Shayne said, “H-m-m. When was all this?”
“About two weeks ago.” Nora Carrol took a drink of cognac, washed it down with ice water, and continued. “I went back to Wilmington and talked to our lawyer there. He tried to help me and was very understanding, but he said there wasn’t a thing in the world I could do if Ralph was determined to get a divorce.
“You see, he had plenty of evidence from that horrible week-end, and he said I didn’t have a chance of getting alimony or anything.” She stopped talking suddenly. Her brown eyes were dull and inscrutable behind a mist of tears.
Shayne sipped cognac, smoked, and waited. When she showed no sign of continuing the story, he said bluntly, “But you didn’t give up.”
“No. I was just thinking. You see the lawyer told me there was one chance, a slim one, for me. I love Ralph so much I was ready to grab at anything. So, when he outlined the plan, I didn’t hesitate for a moment.”
“What sort of plan?” Shayne demanded.
“Well, he said that if I could find out where Ralph was staying, and if I could persuade him to come back to me for just one night it would be enough to nullify what I had done. It would do away with Ralph’s grounds for divorce — everything. There’s something in the law about it. I don’t quite understand, but it seems that if a husband takes his wife back after, well, after she’s made a mistake like I did, then the law says it doesn’t count and can’t be used against her as evidence later.”
Michael Shayne emptied his brandy glass. He nodded slowly, avoiding her eyes. “So that’s what you planned to do? Slip into your husband’s bed and use your sex appeal to win him back, at least for one night. After that, no matter how much he wanted to be rid of you, he wouldn’t have further legal grounds for a divorce action.”
“You make it sound depraved and indecent!” she flared angrily. “It’s not true. I do love Ralph, and I know he loves me. All I could think of was making him remember how much we loved each other so he would forgive me, and we could start all over again.”
“So, we come to tonight,” the redhead said casually. “Fill me in on that.”
“I can’t,” she said brokenly. “I can’t explain it at all. All I did was follow Mr. Bates’s instructions to the letter.”
Shayne’s eyes were very bright. He swiveled forward in his creaky desk chair and asked, “Who is Bates?”
“Why, he’s our lawyer in Wilmington. I just told you.”
Shayne creaked back and said, “Go on, Mrs. Carrol.”
“Well, he, Mr. Bates, suggested that we might get a detective in Miami to find out where Ralph had moved to. Then I could try once more for a reconciliation. It all seemed so simple and logical when we planned it in Wilmington,” she went on in the faltering tone. “A detective was to get a key to Ralph’s room. All I had to do was unlock the door and slip in sometime after midnight. I just knew it would work.”
“Sure, it would have worked. You would have had him right back if you’d gotten into his bed instead of mine. The question is, how the devil did you make such a mistake?”
“I don’t know,” she cried wildly, straining forward with her hands clenched. “Do you think I would have subjected myself to this — this inquisition if I had known? I flew down from Wilmington yesterday and checked in at the Commodore. Everything was arranged. There was a message for me from the detective, enclosing a key to Ralph’s room and a sketch of the apartment, so I could get around in the dark without waking him too soon. I was to wait in my room until the detective phoned that Ralph came in for the night. He called me about one o’clock. I waited awhile, until I felt sure Ralph would be asleep; then I taxied over here and slipped quietly upstairs. And that’s all.” She made a gesture of finality with her hands, reached for her cognac glass, took a long swallow, chased the liquor with ice water, and sank back in the chair as though exhausted.
Shayne tugged at his ear lobe, his gray eyes somber. He considered her story and wondered how much of it was true. Her words and her tone had the ring of sincerity, but it was impossible for him to understand how anyone could have mistaken his apartment for the one occupied by her husband, considering the years he had lived here and how well known he was to all the employees.
Shrugging his wide shoulders, he swiveled forward and picked up the telephone, waited a moment until a hoarse and unfamiliar voice said, “Yes, sir.”
He frowned at the instrument and asked, “Is this Dick?”
“No, sir. Dick is sick and I’m substituting for him. Can I help you?”
Shayne hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a Ralph Carrol registered here?”
“One moment, please.”
Nora Carrol slid to the edge of her chair. “Please,” she pleaded, “oh, please don’t tell him.”
Shayne held up a broad palm for silence and covered the mouthpiece with his fingers. “Hold it,” he whispered. “Let me find out if your husband is in this hotel.”
He waited a moment.
“Mr. Ralph Carrol is in two-sixteen. Shall I ring him, sir?” the clerk asked.
Shayne hesitated, then said, “No, thanks. Skip it for now.” He slowly cradled the receiver and said, “Your husband is in two-sixteen, one floor directly above. Could you have mistaken the number?”
“No. That is, I don’t see how I could have. The key opened your door. The same key wouldn’t fit both of them, would it?”
“If it does,” Shayne growled, “the management is going to get hell in the morning. Let’s see that key.” He held out a broad palm and waited while she picked up a black suède purse. After a period of digging and fumbling she produced a flat brass key and handed it to him.
Shayne observed its shiny newness, turned it over and found that it had no room number stamped on it. Otherwise, it appeared to be a duplicate of the familiar one he had carried on his key ring for so many years. He shrugged, tossed it on the desk, and asked, “Do you want to go up one flight and try it on your husband’s door? He should be sound asleep now, and you should be able to seduce him without too much trouble.”
Nora Carrol sprang to her feet, and said angrily, “You’re insufferable! You make my wanting Ralph back sound cold-blooded and bitchy.”
“Maybe,” said Shayne moodily. “I’m sore at being wakened so enticingly and so futilely. Call me tomorrow and let me know how you make out.”
“Thanks for releasing me,” she replied acidly, “and I hope I never see you again.” She took a couple of steps toward the door, but stopped abruptly as heavy, measured footsteps sounded in the corridor.
A knock sounded on the door, hard and insistent. Running to Shayne, she breathed, “Do you suppose they called Ralph from the desk to say you’d asked about him? If he finds me here with you like this—” Her eyes were frantic, and her gesture indicated Shayne’s pajamas and bare feet.
Shayne was on his feet. “Whoever it is,” he said swiftly, “get into the bedroom and keep out of sight.” He picked up her two glasses as he spoke and shoved them into her hands. Nora sprinted into the bedroom and closed the door.
A louder knock came, accompanied by a gruff voice that ordered, “Open up.”
Shayne glanced over his shoulder to make certain the bedroom door was closed, then opened the front door.
He scowled at the florid-faced, bulky man who stood on the threshold.
“Thought I recognized your voice, Will,” he said casually. “Come in and tell me what the hell keeps you awake at this hour of the morning.”