import tax.”
“Would Manny Holden have been in on that organization?”
“If there was a crooked dollar to be made, Manny was in on it,” Gerlach assured him cheerfully. “And now that you’ve thrown the election to Carter, we’ll never be able to touch Manny.”
Shayne sighed. He admitted, “Much as I hate Towne’s guts, I’m sorry I’ve put him on the spot,”
They were approaching the lights of the city. Captain Gerlach slowed to the municipal speed limit and asked, “Where shall I drop you?”
“At the police garage if you don’t mind.” Shayne felt his pocket and nodded. “I’ve still got the key to that crate you loaned me today. Mind if I take it out again?”
Gerlach told him he didn’t mind, that he would be happy to have the detective keep the key and use the coupé as he wished while he was in the city.
Shayne grinned and thanked him. “It’s not bad to beon the legal side of the fence for once,” he admitted.
He got out when the captain pulled up in front of the police garage, and hesitated for a moment “Mind if I make a suggestion?”
“Let’s have it.”
“When Thompson looks over that body from the river, have him check the head wounds closely to see if he finds one corresponding with the hammer blow that killed the soldier.”
The homicide captain nodded. “You think they tie together?”
Shayne said morosely, “I think we’ll know more about it when we find out if there’s another soldier missing.” He went in the garage and wheeled the coupé out and drove off in the direction of Jefferson Towne’s house on the slope of Mount Franklin.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The police coupé was laboring up the slope a block from the arched entrance to Towne’s estate when the lights of a parked car blinked on from a point just this side of the driveway. Shayne eased up on his accelerator and heard the motor of the parked car roar into life. The headlights turned sharply onto the pavement, and the car rolled toward him.
They passed in about the middle of the block. Shayne had his spotlight off, but he kept it trained on the front seat of the other car as they approached.
He flashed the spotlight on momentarily as they passed each other, and caught a brief glimpse of the other driver alone in the car. He blinked the spot off and kept driving. He rolled past the arched entrance without slacking speed, watching the taillight of the other car in his rearview mirror. It continued down the hill toward town.
The face he had seen in the brief glare of the police spotlight was that of Lance Bayliss, crouching behind the steering-wheel and staring straight ahead, a pinched look of anger on his features.
Feeling quite certain that Lance had not recognized him as they passed, Shayne nevertheless took the precaution of driving around the block before turning into the curving driveway leading to Towne’s house.
The lower windows were dark, but there were lights on the second floor. Shayne looked at his watch as he cut off the motor. It was a little after eleven o’clock. He got out and went up to the front door and put his finger on the electric button. The ringing of the chimes sounded sepulchral and far away.
Nothing happened for fully two minutes. He kept his finger patiently on the button, and finally a night light came on over his head. He took his finger from the button when he heard a bolt being withdrawn inside.
One of the doors opened inward a few inches, and Carmela’s husky voice called out, “Who is it?”
“Mike Shayne.” He pushed against the door, but a chain held it. Carmela said, “Michael!” sobbing out his name in three syllables, and the chain rattled free. He stepped inside, where the big hallway was dimly lit by a single bulb in a wall bracket.
Carmela’s arms were tightly around his neck before he could turn to look at her. She pressed her long body against him and pulled his face down to hers. Her body trembled and her lips were dry and cold, and a strong
“Would Manny Holden have been in on that organization?”
“If there was a crooked dollar to be made, Manny was in on it,” Gerlach assured him cheerfully. “And now that you’ve thrown the election to Carter, we’ll never be able to touch Manny.”
Shayne sighed. He admitted, “Much as I hate Towne’s guts, I’m sorry I’ve put him on the spot,”
They were approaching the lights of the city. Captain Gerlach slowed to the municipal speed limit and asked, “Where shall I drop you?”
“At the police garage if you don’t mind.” Shayne felt his pocket and nodded. “I’ve still got the key to that crate you loaned me today. Mind if I take it out again?”
Gerlach told him he didn’t mind, that he would be happy to have the detective keep the key and use the coupé as he wished while he was in the city.
Shayne grinned and thanked him. “It’s not bad to beon the legal side of the fence for once,” he admitted.
He got out when the captain pulled up in front of the police garage, and hesitated for a moment “Mind if I make a suggestion?”
“Let’s have it.”
“When Thompson looks over that body from the river, have him check the head wounds closely to see if he finds one corresponding with the hammer blow that killed the soldier.”
The homicide captain nodded. “You think they tie together?”
Shayne said morosely, “I think we’ll know more about it when we find out if there’s another soldier missing.” He went in the garage and wheeled the coupé out and drove off in the direction of Jefferson Towne’s house on the slope of Mount Franklin.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The police coupé was laboring up the slope a block from the arched entrance to Towne’s estate when the lights of a parked car blinked on from a point just this side of the driveway. Shayne eased up on his accelerator and heard the motor of the parked car roar into life. The headlights turned sharply onto the pavement, and the car rolled toward him.
They passed in about the middle of the block. Shayne had his spotlight off, but he kept it trained on the front seat of the other car as they approached.
He flashed the spotlight on momentarily as they passed each other, and caught a brief glimpse of the other driver alone in the car. He blinked the spot off and kept driving. He rolled past the arched entrance without slacking speed, watching the taillight of the other car in his rearview mirror. It continued down the hill toward town.
The face he had seen in the brief glare of the police spotlight was that of Lance Bayliss, crouching behind the steering-wheel and staring straight ahead, a pinched look of anger on his features.
Feeling quite certain that Lance had not recognized him as they passed, Shayne nevertheless took the precaution of driving around the block before turning into the curving driveway leading to Towne’s house.
The lower windows were dark, but there were lights on the second floor. Shayne looked at his watch as he cut off the motor. It was a little after eleven o’clock. He got out and went up to the front door and put his finger on the electric button. The ringing of the chimes sounded sepulchral and far away.
Nothing happened for fully two minutes. He kept his finger patiently on the button, and finally a night light came on over his head. He took his finger from the button when he heard a bolt being withdrawn inside.
One of the doors opened inward a few inches, and Carmela’s husky voice called out, “Who is it?”
“Mike Shayne.” He pushed against the door, but a chain held it. Carmela said, “Michael!” sobbing out his name in three syllables, and the chain rattled free. He stepped inside, where the big hallway was dimly lit by a single bulb in a wall bracket.
Carmela’s arms were tightly around his neck before he could turn to look at her. She pressed her long body against him and pulled his face down to hers. Her body trembled and her lips were dry and cold, and a strong
Similar Books
