“Hi,” he said.
She whirled. Her eyes were wide with shock.
“Now take it easy,” Shayne said. “I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”
She wet her lips and took a deep breath, pulling the wrapper across her breast. “Mr. Shayne. You gave me a bad moment, do you realize that?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think I ought to walk in here with a brass band.” He pulled the trunk out from the wall and sat down. “How was the show? You got a nice hand.”
Some of her quick expressiveness came back to her face. “It was not too bad. But this last show is difficult, after midnight. All the undrunken ones have gone home, and the pigs who remain-I feel that we have been wallowing all of us in the same sty. It will be hours before I can sleep.”
“Maybe you ought to go into some other business.”
She gave him an angry look. “Unhappily, I have never learned to operate a typewriter. I do not wish to be a clerk in a store. That is not my talent. But I begin to think I have been wrong, I am a third-rate artist and such I shall always be. And yet, here in this third-rate place, is it possible to be anything else? If I stay here much longer, I predict what will happen. One night after this last show, I will come up here and I will not have the courage to look myself in the face, which is necessary to change my make-up. And I will shoot myself.”
“I doubt if you’ll do that, baby,” Shayne said. “Not so long as half the population of the world is male. You may not make it in show business, but I think you’ll make it.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “This I hope is a compliment.”
“Have the cops been bothering you?”
She made a scornful sound. “I am not bothered by flics, of any nation. Somebody told them you and I danced together, so they asked me questions. They showed me a picture. It was bad, very fuzzy, on one of those little police placards. I did not recognize it. And you? Did you see the Camel?”
“Yeah, I saw him,” Shayne said. “It seemed to me we were getting to be pretty good friends, but then we had an argument and now I don’t think he likes me.”
“Then I am sorry. I do not like you either.”
“It’s not that simple. All I want from you is a little information. He won’t know I’ve been here unless you tell him.”
“And why should I not tell him? I dislike this job of his very much, but I would dislike even more to be without it. In three weeks’ time, I would be deported.”
“Didn’t you say something about wanting to go to America?”
A gleam appeared in her eye. She turned toward him a little, moving the chair so her wrapper opened. “Are you going to take me?”
Shayne grinned. “Don’t waste it on me. Your best bet is still Paul Slater.”
A wrinkle sprang up between her eyes. “What do you know about Paul Slater?”
“Quite a bit, baby. I made friends with the night clerk at the Half Moon. He didn’t know your name but he could describe you. Before he was finished the poor guy was drooling. It seems you’ve been coming there to see Slater.”
She thought a moment. “I would like a cigarette, please.”
He took out his pack, shook out a cigarette for her and held the match. She put her hand on his wrist as she took the light, then breathed out smoke slowly and looked up at him through her long artificial eyelashes.
“The Camel always keeps a supply of gasoline on his boat. I know where to get more. Do you know boats?”
“I know boats,” Shayne said, “but I don’t know the water around here. And you can’t get a nightclub ticket in the States unless you come in legally.”
She laughed bitterly. “If I put my name on the list now, perhaps there will be a place for me when I am eighty-nine. Of course I can always meet some lonely American and become married. There will be no nonsense about having a job waiting, having two sponsors, to guarantee I will not cost your rich government any money. But it is not so simple to get married as people think. The only American bachelors who come to St. Albans are college freshmen on Christmas vacation. It is said that Americans marry younger each year. But not these children. They have other thoughts besides marriage. And as for men like Paul Slater, they are married already. Did your friend the night clerk tell you that the last thing Paul Slater will ever do is get a divorce from his wife?”
“But what if his wife gets a divorce from him?” Shayne said.
“Oh?” she said, interested. “Now that, I concede, had not occurred to me.”
He let her think about it. The door was swinging in a slight draught. Shayne pulled it open and looked out; the corridor was empty. He closed the door and leaned against it to keep it closed.
“I’m not too up-to-date on the situation,” he said, “but I may know a couple of angles you don’t. His wife has had nothing but bad breaks all her life. Maybe that’s why he won’t ask for a divorce, he’s afraid she’d crack up and he’d have it on his conscience. By this time she probably knows all about how he’s been two-timing her with a nightclub dancer. That’s a hard secret to keep in a place like this. They’ve been fighting like cats and dogs-that’s another thing the night clerk told me. I used to take her out before she and Slater got married. I still go for her. This might be just the right moment for me to show up.”
“I see,” she said slowly. “And what do you want from me?”
“I’m not sure how much of this you already know. The Camel picked her up tonight to use as a handle against Slater. Slater was ready to skip, and the only way Alvarez could hold him was by threatening to kill his wife. Slater fell for it.”
“Do not fool yourself,” she said. “If Luis Alvarez says he will do something of that nature, he will do it.”
Shayne laughed. “It’s an act, honey. He’s a big frog down here, but it’s not much of a puddle. Back home we send people like that out for coffee. The point is, where did he take her? It’s a country place, half an hour by taxi from the airport. I can’t spend my time ringing doorbells. I want to show up before anybody gets hurt.”
She looked at him speculatively. “And you think she will jump into your arms?”
“She just might,” Shayne said briefly. “Even if she doesn’t, I’m tender-hearted where this blonde is concerned. I don’t want any of those creeps to shove her around. But she’s mad at Paul. First on account of you, then because he got her into this mess. Who knows? Maybe she’ll cry on my shoulder, and we’ll get talking about old times. One thing leads to another, and she gives Paulie-boy the boot. It could happen.”
“That is why you came here, when the police are looking for you?”
“I didn’t know they were looking for me,” Shayne said. “I’m gone on the doll, but not that gone. How about this place in the country. Do you know where it is?”
“I think so,” she said. “But I have not yet decided to tell you. If something goes wrong, and the Camel finds out I was talking to you-”
“Honey,” Shayne said patiently, “he thinks the cops have got me. When I turn up, the whole thing is going to be a big surprise. Why should he connect me with you?”
She made a gesture toward the wretched little room and burst out, “I am sick to death of all this! It is only a tiny chance, I know that, and I am a fool to take it. But I am sick of the Camel, too, if you wish to know. First tell me. Is it true that Paul hit him with a wrench?”
“Somebody did. He thinks it was Paul.”
She shook her head. “It is a side of Paul I have not seen. Yes, I think I will take this chance, like a fool. You have a car?”
Shayne nodded. In a rush, as though to get it out before she changed her mind, she said, “Go out of town toward the north. Drive ten, twelve kilometers. You will come to a crossroads, the main road across the island. Turn left. Now another fifteen kilometers. It is a new house on a mountain. Many windows. The sign at the turn says-” She thought a moment. “P. Smith. Or perhaps another initial. I remember a single initial, then the name Smith.” She added, reminiscently, “The pig.”