Shayne said, “This,” without moving his lips.
“Can’t we go away together?” A hot tear splashed down on his face, “Now… tonight!”
Shayne heard an automobile coming into the driveway. He pulled himself up and away from her, eased his feet off the end of the sofa to the floor. He said, “You’d better turn on a light. We’re going to have company.”
“Company?” She shrank back from him.
“I invited a few people to meet me here.” He turned away without looking at her, stepped around the couch and switched on the two ship’s lanterns swinging from the overhead beam.
She remained where she was while he went to the front door and opened it. Chief Gentry and three detectives were getting out of a police sedan with Mr. Brannigan and Dennis Kline.
Shayne called, “Come on in.”
Brannigan entered first, pale and fuming. “It’s you, Shayne. Is this your idea of a practical joke?”
Shayne grinned and shook his head. He said, “Hello, Kline,” as the other man stepped in behind Brannigan.
Kline appeared, as he had that morning, wholly unperturbed. He said, “My pal,” and clasped his hands behind his back as he wandered in and looked about the unusual room with interest.
Gentry said to his men, “You boys spread out around the house. No one leaves till I say so.” He nodded to Shayne and stepped in heavily. “Couple of other boys are fetching Carlton.”
Shayne said, “We won’t need him at the moment.” He started to close the door when a coupe rattled into the drive and parked behind the police car.
Timothy Rourke fell out of the door and ran up the walk. “A hell of a guy you are,” Rourke complained. “If Gentry hadn’t tipped me off…”
“I was just going to phone you.” Shayne grinned. He closed the door and turned to survey the gathered crowd.
Brannigan had gone directly to the couch, and his vice-president had risen and was talking with him in a low tone. They both looked at Shayne.
Brannigan squared his shoulders and said querulously, “I presume this meeting is the result of your decision to accept my offer of the morning, Mr. Shayne.”
“What offer?”
“To accept a position as special investigator for the Association… on the new membership basis you mentioned.”
Shayne said shortly, “You don’t need an investigator.”
“But I assure you…”
Shayne shook his red head. “The last thing in the world your association can stand is investigation.” He turned to Gentry and explained, “The Motorist Protective Association is nothing but a racket. I don’t know all the details, but you can sweat them out of Brannigan.”
“That’s a libelous statement,” Edna Taylor said crisply. “You’ll be held accountable for it.”
Shayne said, “I’ll do better than that. I’ll prove it.” He addressed Gentry again. “They work through selected filling stations, though whether they actually furnish the bootleg stuff or not I don’t know. It’s a beautiful set-up. They get members by posing as a benevolent organization offering legal advice on rationing problems too complex for the average citizen to comprehend. They have men who contact these members, talk things over with them, and find the ones who are eager to chisel a little. These people are given a list of filling stations handling Black Market stuff. Their membership card assures the bootlegger they have been investigated and can be trusted not to talk.”
Gentry nodded. “Sounds all right the way you tell it.”
“It’s a pack of nonsense,” Edna Taylor said heatedly. “You haven’t a particle of evidence.”
“I’ve got plenty.” He went on to Gentry: “They have other field men who go around sounding out service-station operators. Edward Seeney was one of those men.”
“So that’s why Miss Taylor shot Eddie Seeney,” Gentry growled.
“That’s right.” Shayne didn’t look at Edna. “Remember that list of names Eddie was carrying? I haven’t checked them all, but all whom I’ve contacted run service stations. Remember, Gentry? Two names on that list were crossed out. Others were checked.”
Gentry nodded. “Clem Wilson was one of the men crossed off.”
“And you know how Clem stood on bootlegging gas. Clem’s dead now. The other name was Felix Ponti. I talked to Ponti and found him the same type as Clem Wilson. On the other hand, the names that were checked were all sympathetic, but none of them would let me have gas without a coupon.”
“You’re contradicting yourself,” Miss Taylor said quickly, “If those checkmarks meant anything…”
Shayne stopped her with a short laugh. “Let me finish. They wouldn’t sell me any illicit stuff until I flashed a Motorist Protective Association membership card. That made the difference and they weren’t afraid of me.”
He glanced at Edna and met a venomous glare from her hazel eyes. He said, “Don’t blame yourself for giving me that card. After all, you could hardly refuse without arousing more suspicion. I had already guessed the angle and it simply made proving it easier.”
“How about Seeney?” Gentry put in impatiently. “Did he kill Clem Wilson?”
“I’m coming to that. When Brannigan read about Wilson’s murder last night he was scared. He didn’t know whether one of his men had found it necessary to kill Wilson or not. If not, it meant there was another gas racket operating in town in competition with him. In either case he was damned anxious to know who’d killed Wilson… and how much I knew.
“So he called me to his office and tried to find out what I knew by claiming his association wanted to help stamp out gas racketeering. He was partially truthful. It was to his interest to stamp out any competitive organization.”
Shayne paused to draw a long breath. “When I wouldn’t play ball, he sicked his vice-president onto me. She tried to wangle it out of me. Eddie Seeney came to the door while we were having fun. He was scared, too, because he’d been to see Wilson lately with a proposition. Wilson cussed him out and he crossed Wilson off the list. But he was afraid Wilson might have described him to me over the phone. His wife had accused him of the murder, too. He tried to see Brannigan, but Brannigan put him off… fired him. So he tried to turn to Miss Taylor. As soon as she saw him in the doorway drunk, she knew she had to shut him up before he spilled things in front of me. So she grabbed my gun and let him have it, her brilliant legalistic mind realizing she could claim self-defense. Mrs. Seeney, by the way,” he ended, turning his eyes on Edna Taylor, “has a very young baby.”
Edna gave a little gasp and swayed to the couch, burying her face in her hands.
Gentry growled, “All right. That’s one murder. But who did kill Clem Wilson? Seeney? And what about those hoods that have been trying to rub you out?”
“I’m coming to that.” Shayne paused at the sound of a car pulling up outside. He looked relieved and said, “That must be our missing witness.”
He strode to the door and opened it, caught Mr. Carlton by the arm and drew him inside, saying cheerfully, “Everything is under control, Carlton, and you’re not going to get hurt.”
Herbert Carlton nodded nervously to Chief Gentry and his gaze flickered over Brannigan and Dennis Kline with no show of recognition.
Shayne said, “Just take it easy, Carlton,” and asked Gentry, “Did you find any evidence of ration-book forging in Carlton’s printing office when you picked up Donald Frazier’s body?”
“Plenty. We found the plates used for the coupons, but we didn’t find any of the printed stuff.”
Shayne said, “Carlton’s trusted employee, whom we know as Bartel, was an ace counterfeiter. Working alone at night, he has been forging gas coupons and books. And that’s where you come in, Kline.”
Dennis Kline smiled coldly and fingered his gray mustache. “You’ll have one hell of a time proving anything, Shamus.”