Shayne said: “What is your trouble, Mrs. Wallace?”
“I want you to find a man for me, Mr. Shayne. I’m a stranger in New Orleans. That is, I live in Littleboro and don’t get in very often. I have a farm to look after and don’t have the time.” Her voice was deep, almost husky.
Shayne pushed a button on his desk and didn’t say anything while he waited for Lucy to come in.
“I can pay you,” Mrs. Wallace said. She put her purse on top of her hat and opened it. Her hands were rough, her nails broken to the quick.
Shayne made a swift negative gesture. Lucy came in and he said: “Since you’ve been discussing the case with Mrs. Wallace, you’d better sit in on this.” Then to his client: “Tell me about the man you’ve lost.”
“His name is Jasper Groat. He called me yesterday afternoon and asked me to come in and see him. I caught the midnight train and came right in. I went straight to his apartment this morning and he wasn’t there. His wife said he hadn’t been there all night. Then she advised me to see Miss Hamilton across the hall — that you might be able to help me.”
Smoke spiraled upward from Shayne’s cigarette. He frowned at the smoke and asked: “Did you have a definite appointment with Mr. Groat?”
“Yes. I told him what train I’d take and he told me to come to his apartment. I think something has happened to him. We’ve got to find him because it’s my only hope of finding Leon.”
“Leon?”
“My husband. He’s been gone for two years. Mr. Groat said he could tell me all about Leon, and now he’s vanished — just as Leon did two years ago.”
Shayne glanced at Lucy. She was leaning forward eagerly, cupping her chin in her palm. He said impatiently: “You’d better tell me about your husband. Start at the beginning.”
Mrs. Wallace bent toward him slightly, her back straight as a ramrod. “It happened two years ago in March. The farm wasn’t doing so well and Leon came to New Orleans to find a job. I had a couple of letters from him, cheerful letters. He got a job working as gardener with a wealthy family, the Hawleys. He sent me money for the children and myself to move to New Orleans. Before we could make arrangements to leave the farm, I had another letter from him.” Her cloth purse was still open. She took the letter out and handed it to Shayne.
“There were ten one-thousand-dollar bills in the letter,” she added.
Shayne slowly unfolded the two sheets of paper and read:
“Dear Myra,
Don’t be frightened at all this money. You’d better bring it to New Orleans and put it in the bank. They won’t ask questions here as they would in Littleboro. It’ll be enough to take care of you and the children. I have to go away and I don’t know when you’ll hear from me again. Maybe never. I can’t help it. Don’t tell anybody anything. Don’t ask questions. I’m all right, Myra. I’ll be all right as long as you don’t make a fuss. Don’t tell anybody about the money. Just go ahead and use it. You can tell people I’ve enlisted in the army or something. Don’t worry about me. Don’t go to the police or try to find me. It’s best this way. It’s more money than I could ever make on the farm or on a job like this. There’ll be another thousand dollars every six months if you keep your mouth shut and don’t try to find me. You’ve got to trust me. Kiss both the children for me. Your loving husband,
Leon.”
The old, brittle paper crackled loudly in the stillness of the office when Shayne stopped reading and refolded the letter.
Lucy’s cheeks were flushed with excitement. She said: “And she hasn’t heard another word from him, Mike. But the money has come every six months, just as he promised. A thousand-dollar-bill in an envelope without any letter.”
“They were mailed from New Orleans,” Mrs. Wallace supplied. “At first I was grieved and terrified, naturally. But I found out that crying and moping don’t go with running a farm.” Her manner was direct, forthright. She looked away from Shayne and added softly: “The worst thing was — I couldn’t believe he would do such a thing to the children.”
“Does he send the money?”
She nodded. “The handwriting on the envelope is Leon’s.”
Shayne leaned back and rubbed his angular jaw. “Did you make any investigation when it first happened?”
“No. I was determined to at first, but after reading that letter over and over, I was afraid of getting him into serious trouble. It seemed best for the children that I keep quiet.”
“And the money?” Shayne asked gently.
“I deposited the money in the bank. I did call up the Hawley house to ask about Leon. I didn’t let on that anything was wrong. But the man I talked to, the butler I imagine, said Leon had quit his job a few days before and hadn’t left any address.”
“Did he work for Mrs. Sarah Hawley?”
“Yes. On Labarre Street.”
“So you deposited the money and drew on it for living expenses?”
Mrs. Wallace bristled. “I put it in the bank, all right, but I didn’t use a penny of it. It’s still there. I’ve made out all right on the farm. I expected Leon to come back any time and was sure he’d need that money, fourteen thousand in all, to keep him out of trouble.”
Shayne drew in a long breath. After a moment of silence he asked: “What sort of a man was your husband?”
“Leon was a good man,” she answered promptly. “I never knew him to do anything wrong. That’s why I didn’t understand any of this. I’m sure he loved me and the children. Naturally, there have been times when I was bitter against him, and that helped me bear up under the strain. I would’ve been content just to go on waiting if Mr. Groat hadn’t phoned me. I begged him to tell me whether Leon was alive and all right, but he wouldn’t. It’s the uncertainty that has me upset, Mr. Shayne.”
“Did Groat say anything about money?” Shayne asked bluntly.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Did you have a feeling that he expected you to pay him for his information? Did he intimate that was his reason for wanting to see you in person rather than telling you about it over the phone?”
“I can’t say. I was too excited, I guess, and he hung up right away.”
“How many people know about the money in the bank?”
“No one,” she said emphatically. “I’ve never told anyone about it.”
“The police are already looking for Groat,” Shayne said slowly. “Any information you have might help them.”
“No!” The word was a sharp cry. Fear was suddenly stark in her eyes. “That’s why I came to you, Mr. Shayne,” she said rapidly. “Miss Hamilton said you wouldn’t have to go to the police. Don’t you see, I can’t tell them about Leon. I don’t know what he might have done two years ago — or what he’s been doing since then. Can’t you find out without going to the police?” Her brisk manner was gone, but there was no sign of tears.
Shayne’s eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight. Your only interest in having me find Groat is your hope that he’ll be able to clear up the mystery about your husband? And you want me to do it rather than the police so you’ll have a chance to get this information and prevent it from being made public?”
Mrs. Wallace recovered her poise and stiffened her spine. “That’s what I thought. I was thinking of the possible disgrace to the children.” She paused for a long moment, then went on calmly: “I want you to find Leon. No matter how much it costs. I feel that I can use some of that money he’s been sending me toward finding him.”
Shayne nodded. “Will you stay in town for a while?”
“I can’t do that. I left the children with a neighbor and I’ll have to take the afternoon train back.”
Shayne considered her answer. “That will probably be best,” he agreed. “I’ll get in touch with you the moment I have something to report. Give Miss Hamilton your telephone number.”