Brett Halliday: Call for Michael Shayne

“Janet? Who the hell is Janet?” asked the doctor.

“Don’t you remember, Tommy?” Devlin was leaning forward and the words tumbled out. “Lily Masters’s sister. I told all of you that night at the party. She was to meet me on the cruise. She was coming down from New York to meet me because I handled the insurance on Mrs. Masters, and—”

“And she was suspicious about her sister’s death,” Doctor Thompson said slowly. “I remember something about it. You had a couple of letters from her suggesting that Lily Masters was murdered. Some crazy notion she had—”

“Her letters weren’t crazy,” Devlin broke in, the glitter coming into his eyes, his voice strong with excitement. “She wrote me about a crazy, mixed-up letter she had received from her sister before she died. It seems that Mrs. Masters had written her about being blackmailed by someone.”

“And she wanted to talk it over with someone who had known her sister here,” Thompson recalled. “By the merest coincidence you both planned a vacation cruise on the Belle of the Caribbean.”

“Coincidence?” Devlin said, and was silently thoughtful for a time. “Why, no — I seem to recall writing her that I was going on a vacation trip and she wrote back that it would be a pleasant way for us to get together and talk things over.”

Doctor Thompson sat puffing on a cigarette and bobbing his head as Devlin spoke. “It’s kind of vague in my mind,” he said. “Maybe we all had had a few drinks when you told us about this — Janet.”

“Listen to this, Tommy, and see what you make of it.” He began to read slowly:

“Dear Arthur Devlin:

“I don’t understand at all. I am going to mail this to your Miami address, presuming you will eventually return there. You made me so very happy those first days after we met and you set my mind free about dear Lily.

“And I — shall I say it? I shall. I’m not a child to shrink from admitting the truth. I felt that we had come to know each other very well by the time we reached Cuba. I looked forward to seeing you a great deal during the remainder of the voyage. I — well, I won’t say what I have in mind because I’m mystified, but are you good at reading between the lines, Arthur Devlin?

“Anyway, when you disappeared without warning and with no explanation to anyone, without even taking your luggage, I didn’t know what to think.

“I was horribly upset, Arthur, when you did not return. The captain held up the boat for two hours, you know, while the Havana police searched for you — in every hospital and every hotel — and believe it or not, Arthur, in all the dives. But no trace of you.

“And your radiogram the next day. Just the two words. Don’t worry. As though I could help worrying! I am consumed with worry and with curiosity. If you receive this before I reach New York, please radio me that everything is all right.

“Most sincerely, Janet.”

Doctor Thompson had slid to a comfortable position in his chair as Devlin read the letter. He sprang to an erect position and asked, “What was she like, Art?”

“Like?” asked Devlin, puzzled. “Why, I never saw her in my life. I–I only know her by correspondence.” He grinned slowly and said, “I get it, Tommy. You’re still trying to catch me up. But what do you make of this letter? Looks as though the impostor took her in thoroughly. Sounds like she was beginning to fall for him. Then he jumped ship in Havana without explaining to anyone.”

“And leaving your things aboard,” Thompson commented dryly. “It would have drawn much less attention if he had explained that he was leaving the ship and had taken your things with him. Particularly since it appears the young lady was falling for him.”

Devlin was watching his friend narrowly, hopefully, certain now that he would respond with a solution after hearing the letter.

“Come off it, Art,” Thompson said. His whole expression was grim, but there was a pleading tone in his voice. “How long are you going to keep up this pretense?”

“I’ve told you—”

“A pack of lies,” Thompson interrupted. “A pack of silly lies that no schoolboy would expect to be believed. How can you keep it up after reading that letter to me? It’s perfectly clear that you were on board the ship as far as Havana where you disappeared under peculiar circumstances.”

The shock of Thompson’s accusations brought the sharp pain to Devlin’s temple again. Nausea roiled up from his stomach and gagged in his throat. His stomach flattened against his backbone, and his hands shook. He clasped his fingers convulsively, straining to get hold of himself. “What makes you so certain it was me?” he said hoarsely. “I told you — I’ve never laid eyes on Janet. We just wrote a couple of letters back and forth. All an impostor had to do was play it cagey and let her do the talking while he pretended to be Arthur Devlin.”

“That might have worked except for one small detail,” said Thompson wearily.

“What — what’s that?” Devlin gasped.

“The information she wanted about Mrs. Masters’s death from you. She said in the letter you’d made her happy by clearing everything up. How could anybody else accomplish a miracle like that by just being cagey and keeping his mouth shut?”

Devlin’s mouth and his tongue and his lips felt dry. “You mean — despite everything I’ve told you — you still believe I was aboard the Belle and jumped the ship at Havana?” He was leaning tensely forward, his short fingers interlaced, shifting back and forth, thumbs alternately squeezing each other.

Doctor Thompson sprang up and took a turn around the coffee table, running his fingers through his thick, black hair. He picked up the decanter of bourbon and poured himself half a drink, resumed his seat, and poured the drink down his throat. He flipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth and said:

“Look, Art. I’m not a psychiatrist, I’m not a specialist of any kind. I’m just a medical doctor. But, I’m your friend. You called me over here because I’m your friend. Oh, I know I’m your doctor, too, if you ever need one.

“But everything in this thing adds up. Can’t you see it? Your radiogram to me, that letter from Janet. If you take my advice you’ll give up this story about not remembering the trip to Havana. If you still like amnesia as a defense, play it smart and give out a story that has some chance of being believed. Admit reaching Havana and think up some sort of trouble that caused you to miss the boat. Then, in the next day or so you could remember getting into a fight and blanking out. Nobody could prove that didn’t happen.”

Devlin’s head was lolling against the back of his chair. A great weariness surged through him, and he heard his friend’s voice as though it came through a fog. But his mind was alert, discarding everything except that which he actually remembered. A radiogram to Janet would reveal a lot. He had to contact her, see her, and learn the truth.

Devlin got up, went over to the desk, saying, “No matter how it strikes you, Tommy, I’m telling the truth. I’m not a very good liar. If I started lying to the police they’d have me backed into a corner and squirming in twenty minutes.” He pulled a drawer open and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil.

“Wait, Art,” Thompson pleaded. “Don’t forget you’ve got a good reputation and plenty of reputable friends. If you’d just lie low — wait and let things develop—”

“It’s no use,” Devlin said flatly. “I’m going to send Janet a long radiogram to Key West. I’m going to do everything I can to get at the bottom of this thing. If I was on that boat — well, I want to know the truth, no matter what it is.”