Brett Halliday - Dividend on Death

She pattered along after him. “I think Mr. Montrose is in the library.”

“That’s just swell,” Shayne grunted. “I’ll see him after I get through talking to myself.” He went up the front stairway, and the maid followed him after a moment of hesitation.

Shayne turned on her when he reached the top. “Which is Mr. Brighton’s room?”

“But you can’t disturb him, sir. It’s strictly against the doctor’s orders.”

“No doctor,” Shayne told her, “can keep me from seeing anybody I want to see. Show me his room before I start opening doors.”

“Very well, sir,” she said in an exasperated be-it-on-your-own-head manner, and led the way to the end of the left wing. She knocked gently on a closed door and stood obstinately before it so that Shayne would have to move her forcibly aside to enter.

The door opened a trifle, and a slender girl in a white starched uniform slipped out and closed it behind her. She was very young and small, with rosy cheeks and honest gray eyes.

“What is it?” She looked past the maid at Shayne.

“This- gentleman,” with a jerk of her shoulder toward Shayne, “insists on disturbing Mr. Brighton.” She slipped aside and glared at Shayne.

“Oh, no.” The nurse shook her head decidedly. “It’s strictly against the doctor’s orders.”

Shayne brushed past the maid and stood close to the nurse. The top of her stiff white cap was not as high as his chin. She looked up at him calmly.

He said irritably, “I’m not going to eat your patient. I simply want to look at him. Certainly there’s no harm in that.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I can’t let you in.” The maid turned and stalked away.

Shayne smiled beguilingly and patted the girl’s cheek. “Be an angel,” he urged.

“You’ll have to get permission from the doctor,” she told him earnestly.

Shayne chuckled. “Right on the job, aren’t you, sister? Where’s the nurse I saw last night? The tall one with the come-hither eyes and the sex appeal in every movement. Now, she’d let me in.”

The girl’s gray eyes twinkled merrily. “Perhaps she would. You mean Miss Hunt? On night duty?”

“The doc called her Charlotte,” Shayne said.

“She’s off duty now, resting in her room down the hall. We’re changing shifts today. I stay on until midnight, then she relieves me.”

“That would be my luck.” Shayne sighed lugubriously. “Of course,” he went on, “I could like you just as well if you weren’t so tough about sticking to orders.”

“But I am.” She smiled, but made no move to step away from the door. Her eyes frankly questioned him.

“I’m a detective,” he told her bluntly. “There was murder done here last night. Better let me in to give your patient the once-over-else I’ll have to waken Pedique and get a certificate of admission.”

She hesitated, then smiled shyly and said, “You’re Mr. Shayne, aren’t you?” He nodded, and she went on. “I’ve seen your picture in the papers. I guess it’ll be all right, though Mr. Brighton is asleep. If you’ll promise not to awaken him-”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse with rubbers on,” Shayne assured her.

She opened the door and stepped silently inside. Shayne tiptoed after her into the sickroom. An east window was open, and a gentle breeze blew in, invigoratingly fresh, mingling with the faint odor of antiseptics permeating the room. A white screen stretched out before the bed. The nurse went to it softly, holding out her hand behind her as a signal for quiet.

Shayne moved up behind her, taking the soft hand in his and squeezing it as he leaned over her shoulder and peered at the sleeping patient. His face was turned toward them and he was breathing easily. An emaciated and bloodless face, ghastly in repose. He had been a large man, but illness had stripped his body down to the framework of bones. One talonlike hand lay outside the sheet, loosely gripping an open fountain pen. Ink had smeared the tips of his fingers and made a blotch on the sheet. The nurse drew her hand away from Shayne’s grasp, leaned forward, and gently took the pen from the sleeping man’s clutch.

She straightened up, and her shoulders pressed against Shayne’s chest. The man’s appearance had been photographically caught by the detective, and he moved back softly.

The nurse smiled and whispered, “He insists on trying to write letters in bed and is always making a mess.” She placed the fountain pen on an enameled table.

Shayne studied the pen as the girl moved toward the door. It was of odd design, filigreed with white gold. His hand darted out and picked up the pen, slipped it in his breast pocket with the point up as he strolled casually toward the door.

The nurse stepped outside with him and closed the door, leaned back against it. “Is that all you wanted?”

Shayne grinned engagingly and said, “I could use your telephone number.”

The girl smiled up at him but made no reply.

Shayne went on more seriously. “You might give me dope on the general setup over here. How long have you been on the case?”

“Ever since they arrived.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes. In Miami.”

“How did you happen to come on the case? Know Pedique before?”

“No. They called the Nursing Registry, and I happened to be the next on the list.”

“I see.” Shayne hesitated. “And Miss Hunt-was she employed in the same manner?”

“Oh, no. She’s from New York. She came down with them.”

Shayne considered that. Then he said, “And she has a room, stays here all the time?”

“Yes.” She smiled again. “So you don’t need her telephone number.”

“I’d still like to have yours,” Shayne said, but went on without giving her time to reply. “Which is the other nurse’s room? I think I’ll bother her with a few questions while I’m here.”

“I’m sure,” the girl told him sedately, “Charlotte won’t mind if you bother her.” There was a hint of malice in her voice.

Shayne glanced at her sharply. “Not jealous?” he drawled.

“Of course not. You flatter yourself.” She laughed softly and started down the hall. “I’ll show you her room. The only thing is,” she continued as Shayne swung along beside her, “that Charlotte very nearly drove me crazy asking questions about you when she went off duty this morning. She likes her men big and rough and redheaded.” She threw Shayne an impish glance.

“That gal’s got good judgment,” Shayne said. “I hope you didn’t tell her anything about me to cool her off.”

The nurse flushed. “I didn’t know anything to tell her. Only what I read in the newspapers.” She stopped before a closed door.

“That’s your fault. You could know all about me if you’d give me that phone number.”

She smiled at him and tapped on the door, then turned the knob and stuck her head inside.

“Here’s the boy friend, Charlotte.”

She stepped back, and Shayne went into the room as a sleepy voice asked, “What-who?”

The room was a replica of the room Phyllis Brighton had taken him to, both in size and furnishings. The nurse’s blond head lay on the pillow. Her eyes were only half open.

They opened wide when Shayne pulled up a chair by the bed and sat down. “Oh, it’s you, big boy?” Her voice was no longer a sleepy drawl.

“It’s me.” He grinned at her. “I thought you might be lonesome.”

“And how!” Charlotte exclaimed fervently. Her long body was fully clothed, and she moved restlessly on the bed.

Shayne’s gaze traveled over her. He said, “Did you by any chance mean that come-hither look you tossed me last night?”

She giggled. “They’ve kept me cooped up here till I’d give most any man the glad eye.”