lady on,” Shayne grinned. “If you’d met her husband before the sheriff got hold of him you might have carried off a lead souvenir.”
The actor’s sensitive features registered deep disgust. “I didn’t lead her on. She entertained the cast at her home a couple of times. You know how a thing like that gets started.”
“No, I wouldn’t know.”
“Why do we stand here talking when Nora may be in danger?”
Shayne stopped grinning. “The clerk didn’t notice her going in or out. I suppose you both had keys to your room?”
Carson nodded. “Maybe that note is a plant,” he hazarded. His dark eyes were excited. “Suppose she didn’t come to the hotel at all.”
Shayne said, “Could be, though I don’t see why anyone would go to that trouble. We’ll go up and have a look at the note. You should know her handwriting.” Carson plunged ahead impatiently. Shayne followed him through the lobby and up the stairs. Carson sprinted ahead to the door of 123 which was standing open as Shayne had left it. When Shayne reached the door he stopped and leaned against the casing, lit a cigarette, and watched Carson read the note.
Carson turned, crumpling the paper in his hand. He said, “It’s Nora’s handwriting. No question about that.”
Shayne let his cigarette dangle from his lips as he massaged his left ear. “Why do you suppose she came up here if she was in such a hurry to find the sheriff and get back to the performance? Why didn’t she leave the note in her dressing-room?”
Carson furrowed his high smooth brow and reasoned slowly, “Perhaps she dashed out of the opera house on a sudden impulse—then decided she needed something warmer than her evening cape. She thought of leaving the note while she was up here getting a coat.” He hurried across to the closet and looked through the hanging garments. He came out nodding. “That must have been it. A woolen coat is missing.”
Shayne stopped punishing his earlobe. “That gives us a starting point, but that’s all we do have. Where did she go after coming up here and leaving the note? The sheriff was on the job all evening, yet she didn’t contact him. Damn it, Carson, I’m beginning to get worried.”
“You’re beginning to get worried?” He laughed harshly, put biting emphasis into his words. “You’re beginning to get worried. I told you something awful had happened. I knew it as soon as she didn’t answer her cue. Why don’t you do something!”
“What, for instance?” Shayne growled. “I don’t know the Rocky Mountains like I do Flagler Street and Biscayne Boulevard.” He stepped backward into the hall and said, “If you expect me to start crawling on my belly through Cousin-Jack mine tunnels hunting for her, you’re nuts. All we can do is keep asking questions until we get a lead.”
Carson shuddered beside him as they started down the corridor. Suddenly he dropped to his knees and exclaimed:
“Look here! Do you see what I see—not more than ten feet from our room door?” He pointed a shaking finger to a damp spot on the floor. “It’s blood! Fresh blood!”
Shayne stopped and looked, nodded casually and said, “When I was up here before I had to remonstrate with a pansy who should have known better. One of Two-Deck Bryant’s hoods.”
He watched Carson closely, but the name didn’t appear to register. The actor shuddered weakly and stood up. “When I saw that blood—my God!”
They descended the stairs and Shayne left him in the lobby and went to the night club in the rear. A name orchestra was cluttering up the acoustics with the latest hit tune and the dance floor was so packed that couples could do little more than sway together with the rhythm.
As he searched from the doorway for Phyllis and Casey, he suddenly recalled that evening attire was required for both the opera and the night club on opening night. This ruled out Casey with his rumpled blue suit and straw hat, and Shayne was reasonably certain
The actor’s sensitive features registered deep disgust. “I didn’t lead her on. She entertained the cast at her home a couple of times. You know how a thing like that gets started.”
“No, I wouldn’t know.”
“Why do we stand here talking when Nora may be in danger?”
Shayne stopped grinning. “The clerk didn’t notice her going in or out. I suppose you both had keys to your room?”
Carson nodded. “Maybe that note is a plant,” he hazarded. His dark eyes were excited. “Suppose she didn’t come to the hotel at all.”
Shayne said, “Could be, though I don’t see why anyone would go to that trouble. We’ll go up and have a look at the note. You should know her handwriting.” Carson plunged ahead impatiently. Shayne followed him through the lobby and up the stairs. Carson sprinted ahead to the door of 123 which was standing open as Shayne had left it. When Shayne reached the door he stopped and leaned against the casing, lit a cigarette, and watched Carson read the note.
Carson turned, crumpling the paper in his hand. He said, “It’s Nora’s handwriting. No question about that.”
Shayne let his cigarette dangle from his lips as he massaged his left ear. “Why do you suppose she came up here if she was in such a hurry to find the sheriff and get back to the performance? Why didn’t she leave the note in her dressing-room?”
Carson furrowed his high smooth brow and reasoned slowly, “Perhaps she dashed out of the opera house on a sudden impulse—then decided she needed something warmer than her evening cape. She thought of leaving the note while she was up here getting a coat.” He hurried across to the closet and looked through the hanging garments. He came out nodding. “That must have been it. A woolen coat is missing.”
Shayne stopped punishing his earlobe. “That gives us a starting point, but that’s all we do have. Where did she go after coming up here and leaving the note? The sheriff was on the job all evening, yet she didn’t contact him. Damn it, Carson, I’m beginning to get worried.”
“You’re beginning to get worried?” He laughed harshly, put biting emphasis into his words. “You’re beginning to get worried. I told you something awful had happened. I knew it as soon as she didn’t answer her cue. Why don’t you do something!”
“What, for instance?” Shayne growled. “I don’t know the Rocky Mountains like I do Flagler Street and Biscayne Boulevard.” He stepped backward into the hall and said, “If you expect me to start crawling on my belly through Cousin-Jack mine tunnels hunting for her, you’re nuts. All we can do is keep asking questions until we get a lead.”
Carson shuddered beside him as they started down the corridor. Suddenly he dropped to his knees and exclaimed:
“Look here! Do you see what I see—not more than ten feet from our room door?” He pointed a shaking finger to a damp spot on the floor. “It’s blood! Fresh blood!”
Shayne stopped and looked, nodded casually and said, “When I was up here before I had to remonstrate with a pansy who should have known better. One of Two-Deck Bryant’s hoods.”
He watched Carson closely, but the name didn’t appear to register. The actor shuddered weakly and stood up. “When I saw that blood—my God!”
They descended the stairs and Shayne left him in the lobby and went to the night club in the rear. A name orchestra was cluttering up the acoustics with the latest hit tune and the dance floor was so packed that couples could do little more than sway together with the rhythm.
As he searched from the doorway for Phyllis and Casey, he suddenly recalled that evening attire was required for both the opera and the night club on opening night. This ruled out Casey with his rumpled blue suit and straw hat, and Shayne was reasonably certain
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