“Nothing. He won’t tell me anything.”
“Why did he hate George Brand?”
“He had good enough reason…” Her jaw fell open slackly. “Say… who told you that?”
“Never mind. Why did he?”
“George didn’t have any cause to slap him around,” she said angrily.
“And you hate Brand, too, and that’s why you were perfectly willing to let him hang for a murder you have good reason to think Jimmy Roche committed.”
“That’s not so. I don’t know who did it. I don’t give a damn. I hate all of ’em. God, how I hate this stinking town.” Tears began streaming down the red streaks the adhesive had left on her face. Her lips were swollen and trembling. She put her hands over her face and sobbed hysterically.
Shayne got up and beckoned to Lucy. She followed him into the rear hallway and he said, “Ann has a car. Help her pack a couple of bags… one for her and one for Angus… and drive out to the Moderne. Park in front of my cabin. Angus is tied up in there. Give her money if she needs it, and tell her to get out of the state, but not too far. Tell her to phone you at the Moderne where she is. Things’ll be so she can come back in a few days… if she wants to. Then you go to bed and lock the door.” He spoke swiftly and in a low voice.
“What about you, Michael?” Lucy clung to both his arms and looked up into his set face.
“I’ve still got to find a murderer.” He bent to kiss her lips, led her back into the living room and gave her a little shove toward the sobbing woman.
Shayne was in his car and driving away before he realized he didn’t know where Seth Gerald lived. He turned down to the village to find someone from whom he could get directions.
17
The general manager of the Roche mines lived in a two-story brick house. Light from the corner street light outlined white trimmings around dark green slatted shutters which were closed all across the front, and probably securely latched, Shayne thought, as he went up the concrete walk and steps to the door. Giant trees shrouded the grounds in the night’s misty darkness, and there was no light, no sign of fire or movement within.
He put his knobby forefinger on the button and held it down until a light came on in one of the upper rooms, stepped back and waited until a glow outlined the opaque upper glass of the front door. When he heard a key turning in the lock, he took out his. 45 automatic, clicked off the safety catch.
The door opened a couple of inches and Seth Gerald’s precise voice said, “Who’s there?”
Shayne hit the door with his shoulder and came through it with his automatic in front of him. Gerald had a pearl-handled. 32 automatic in his hand which he lowered jerkily as the impact shoved him and his brocaded dressing gown backward.
“Shayne!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you.”
“Didn’t you?” His left hand grabbed for the. 32. “Better give me that popgun before it goes off and attracts attention.” Shayne dropped the pistol in his pants pocket after taking it from Gerald’s relaxed hand.
Gerald tried to laugh. It came out a dry cackle. He was looking into Shayne’s eyes. They were very bright. His own were sleep-drugged. He brushed a hand across them and said, “I don’t get this at all. What do you mean coming here and threatening me with a gun? There are policemen in Centerville, and…”
“And you own them. That’s why I prefer to hold the guns while we have a talk.”
“Talk? What is there to talk about at this unearthly hour?”
“Murder. Do we have to stand here in the hall?”
Gerald was swiftly recovering his self-possession. He said, “The library is right over here.” He turned to lead the way and added, “I warn you, Shayne, I shall report this to the police. You will be getting out of Centerville faster than you came in.”
Shayne followed him to a small, snug room beyond the living room. Bookshelves lined the spaces between the two windows, and there was a large oak desk in the center. Three leather armchairs were placed at strategic points around it. Seth Gerald snapped on the desk light, augmenting the pale glow from the hall, sat down in the chair behind the desk and waved Shayne to one of the chairs.
Shayne sat down with his legs far apart and slipped the automatic on the cushion between them.
Seth Gerald was leaning laxly forward, his arms folded on the desk, apparently waiting for Shayne to speak. When he didn’t, Gerald said impatiently, “Suppose you say what you have to say and let me go back to bed. I have a thousand and one things to attend to in the morning.”
Shayne let smoke dribble through his nostrils and said, “I’ve been getting around tonight. I think you’ll be interested in my contacts. Mrs. Cornell and Angus, George Brand, Mrs. Roche, and Henry Elwood and Mr. Persona. I’ve learned a lot from each of them, Gerald, and a lot more by putting their stories together.”
“Why come here at this hour of the night to tell me?” Gerald said irritably. “If you’ve learned anything of value it should be turned over to the police.”
“I thought,” said Shayne placidly, “you might want to make a deal.”
“What sort of a deal would I want to make?” His tone was strained and weary.
“That’s for you to decide. After I tell you that practically everything I’ve picked up points to you as Roche’s murderer.”
“That’s preposterous!”
Shayne shrugged and settled deeper in his chair. He recalled that Persona had used exactly the same word in the same tone. He said, “I want to warn you about a couple of things before you get too far out on a limb. In the first place, Ann Cornell and Angus are out of the state. They’ll appear when the time comes, but you can’t get at them until the time does come. And don’t put too much faith in your local police department. Elwood is looking carefully right now at both sides of his bread to see which is buttered thickest. He’s scared as hell, and when a rat gets scared you never know whom he’ll bite. That’s the bad thing about rats,” he ended casually.
“You don’t believe I’m guilty of murder?” Gerald demanded.
“I can make out a hell of a good case against you right now. Have you any proof that you didn’t kill Roche?”
“No absolute proof,” snapped Gerald, “but you certainly haven’t any that I did.”
“Not yet,” Shayne agreed judicially, “but on the surface, it seems right now to stand between you and Jimmy Roche. Did you see Jimmy last night after he phoned you?”
“No. He was…” Seth Gerald paused. Again he ran his hand over his eyes. There was a frown of confusion or anger between them when his hand dropped to the desk again. “I suppose it was bound to come out,” he continued doggedly. “What does Jimmy say?”
“I’m saving him until later. Tell it your way first.”
“I have told it. Just the way it happened, except that it was Jimmy who phoned me to come over and help him prevent Charles and Brand from getting together. I didn’t see any reason for complicating things and mixing him up in it.”
Shayne took a cigarette from the pocket of his polo shirt. “You do look ahead,” he said. “In five years Jimmy will have control of the mines. He doesn’t know or care anything about the mines or the miners. It’s quite possible he may want to keep you on in your soft job when the time comes, and you want to stay on the good side of him.”
Seth Gerald placed his palms on the desk and pushed himself from his chair. “That’s a damned lie.”
Shayne had his gun in hand. “Sit down,” he commanded.
Gerald slowly lowered himself into the chair, his black eyes glittering. “You have the advantage,” he said ironically. “What else do you have to say, Shayne?”
“I suppose you’ll stick to your original story about the Brand house being empty when you got there.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Where was Jimmy Roche?”
“There was a light in his house, so I stopped by on my way up to see Elsa. Jimmy was passed out in his bed. Look here, what do you hope to gain by this? It would only confuse the case against Brand if it comes out.”