Brett Halliday: Call for Michael Shayne

“Because he told me he’d never worn a hat — didn’t even own one. I don’t know much about amnesia, but I reasoned that a habit like that would still cling to a man. I also wondered,” Shayne went on, “why the third man had left Devlin alive, after killing Skid, with a ten grand roll in his pocket.”

“But from Marge’s story,” Devlin cut in, “Tommy thought it was only a thousand. He probably didn’t count it, but just stuck it in my pocket and left me lying there, thinking that if I did live it would be evidence that I had murdered Skid. In that way, I would be put out of the way without him actually having to murder me. We really were good friends,” he ended thoughtfully, “and I can’t help feeling that he regrets what he was forced, through circumstances, to do.”

“It must have been quite a shock to both of them,” said Shayne, “to have you suddenly reappear in the flesh when they both thought you were dead. Or did Skid know he was still alive?” he asked Gentry.

“Marge says he did. She claims she told Skid the next day that she dressed Devlin in her husband’s old clothes and got him out of her place onto the street before he came to.”

“I don’t understand how just a blow on the head could make a man wake up feeling the way I did in that room,” Devlin said wonderingly. “I was so sure it was a horrible hang-over combined with the ship rolling on a rough sea at first.”

Shayne’s big mouth spread into a grin. “I expect it was the gin Joey Jerome drank before Marge sent him up to Skid. And maybe she spared you a little dope from her private supply.”

“You don’t look any too good yet,” drawled Gentry.

“Then we can assume that Thompson went berserk when he saw you and Skid together in that room,” Shayne mused. “He thought Skid had double-crossed him and was keeping you alive — holding you as a witness against him. In the fight that ensued he got hold of your blackjack and battered Skid’s head in.”

“Thompson will tell us the whole thing,” said Gentry confidently, “after we put the screws on.”

“What about Marge Jerome?” asked Shayne.

Gentry looked at Devlin and chuckled. “I don’t know what the charge will be against her. If you want to swear out a complaint of abduction — or seduction—?”

“Not I,” said Devlin hastily. “I don’t ever want to see her again.”

“One thing,” said Shayne, “still isn’t explained. How she got to work so early yesterday morning — in time to be so nice to me before you and Painter got to Thompson’s office.”

“Thompson telephoned her to get there fast. He recognized you, Shayne, after knocking you out when you caught him in the midst of messing up his own office. By that time he was getting plenty scared. He didn’t want the death of a detective added to the other things against him. He needed her to take care of you while he rushed away to plan the dramatic little scene he pulled later on.”

Arthur Devlin came slowly to his feet. “It seems to me the worst thing in the whole business was his killing Janet.” He stretched his arms, yawned widely, and added, “I’m going home and get some sleep.”

“I think a cruise in the Caribbean would do you a lot of good, Devlin,” Shayne called after him as he went toward the door.