Mr. Hastings was disturbed. He hadn’t looked at Shayne during his lengthy and rapid discourse. The lawyer jerked around in his creaking swivel chair, took off his glasses with an unsteady hand, and glared at the detective. “I’m sure I don’t know how you’ve gathered this information,” he said testily, “or why you’ve wasted your time gathering it.”
Shayne looked at him in surprise. “I always try to familiarize myself with every aspect of a case when I’m called in on it.”
“But you haven’t been called in on this case,” Hastings said angrily.
“You were too anxious to get rid of me at the Hawleys even to learn my name. You called me in on the case not more than half an hour ago.”
“And now I’m dismissing you,” said Hastings. Purplish color showed in his thin face.
“I’m in and I’m staying in,” Shayne said hotly. “Mrs. Hawley is your client — Albert Hawley’s divorced wife, I take it, is not. It’ll mean a couple of millions to your client and a nice fat fee for you to persuade Groat and Cunningham to testify that Albert Hawley died on the fourth night in the lifeboat. You’ve got to reach them before Albert’s ex-wife does, because she might even go so far as to bribe them to say it was the fifth night If there’s any bribing done — well, you want to have the first crack at it. That’s why you need me.”
Hastings was nervously tapping his glasses against his palm. The purplish color heightened in his face. “Young man,” he said austerely, “the mere mention of bribery is repugnant to me.”
Shayne said: “Fair enough. That’s why you need someone else to do the dirty work and spare you the details.” Shayne lit a cigarette and settled back in his chair.
Hastings played a little game with his long thin fingers, his pale eyes studying Shayne’s gaunt face and relaxed figure. He said, “Humph,” finally.
Shayne asked casually: “Do you know the police are looking for Jasper Groat?”
The lawyer stiffened. “Eh? What’s that?”
“Groat has been missing since about eight o’clock last night, the time Beatrice Meany invited him out to the Hawley house.”
Hastings sat very still and didn’t say anything.
“Beatrice Meany,” Shayne went on, “is a queer one. It wouldn’t surprise me if she lured him out there in order to bop him off if she couldn’t persuade him to testify the way she wanted.”
The lawyer ran the edge of his tongue over his tight lips. “Do you know Miss Beatrice well?”
“Fairly well. I had a session with her in her room with a bottle of whiskey after you left.”
“She’s a queer girl, all right,” Hastings acknowledged moodily.
“She’s a dipsomaniac. Was Albert cut from the same cloth?”
“No, indeed. That is — no. Albert was weak, perhaps. His mother — ah — I’m sure you observed her domineering personality.”
“Did Ezra Hawley actually steal all his brother’s money?”
Hastings darted a sharp look at Shayne. “Good heavens, no! Where did you get that idea?”
“Something Beatrice said.”
“It wasn’t that way at all. John Hawley was a poor businessman. He made bad investments and wasted his portion of the family inheritance while Ezra increased his more than two-fold.”
“And Sarah Hawley has been dependent on Ezra since her husband died?”
“Generally speaking, yes. He has provided for her generously, I believe.”
“That run-down old house doesn’t look like it,” Shayne protested.
Hastings said: “Such matters have no bearing on the present situation.”
“Perhaps not. What I was getting at is this — will Mrs. Hawley and her daughter actually be left destitute if Ezra’s money goes to Albert’s divorced widow?”
“Practically speaking, yes. They have very little laid aside.”
“It’s rather peculiar, isn’t it, for a man not to change his will after a divorce?”
“Albert did change his will,” Hastings admitted stiffly. “He definitely specified that his ex-wife was to receive everything, even if she remarried.”
“Did his wife remarry after the divorce?”
“I believe she did, yes.”
“How long ago was the divorce?”
“A matter of some two years. Shortly before Albert’s induction into the armed forces.”
“And was Albert living at home when he was drafted?”
“He was. He — ah — had remained at home after his marriage.”
“And the date of his induction?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Hastings said: “Albert was called into the army on March 18th, 1943.”
Shayne took from his pocket the letter Mrs. Wallace had given him that morning. It was dated March 10th. He asked: “Did you ever hear of a man named Leon Wallace?”
Hastings gave no noticeable reaction. “I don’t recall the name.” He added: “I believe you understand what is required in this case, Mr. Shayne.”
“You want me to locate Jasper Groat and Leslie Cunningham and get affidavits from them as to the exact date of Albert’s death.”
The lawyer put his glasses on, said, “Good day, Mr. Shayne,” and turned back to his desk.
“My fee will be five thousand if things turn out in your favor. I’ll take a retainer of two hundred now.”
Hastings was plainly irritated. He started to protest, drummed his fingers on his desk, then got up and took ten twenty-dollar bills from a black metal box and handed them to Shayne. He said: “I feel it will be best to make no written memorandum of our agreement.”
Shayne stuffed the bills in his pocket. “I don’t like written agreements, either. But I always collect. You’ll be hearing from me.”
A man and woman were entering the outer office when Shayne opened Hastings’ door. The man was tall and cadaverous, with arms as long as an ape’s. The women was young and smartly-groomed. She had a Mae West figure, an alert, intelligent face.
Shayne grinned at the man and said: “Hi, Jake.”
Jake Sims muttered, “Hello, Shayne,” and went on toward the desk of the gnomelike little man.
Shayne went out, whistling cheerily.
Chapter Four
River Stay ’Way from My Corpse
Immediately upon entering his office, Lucy said: “Sergeant Pepper called a few minutes ago, Michael, and wants you to call him right away. And take a look at this!” She handed him an early addition of the afternoon Item.
Shayne’s gaze fell upon a boxed item on the front page. It was an announcement that Feature Writer Joel Cross of the Item’s staff was making arrangements with Mr. Jasper Groat for the exclusive publication of Groat’s journal kept during those harrowing days he had drifted at sea in an open lifeboat after his ship had been torpedoed. The announcement contained such phrases as: “Authentic account of heroism on the high seas... Vivid first-hand narrative of danger and suffering... What do men say and think as they live with Death all around them?... A record of the last words spoken by one who did not come back, and the simple story of a burial at sea that will wring the heartstrings of every reader.”
He folded the paper and asked: “Anything new from Mrs. Groat?”
“She called a few minutes ago. No word from her husband. She said Leslie Cunningham had just left her apartment. He persuaded her to go through Jasper’s things to try to find the diary, but it was fruitless.”