stairs?” he asked.
“Locked.” Eddie pointed to the heavy Yale lock. “Dad or Mom has the only key.” He grinned and assumed an air of sophistication as he continued, “Dad didn’t think it was safe for Neal to be able to get into the house at night, I guess. That old devil sex rearing its ugly head again.” His voice crackled with an odd note of bravado, sneered at his father’s old-fashioned ideas of propriety, yet strove to imply that they might have been justified.
They went through a side door onto the wide veranda that completely circled the house and down concrete steps to a concrete walk, turned to the rear until they reached a point where it was intersected by another walk leading from the garage to the house.
Indicating the right-hand walk, Eddie said, “That goes out to Neal’s apartment over the garage, and the other to the kitchen entrance.”
Shayne got a glimpse of a narrower concrete walk leading to the garden and circling flower beds where hardly perennials were darkly green and fresh in the mist of rain still falling before Eddie started down the basement steps. A door was set flush with the concrete floor. He pushed it open and went in.
The hallway was lighted by a large bulb in the room beyond. As they passed a door on the right, Eddie said, “That’s the furnace room,” and a few steps farther pointed out the inside basement stairway. The steps were covered with dust, and cobwebs hung from the slanting ceiling.
In the large lighted room a man in a short-sleeved polo shirt was working at a long bench. He wore soiled duck trousers and canvas sneakers. His back was turned toward the entrance and he gave no sign that he heard his visitors come in.
Shayne walked slowly to the work bench, his gaze steady upon the broad shoulders and clean-muscled arms of the man working there. The smooth line of his body flowed down to narrow hips and long legs. His head was finely shaped and covered with thick hair that gleamed like copper in the bright light.
Eddie said, “Here’s a man to see you, Neal.”
Neal turned his head and nodded. “Just a minute while I mark this off.”
Ordinarily Shayne would have scorned the regular features and gleaming hair which would have been merely pretty on many men. But there was also an instant impression of ruthless strength and an air of quiet assurance that compelled Shayne’s interest.
He said, “Go right ahead,” and moved nearer the bench.
Eddie asked, “Is that the insulating stuff?” with genuine interest. “Gosh, you’ve got a big job cut out for you—wrapping all those pipes.”
“It’s not so bad. Something to keep me busy, and it’ll cut fuel bills down.”
Shayne noted the deep vibrance of his voice and decided that it could also become very tender, and persuasive.
After carefully ruling the asbestos, the chauffeur laid his pencil and rule down, picked up a short-stemmed pipe and a can of tobacco, turned to Shayne and asked, “What do you want to see me about?”
“This is Mr. Shayne,” Eddie said quickly, “and he’s a detective.” His tone warned the chauffeur. “Come to see about the necklace,” he added.
“I’m Neal Jordan, Mr. Shayne.” He snapped the tobacco can shut, set it on the bench and took a step forward to shake hands. His movements were slow and deliberate with no hint of insolence.
Shayne looked into a pair of dark blue intelligent eyes as he shook hands. Neal’s brows and lashes were black, and there was more strength than masculine beauty in the clean-cut features.
Shayne said, “You’d better run along, Eddie. I’ll talk to Jordan alone.”
Eddie hesitated, his face sullen. He muttered, “Okay. I suppose you want to check on my alibi.” Before he swaggered out he added, “Watch him, Neal. He’ll try to hang something on you.”
Neither man spoke until the outer door was closed. Neal Jordan lighted his pipe and said, “Unpleasant youngster, isn’t he?”
“I meet all kinds in my
“Locked.” Eddie pointed to the heavy Yale lock. “Dad or Mom has the only key.” He grinned and assumed an air of sophistication as he continued, “Dad didn’t think it was safe for Neal to be able to get into the house at night, I guess. That old devil sex rearing its ugly head again.” His voice crackled with an odd note of bravado, sneered at his father’s old-fashioned ideas of propriety, yet strove to imply that they might have been justified.
They went through a side door onto the wide veranda that completely circled the house and down concrete steps to a concrete walk, turned to the rear until they reached a point where it was intersected by another walk leading from the garage to the house.
Indicating the right-hand walk, Eddie said, “That goes out to Neal’s apartment over the garage, and the other to the kitchen entrance.”
Shayne got a glimpse of a narrower concrete walk leading to the garden and circling flower beds where hardly perennials were darkly green and fresh in the mist of rain still falling before Eddie started down the basement steps. A door was set flush with the concrete floor. He pushed it open and went in.
The hallway was lighted by a large bulb in the room beyond. As they passed a door on the right, Eddie said, “That’s the furnace room,” and a few steps farther pointed out the inside basement stairway. The steps were covered with dust, and cobwebs hung from the slanting ceiling.
In the large lighted room a man in a short-sleeved polo shirt was working at a long bench. He wore soiled duck trousers and canvas sneakers. His back was turned toward the entrance and he gave no sign that he heard his visitors come in.
Shayne walked slowly to the work bench, his gaze steady upon the broad shoulders and clean-muscled arms of the man working there. The smooth line of his body flowed down to narrow hips and long legs. His head was finely shaped and covered with thick hair that gleamed like copper in the bright light.
Eddie said, “Here’s a man to see you, Neal.”
Neal turned his head and nodded. “Just a minute while I mark this off.”
Ordinarily Shayne would have scorned the regular features and gleaming hair which would have been merely pretty on many men. But there was also an instant impression of ruthless strength and an air of quiet assurance that compelled Shayne’s interest.
He said, “Go right ahead,” and moved nearer the bench.
Eddie asked, “Is that the insulating stuff?” with genuine interest. “Gosh, you’ve got a big job cut out for you—wrapping all those pipes.”
“It’s not so bad. Something to keep me busy, and it’ll cut fuel bills down.”
Shayne noted the deep vibrance of his voice and decided that it could also become very tender, and persuasive.
After carefully ruling the asbestos, the chauffeur laid his pencil and rule down, picked up a short-stemmed pipe and a can of tobacco, turned to Shayne and asked, “What do you want to see me about?”
“This is Mr. Shayne,” Eddie said quickly, “and he’s a detective.” His tone warned the chauffeur. “Come to see about the necklace,” he added.
“I’m Neal Jordan, Mr. Shayne.” He snapped the tobacco can shut, set it on the bench and took a step forward to shake hands. His movements were slow and deliberate with no hint of insolence.
Shayne looked into a pair of dark blue intelligent eyes as he shook hands. Neal’s brows and lashes were black, and there was more strength than masculine beauty in the clean-cut features.
Shayne said, “You’d better run along, Eddie. I’ll talk to Jordan alone.”
Eddie hesitated, his face sullen. He muttered, “Okay. I suppose you want to check on my alibi.” Before he swaggered out he added, “Watch him, Neal. He’ll try to hang something on you.”
Neither man spoke until the outer door was closed. Neal Jordan lighted his pipe and said, “Unpleasant youngster, isn’t he?”
“I meet all kinds in my
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