Brett Halliday - Michael Shayne’s Triple Mystery

“Could be. If there was any such man. The timing is screwy and hard to figure out. Guildford claims his appointment was for nine, and he waited half an hour. It was well past ten when the mugs got back to Renaldo’s office. That leaves it open either way. Guildford could have waited until nine-thirty and then driven away just before the Captain returned with Blackie and Lennie trailing him. Or Guildford may have deliberately pushed the time up a little. Until we know why Guildford went there—” Shayne threw out his hands in a futile gesture.

He poured himself another drink and demanded, “Where’s that logbook you mentioned, and the clipping about the shipwreck?”

She reached for her handbag and unsnapped the heavy gold clasp. She drew out an aged, brass-hinged, and leatherbound book with Ship’s Log stamped on the front in gilt letters.

Shayne opened it and looked at the flyleaf. It was inscribed: Property of Captain Thomas Anthony Samuels. April 2, 1902.

“The clipping is in the back,” Myrna told him. “Lucky I saw it and made up a story that Chief Gentry would swallow.”

Shayne said, “Don’t kid yourself that he swallowed it. He knows damned well it wasn’t coincidence that put me at the scene of the murder.” He turned the logbook upside down and shook out a yellowed and brittle newspaper clipping from the Miami Daily News dated June 17, 1930. There was a picture of a big man in a nautical uniform with the caption: SAVED AT SEA.

Shayne read the news item swiftly. It gave a dramatic account of the sea rescue of Captain Samuels, owner, master, and sole survivor of the auxiliary launch Mermaid which was lost in a tropical hurricane off the Florida coast three days before the Captain was rescued by a fishing craft. He had heroically stayed afloat in a life preserver for three days and nights.

“Where,” asked Shayne, “was the book when you found it?”

“In a small recess in the rock wall at the head of his bed. The bedding was all mussed up as though the room had been hastily searched, and the bed was pulled away from the wall. That’s how I saw the logbook. Normally, the wooden headboard must have stood against the wall, hiding the recess.”

Shayne began thoughtfully flipping the pages of the log. “This seems to be a complete account of Captain Samuels’s voyages from—”

The ringing of the telephone interrupted him. He got up and answered it. The voice of the night clerk came over the wire:

“The law is on its way up to your apartment, Mr. Shayne. You told me once I was to call you—”

“Thanks, Dick.” Shayne hung up and directed Myrna tersely: “You’d better get out — through the kitchen door and down the fire escape. Take your two glasses to the kitchen and close the door behind you. The key’s on a nail by the outside door.”

Myrna jumped up. “What—?”

“I don’t know.” Shayne heard the elevator stop down the hall. “Better if Gentry doesn’t find you here. He’s already suspicious. Go home and go to bed and be careful. Call me tomorrow.”

Shayne breathed a sigh of relief when Myrna went out quietly. Most women would have argued and asked questions. He opened a drawer and thrust the logbook, clipping, and ticket stub inside. A loud knock sounded on the outer door of his apartment and Will Gentry’s voice rumbled, “Shayne.”

Shayne darted a quick glance behind him and saw that Myrna had closed the door as she went into the kitchen. He sauntered to the outer door and opened it, rubbed his chin with a show of surprise when he saw Gentry and the tall figure of Mr. Guildford waiting in the hallway. He said, “It’s a hell of a time to come visiting,” and stepped aside to let them enter.

Will Gentry moved slowly and steadily past him to the center table to look with suspicion on the two glasses. He went to the bedroom door, opened it, and stepped inside, turned on the light, then looked in the bathroom.

Shayne grinned as Gentry doggedly went on to the kitchen door, opened it, and turned on the light. He stalked heavily back and sat down across the table from Shayne.

“Where is she, Mike?”

“I told her she’d better go home and get some sleep. She was quite upset, you know. Seems she was rather fond of the old sea captain — though she’d known him only a couple of days,” he added hastily.

“She isn’t in her room. Hasn’t been all evening.”

“How did you know where to look for her?” Shayne asked.

“I called Tim Rourke. He told me she was stopping at the Crestwood, but she’s not in.”

Shayne said, “You know how these New York dames are. Why come to me?”

“I hoped I’d find her here,” Gentry admitted, “knowing how New York dames are, and knowing you.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Will.”

Mr. Guildford said, “May I?” He cleared his throat and looked at Gentry.

The Chief nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Knowing your reputation, Mr. Shayne,” Guildford said in a professional tone, “I suspect you withheld certain information tonight.”

Shayne said, “It’s illegal to conceal murder evidence.”

“To hell with that stuff,” Gentry put in impatiently. “What did you and Miss Hastings find before we got there?”

“You know I wouldn’t hold out on you, Will, unless there was something in it for me. And who could possibly profit by the death of an old man like that? He looked to me as though he’d gone hungry for weeks.”

“That’s true,” Guildford said. “I happen to know he was in dire straits. Our appointment tonight was to discuss a payment long overdue on his mortgaged house.”

“But the poor devil was obviously tortured,” Gentry said. “Death resulted from shock due to his poor physical condition. Torture generally means extortion.”

“Which makes us wonder if he harbored some secret worth money to someone,” Guildford explained. “We found none of his private papers, but we did find evidence that the house had been burgled.”

“So you think I did it?” Shayne fumed.

“Wait a minute, Mike,” Gentry rumbled soothingly. “You see we found that the bed had been pulled back and there was a sort of hiding-place exposed. Mr. Guildford suggested that you may have discovered the cache and taken the papers away to examine them privately.”

Shayne snarled, “The hell he did! What’s his interest in it?”

“As Captain Samuels’s attorney and now his executor, I have a natural interest in the affair,” Guildford snapped.

“Come off it, Mike,” said Gentry wearily. “If you’ll tell me what you were doing there I won’t be so sure you’re holding out.”

“I told you — rather Miss Hastings did.”

“That doesn’t wash, Mike. Rourke told me she didn’t hit town till this afternoon. How could she have met Samuels and learned about the shipwreck story?”

“Ask her.”

“I can’t find her. I’m asking you. Did you get any stuff from the bedroom?”

“I didn’t go in the bedroom.”

“But Miss Hastings did,” said Guildford triumphantly. “And I suggest she found his papers and looked through them while we were in the other room with you and the body. I further suggest that was how she learned about the shipwreck and her agile mind framed the excuse she gave us for your presence there.”

Shayne stood up and balled his big hands into fists. “I suggest that you get out of that chair so I can knock you back into it.”

“Lay off, Mike,” Gentry groaned. “You’ve got to admit it’s good reasoning.”

Shayne swung around and faced Gentry. “I don’t admit anything,” he said angrily. “Is a two-bit shyster running your department now?”