“I confess I’m disappointed,” Hitchcock said. “For selfish reasons. I won’t be home a minute before the phone will start ringing-somebody from The New York Times wanting to know about the hearings tomorrow. The subject of Sam Toby is beginning to bore me stiff. Mike!” he said suddenly. “What are doing right now? Come home with me and I’ll give you a drink.”
“I’d like to, Senator, but I’ve got to hit a couple more places before I call it a night.”
“One drink. I have some good cognac. I’d like to hear more about this hoodlum you’re chasing.”
“All right, sir. Five minutes, and then I’ll have to duck out.”
“Don’t call me sir. I get enough of that on the Hill. Maggie, tomorrow night maybe I can talk you into skipping all three acts. They know their lines by now-let them stew in their own juice. Sleep well, dear.”
He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead lightly. Her eyes caught Shayne’s and skidded away.
“Emory,” she said with difficulty, “there’s a chance I may have to go to New York tomorrow morning. I’ll phone you. Good luck with the hearings.”
“No problem there,” he said. “Sam Toby will prove to be a little too fast on his feet as usual and we won’t lay a glove on him. What people don’t realize is that just because everybody knows there’s something fishy about that contract does not necessarily mean we can prove it. I’ve adjusted to that, finally, and it doesn’t surprise me. It still seems to surprise The New York Times. Coming, Mike?”
Shayne followed. The Senator was out in the poorly lit corridor when Maggie whispered, “Mike.”
Shayne stopped. She drove her knuckles viciously into his kidneys from behind. He drew in his breath sharply, and tried to smile as Hitchcock looked around.
“I hope your box office picks up,” Shayne told her. “Sorry I bothered you for nothing.”
“Are you?” she said.
Hitchcock had parked his black Lincoln in a no-parking space near the entrance to the alley. Shayne opened the door for him.
“I rented a car. It’s around here somewhere, and I might be able to find it. I’ll follow you.”
Hitchcock reached into the back seat for the phone. “How much truth was there in that rigamarole you gave me about chasing somebody, Mike?”
Shayne tried a grin. “Not much, and I didn’t think you swallowed it. But I thought I was going to have a couple of minutes to myself to think up something better.”
Hitchcock worked the dial in the base of the handset. He put the phone to his ear and waited.
“Trina?” he snapped. “Don’t go out, please. I’ve changed my plans. I’ll be home in a minute, and I’d like to talk to you.”
He put the phone back without saying goodbye, and said to Shayne, “For the first minute and a half I thought I’d walked in on a clinch. It wasn’t pleasant. Maggie is a very desirable woman, and I’m painfully aware of the difference in our ages. But that was anger I saw in her face, wasn’t it? She’d just thrown an ashtray at you? I’ve been in this rough-and-tumble business long enough to learn how to look after myself. I have a switch I turn off when things get too intense. But that’s something Maggie hasn’t had to learn. She’s an important person to me, Mike, and I don’t want her hurt. Think it over. I’ll wait here till I see your car.”
“All right, sir,” Shayne said wearily.
Hitchcock’s tone sharpened. “Stop calling me sir.”
Shayne found his Ford and drove it back to the entrance of the little alley. He blinked his lights at Hitchcock’s Lincoln, which pulled out and passed him. Hitchcock crouched forward, as though over the wheel of a low-slung racer. He was surprisingly aggressive in traffic, and Shayne had a hard time keeping him in sight. They were somewhere in Georgetown, he knew, but he couldn’t keep track of the turns. In Q Street, the Senator braked to a violent stop alongside a brick wall. Shayne slid the Ford in behind him.
Hitchcock met him on the sidewalk. “Before I start shouting at my daughter I’d better make sure. I hoped she and Maggie would hit it off, but I know it hasn’t worked. Trina has exalted ideas about how senators ought to behave. It’s strange, considering the number of senators she knows. I take it she hired you to see to it that Maggie has a headache from now on when I want to take her to supper?”
“I can’t answer that,” Shayne said. “I admit she threw an ashtray at me, but maybe it had nothing to do with you.”
“I doubt it, somehow,” Hitchcock said. “Another thing I’ve gotten used to is witnesses who stand on the Fifth Amendment and refuse to answer.”
He unlocked a door in the wall and stood aside to let Shayne precede him into a small garden, lighted by an antique gas lamppost that had been converted to electricity. The house was built of weathered brick. It was solid and handsome, and looked old. As Hitchcock opened the front door Trina half-ran into the broad hall to meet them.
She gave Shayne a disgusted look, which told Hitchcock what he wanted to know. Then she bore down on her father.
“Daddy, don’t fly off the handle! You know what the doctor said about not getting excited.”
“I’m holding myself in quite well, wouldn’t you say, Mike?” Hitchcock said. “All I want now are the answers to one or two questions, such as why and what weapons did you use against her and who’s paying Mike’s fee.”
“In a minute,” she said desperately. “Tom Wall’s in the living room.”
“That’s convenient. Did you arrange it?”
“No! He’s being very mysterious, but apparently he’s onto something that will really fix Sam Toby’s wagon. He wants to report to you before he goes any further. Daddy, please don’t be mad. You’ll thank me for it eventually. Somebody has to look out for you.”
“It’s comforting to know I have such a motherly daughter,” Hitchcock said bitterly.
A man burst out of the living room, walking fast and jerkily. He was short and thin, seemingly nothing but bone and sinew. He had sharp black eyes, a jaunty little black mustache, and hollowed cheeks.
“Emory! Something important. Do you mind?”
He looked at Shayne, and Hitchcock said mildly, “Michael Shayne, Senator Tom Wall.”
Wall acknowledged the introduction with a fast nod. “Time’s passing. At least I won’t have to chase you around the supperclubs tonight, that’s one consolation. This has all the earmarks of something terrific, and I need your OK on it. Remember a jerk named Bixler who used to work for the subcommittee?” He shot Shayne another accusing glance. “We’d better keep this in the family till tomorrow. It’s big, Emory.”
“Keep calm, Tom,” Hitchcock said. “That’s what people tell me, and it’s good advice. I have a slight family problem, but it can wait. Trina, take Mike into the library and give him a drink. You’ll have a chance to synchronize your stories.”
The two senators went off, with Hitchcock’s hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. Trina took Shayne into a comfortable room smelling of cigars and leather. It was lined with bookshelves from the floor to the ceiling. A few logs smouldered in a fireplace. On a long worktable against one wall Shayne saw an antique wooden press, pots of glue, and other bookbinding equipment. After opening a small cabinet and taking out several bottles, Trina saw Shayne examining the press.
“Here’s where Daddy really works,” she said. “The Senate’s only a hobby. Wasn’t cognac what you were drinking on the fishing boat this morning? Shall I get some ice?”
“Straight’s fine.”
She splashed some cognac into a large snifter and poured herself a half-glass of Cointreau.
“Damn it!” she said with suppressed fury. “I hoped he wouldn’t have to know anything about this. Now I’m in the doghouse for fair, not that I really mind so long as that creature is taken care of. What went wrong?”
Shayne took the glass. “You said he was picking her up after the theatre and I thought I had plenty of time. He walked in on us. I’d just taken a gun away from her, and for a few minutes we were all of us breathing hard.”