, Michael. I just thought I’d show you.”
“I’m driving up to Palm Beach and may need a chaperon.” His grin widened and he added, “I imagine she’ll have on her clothes this afternoon.”
“To Palm Beach? Wait — I’ll get my hat.”
Chapter XV
Michael Shayne and his secretary stopped for lunch at a seaside restaurant in Hollywood. During the drive from Miami, Shayne had gone over everything with Lucy, trying to clarify his own thoughts.
Lucy had listened in silence, and now as they sat at a small table with breakers crashing on the shore less than fifty feet away, she said thoughtfully, “It seems to me that Mrs. Davis is the one you should be worried about right now. Actually, Mr. Brewer’s death isn’t any concern of yours.”
“It is indirectly. It was I who put Hank Black on the job and helped provide Godfrey with an alibi,” he reminded her, “if the dead man is Brewer, and Gibson’s solution is correct.”
“But Mrs. Davis is your client.” Lucy frowned, and her brown eyes were anxious. “I liked her, Michael. I think it was grand the way she came to the help of her friend, and the way she actually defended Julia and wasn’t shocked by her nude dancing. She seemed so honest and so nice. If anything has happened to her it will be terrible.”
Shayne nodded and said morosely, “I have much the same feeling. And I’m afraid something has happened to her. Otherwise she certainly would have gotten in touch with me. As soon as we get a look at the Lansdowne girl we’ll know how much of Mrs. Davis’s story was the truth.”
Lucy looked surprised and disturbed. “What makes you doubt her, Michael?”
“If Julia Lansdowne isn’t Dorinda,” Shayne pointed out, “we’ll know Mrs. Davis was lying from the word go. Don’t forget that she claimed to have been at La Roma and recognized the dancer as the daughter of her old friend.”
“And I believe every word of it,” said Lucy staunchly. “I had the inter-com open during her interview with you, and’ she sounded awfully sincere to me.”
“Yeh.” Shayne tugged at his ear lobe while the waiter removed the luncheon dishes. When coffee with ponies of brandy was served, he continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I think we’ll discover that Julia and Dorinda are the same person. I’m inclined to believe she just got frightened after going down the fire escape last night, and hurried back to Palm Beach on a sudden impulse — hoping to bluff it out and pretend she’d been there all the time when inquiries were made. But I still don’t understand why she didn’t get in touch with me and explain what she had done,” he ended disgustedly.
“I understand now,” Lucy mused, “why you asked me this morning whether I noticed any sign of recognition between Mrs. Davis and Mr. Brewer. That was before you knew which of the partners was Judge Lansdowne’s friend.”
Shayne nodded, lacing cognac into his cup of steaming coffee.
After a moment of deep reflection Lucy asked, “Have you thought that it might have been Hiram Godfrey who sent that picture of Dorinda and the anonymous note to Mrs. Lansdowne?”
Shayne jerked his head up and looked at her in amazement. “Godfrey — a blackmailer? The judge’s friend?”
“I’m not accusing him, Michael. But I’m remembering something you said to Mrs. Davis near the beginning of the interview, after you read the unsigned note. You asked her, ‘Do you think this note is in the nature of a threat? Or a friendly gesture by someone who felt her parents should know the truth?’”
“I remember asking that. The note was signed, ‘A Friend.’ And it merely said, ‘Would this sort of publicity help Julia’s father?’ It could be construed either way.”
“Don’t you see? That’s why I wonder if Mr. Godfrey sent it. From what you’ve said about him, he’s the sort of man who might go to a place like La Roma. If he did, and recognized Dorinda as the daughter of an old friend, he might have felt that the family should know about it and get her away from there.”
Shayne scowled and took a drink of coffee. “But if he was a friend, wouldn’t he have let the judge know privately?”
“I don’t think so, Michael. You remember how insistent Mrs. Davis was that the judge shouldn’t know. I think women are more capable of accepting a situation like that than men,” she said simply. “A man might go all to pieces and disown his daughter — or something. But a mother would be apt to react exactly as Mrs. Lansdowne did. She would accept the situation and do whatever needed to be done.”
Shayne said, “By God, Lucy, you may have put your finger on something. All the time I’ve been going along on the assumption that Ricky Moran was trying to blackmail the Lansdownes, and that he probably got to Mrs. Davis after she had been to my office.
“Which he might have done,” he went on meditatively, “even though he hadn’t sent the picture and note and knew nothing about it. I’m assuming that he knew Mrs. Davis was at La Roma trying to see Dorinda, and was determined to prevent any contact between the two. Let’s get on to Palm Beach and settle one thing for certain before we do any more guessing.” He arose abruptly and laid a bill on the table to cover the check and tip.
The Connaught residence was an unobtrusive two-story house of native rock set in the center of an unpretentious garden. Shayne parked his car in front, and they went up the walk to a colonnaded porch where he rang the bell. It was answered by a maid whose friendly smile slowly faded when Shayne said, “We would like to see Miss Julia Lansdowne, please.”
The maid shook her head and avoided his eyes. “Miss Lansdowne is not in, I’m afraid.”
“When do you expect her back?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Who is it, Jennie?” A clear young voice floated out from the interior of the house. The maid jerked her head around and said confusedly, “Some people to see Miss Julia. I told them—”
“A lie, I think,” said Shayne, raising his voice. “We’re friends of Dorinda’s, Miss Connaught, and if you want to keep your friend’s secret, you’d better let us in.”
There was a brief silence; then the sound of light footsteps running down the stairway and approaching the door.
“I’ll take care of this, Jennie,” the voice said firmly. The maid hurried away, and an obviously frightened girl stood before them and declared, “I don’t know any Dorinda, and I’m quite sure Julia doesn’t. If you want me to give her a message—”