Brett Halliday - The Corpse Came Calling

“Yes,” Barton admitted. He fumbled in his pocket, studying Shayne through narrowed eyes. His lips were compressed. He said, “Your guesses seem to be quite correct.”

“It wasn’t all guesswork. You caught a train from New York the afternoon of the holdup-the paper said the junior member of the firm was recalled from a vacation trip to the Caribbean-and you were the only one connected with the crime who did leave New York. The money had completely disappeared.” Shayne spread out his manacled hands. “When you told the story of the claim check torn into three pieces I knew you and Lacy and Morgan must have planned the holdup and got the money out of town that way.”

Barton knelt by the pigskin suitcase with a small flat key in his hand. He showed the same composure now that had aided his masquerade as a G-man. He sighed as the suitcase came open. “There you are, Mr. Shayne.”

Rourke’s eyes popped out on stems. He stooped down with Gentry and Shayne to look at the contents of the suitcase. Nestled among rumpled clothing, a short length of bright steel chain was attached to the money bag, and it was still locked with two heavy padlocks.

Shayne nodded and told Gentry, “There’s supposed to be over a hundred grand there.”

He turned to Barton. “There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why in the name of God did you and Lacy and Helen and Morgan sit around two months without doing anything about claiming this?”

Barton smiled grimly. “I doubt whether you will believe my explanation, but it happens to be true.” He sighed, “You see, I have a conscience.”

“Not enough of one to prevent you from helping plan and carry out a fake holdup.”

The broker compressed his lips. “That was entirely different. The loss was covered by Lacy’s bond. And I was desperate for cash. When one has a wife who-but I need not go into that. No, Mr. Shayne. I did not balk at tipping off Lacy when he carried an exceptionally valuable load, and helping to dispose of the loot. But my conscience simply would not allow me to help steal the money again from one of my partners who was in jail for a crime of which I was equally guilty. I started plans at once to effect Morgan’s release from prison-hoping to accomplish that before the suitcase was sold at auction as unclaimed baggage.”

“Lacy and Helen Morgan tried to get you to throw in with them,” Shayne guessed. “But you refused to double-cross Mace Morgan.”

“That,” Barton told him, “is correct.”

“And you held the whip hand with your third of the claim check-until an ex-con named Harry Houseman held you up and got the piece of cardboard from your safe. You knew he and Lacy were getting together to cut both you and Morgan out. So you got in touch with Morgan, bribed a guard to help him escape, and gave him money to come to Florida. But you were afraid Morgan might fail to stop Houseman and Lacy, so you went to Washington and bribed a telegraph agent to send a fake wire over Hoover’s name-hoping it would serve to hold Lacy until you got here.”

“I still don’t get half this talk,” Gentry rumbled. “Here, let me unlock those cuffs, Mike. Who is Harry Houseman?”

Shayne held out his hands. “Horse-face, whom Barton gut-shot in the restroom just now to keep the beans from being spilled. He used the name of Gorstmann in Miami,” Shayne went on, “and he faked a story of Gestapo terrorism to force Otto Phleugar to give him the job of headwaiter at the Danube Restaurant. He had a good reason for doing that because the New York police wanted him for robbery and he knew about the close check we keep on criminal haunts here in Miami. By getting a legitimate job at the Danube he had a much better chance of avoiding arrest while he arranged to grab the loot. Had me fooled for a time,” Shayne said ruefully, “because it seemed to tie up with Barton’s concocted spy story.”

“Gorstmann? The fellow whose car was used yesterday?”

Shayne nodded. “His two torpedoes were driving it when they stopped Lacy on the causeway.”

Gentry transferred the handcuffs to the Wall Street broker, who held his wrists out to receive them. There was a look of acceptance on Barton’s face, as though he was glad the whole thing was over.

Tim Rourke grabbed Shayne’s arm as the redhead started to turn away. “You knew all along this guy’s spy story was a fairy tale,” he charged. “Why in hell didn’t you tip me off, Mike?”

“And have you spread it on the front page? In the first place I wanted Barton to play his string out. I didn’t actually know where all the pieces of the claim check were until early this morning. And by that time it was too late to tell you anything. Neither you nor Gentry would have believed a word I said.”

“If that bag is what you say it is,” Gentry interrupted gruffly, “there’ll be a nice reward from the bonding company for you, Mike.”

Shayne grinned. “I’ll have to admit that playing it this way to the end I won’t have to split the reward money half a dozen ways. That might have had something to do with me keeping my mouth shut all along.” He swung away, adding, “I think I have a wife waiting for me at home-with another thousand I collected by being cagey.”

He paused, struck by a sudden thought. He turned back. “That reminds me of something, Will. I’ve got two hundred bucks that belongs to Jim Lacy or his estate. Now that I’ve managed to collect a fee from other sources, I’ll turn it over to you.”

The eyes of the desk clerk lighted up when Shayne stepped into the lobby of his hotel. He leaned across the desk and called, “I’m glad your wife got back okay, Mr. Shayne. You looked worried last night.”

Shayne said, “I was worried. Did she come in by herself?”

“Well, I didn’t see her come in. But I was on the switchboard when she put in that call last night. I’ll tell you, her voice sounded good to me.”

Shayne halted on his way to the elevators. He frowned and went back to the desk. “Did you say Phyllis put in a call last night?”

“Sure. Not long after Mr. Gentry called you. I didn’t listen in more than enough to find out it was Mr. Gentry calling,” he added hastily. “But I knew something was up because you had told me to trace any calls.”

Shayne said, “That’s all right.”

“So when Mrs. Shayne made the call I knew she was home again. She must’ve gone up the service stairs.”

Shayne said, “She must have. But I appreciate your interest,” and went on to the elevator.

Phyllis met him with a rush when he opened the door. He caught her up in his arms and held her tightly for a moment. “Is everything okay, angel? Those mugs didn’t hurt you?”

“Not a bit. That headwaiter at the Danube-seemed to be the boss. Oh, Mike, did things turn out all right? I’ve been frightened. From the terrible things Tim said about you when I untied him-”

“Everything turned out swell.” Shayne interrupted her with a hearty laugh. “Is Tim’s face red! But he got his story and I got-what I wanted. But the next time I have a case you’re going to be locked in a padded cell. I’ll see to that.” He picked her up and carried her across the room and dumped her into a chair, stood over her with hands placed on his hips. “Tell me why the devil you disobeyed my orders and left the Danube. I had some bad moments on account of you last night.”

“I’m sorry, Mike. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. That girl-the one with the heliotrope perfume-kept watching me and I was sure she’d seen me with you before you left the table. Then I got the impression that she was planning to slip out while you were gone, so when that gunman came in and spoke to her and they left together I thought you’d want me to follow her.” She smiled up at her husband.