Jay Carroll - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 4, August 1957 (British Edition)

Seton cracked. With an odd little animal cry, he flung himself at the redhead, fingers clawed as if he wanted to scratch out his eyes. Shayne caught him easily, held him as he struggled in futility to damage his accuser.

The little man shouted, “All right, so I shot him. But they’re all guilty — every one of them! Why don’t you arrest them all, too? Why don’t you—”

Shayne shut him up with a ringing slap across the mouth, then pushed him into the arms of Len Sturgis. “Better get him out of here,” he said, “before he tries to get you to arrest yourself.”

When police and killer were gone, A. E. Borden stamped out her cigarette and said, “It might be wise if we pooled to get him a lawyer smart enough to make the little swine keep his trap shut.” Then, when no one else spoke, “Well, shall we start the bidding again?”

“Oh, no! ” cried Lois Malcolm “Not after...”

“Why not?” drawled A. E. Borden. “In this instance, it seems to me there is no time like the present. How about it, Mike? You’ve done a good day’s work already. You ought to be paid for it.” She paused, added, “I’ll pay you an extra ten thousand just to learn what you did with that ever-loving document.”

“If you’ve really got it,” said Donald Malcolm, a mite doubtfully.

“I’ve got it, all right,” said Shayne, smiling faintly. “Don’t worry about that. But I have a question or two I’d like to ask.” He eyed the Malcolms, added: “Malcolm, when I crashed your office as Duke Ferrell, you made a remark that pulled me. You said that your wife was supposed to ‘take care’ of me this morning. Since you obviously didn’t know Ferrell was dead, I didn’t query you then...”

He paused to tug at his left ear, then said, “Lois, did you come here this morning to collect that damned paper and pay for it?” And, at her nod, “How much?”

She said, “Ten thousand dollars. Duke said he was letting it go cheap, because he had been fond of Henry Waldemar, and knew Waldemar had liked me.”

“I see,” said the detective. He swung on A. E. Borden and asked, “How much were you willing to pay for it?”

“Fifty grand,” the green-eyed woman said quietly. “Seventy-five if I had to. Our negotiations hadn’t progressed that far. Why? I just made you a better offer.”

“I think,” said Shayne, “that sixty-five grand difference is the reason Seton killed him. Lois, you were just a little too attractive. You charmed Ferrell into selling too cheaply for his health.”

Lois Malcolm’s hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes grew round with horror. But A. E. Borden said, “Who cares why the little beast killed him. Shayne, what about that paper? Are you ready to listen to reason — or money?”

Shayne took a walk around the oyster-white sofa, finally came to a halt in a spot where he could look at all three of them. “You,” he told them, “are all damned attractive people. Lois Craig, if I hadn’t half-fallen in love with you, years ago, I never would have taken the case on at all — and frankly, I wish to heaven I hadn’t. Malcolm, you’re a nice guy, a talented character, a man people like and trust instinctively. As for you, A. E.” — he paused and shook his head — “You made my girl jealous.”

“Thank you!” said A. E., her green eyes bright with speculation.

“Don’t bother,” said Shayne. He paused, went on with, “There’s just one thing wrong with all of you — for one reason or another, you all crave power the way a drunkard craves whisky. And wanting power has made all of you ugly. It has made Lois a conniving, truthless cheat, ostensibly on behalf of her husband’s career. It has made her husband a thief at least once, perhaps more — I wouldn’t know. And you, A. E. — your craving has turned you into a caricature of everything a man wants in a woman.”

“Just a minute, Shayne,” Malcolm rose from the sofa he was sharing with his wife. “Just because you hold the whip-hand, you can’t talk that way to—”

Shayne stared him down, then said wearily, “Do I have to knock some sense into you again , Malcolm — or can’t you face a truth? Anyway, the sermon’s over. Go ahead and have your proxy fight. I can’t stop you. But, if I took a dime from any of you over this mess, I’d be right down to your level — and I have no intention of sinking that far while I’m conscious. Yes, I have that damned paper — but I don’t intend to have it long.”

“ Mike! You’re not going to—” Lois began.

“I’m going to destroy it,” the redhead told them.

There was a long, heavy silence. Then A. E. picked up her glittering green purse and stole, and rose grasefully from the chair she had been occupying. “In that case,” she said, “I’ll be going. I know when I’m licked.” She glanced at the Malcolms, added, “But I’ll have at least two seats, on your precious board of directors, come New Year’s Eve, and there’s always a next time.”

Passing Shayne en route to the door, she said, “Mike, you’re exciting when you’re angry. See you later.”

It was long after midnight when Shayne climbed out of his sedan in front of the dark business building where he had his office — but a slim, elegant figure detached itself from the shadows by the entrance and moved into the glow of the corner street lamp. It was A. E. Borden, still clad in the glittering, skin-fitting dress and stole.

“It’s all right, Mike,” she said, opening her evening bag. “See? No artillery.”

Hands on hips, he surveyed her magnificent body with a faint, sardonic smile. “Okay, so I won’t have to frisk you in that outfit. But what in hell are you here for?”

“Mike,” she said quietly, “when I’m outfoxed, I can’t sleep until I know how it was done. I told you I’d pay ten grand to find out what you did with that paper.” Reading his expression correctly, she added hastily, “I’m alone — this time.”

“How did you know I was coming here?” he asked sharply.

She smiled up at him enigmatically, said, “Because we searched your apartment, and it wasn’t there. So you had to come here, if you mean to destroy it. I’ve been waiting.” She nodded toward a Cadillac across the street.

“So I see,” he said. “Now run along home.”

“No, Mike,” she pleaded. “Please — I’ve got to know.”

If she had come close to him, if she had touched him, he would have sent her away. But she did none of these obvious, feminine things. She merely stood there and asked him. To his amazement, he heard himself growl, “Okay, then, come along — but no tricks.”

Not until the office door was safely locked behind him, did he permit himself to relax. Even then, he walked warily, with this glamorous peril so close at hand. He ushered her into the inner office, let her take his usual chair, behind his desk. He lit cigarettes for both of them, perched on the comer and looked down at her, thinking she looked absurdly elegant and feminine in such a spot, for all of her ruthless, executive genius.

She said, “Mike, I’m still waiting.”

“Okay, then,” he repeated, running a hand through his red hair. “You know, you were right about my having the paper on my person — up to a point. The damnedest part of the whole business is that I didn’t know where it was until about three minutes before you crashed the party at the Duke’s cottage.”

She looked at him, frowning slightly, her lips parted. “You didn’t know...? No wonder you were so convincing about not having it. You must have thought I was crazy.”

“I never thought that!” he told her drily. “The tip off came this evening, when I told the Malcolms to go home, and Seton, very much the butler, picked up Malcolm’s hat and handed it to him. You see, he handed me my hat this morning, when I first went to Ferrell’s cottage. He must have been scared the cops would find it on him and nail him as the Duke’s killer, so he took advantage of the opportunity to unload it on me. He planned to contact me later and make some sort of a deal.”