figure that drunken act of hers was legitimate?” demanded Shayne.
“Don’t you?” Rourke looked at him wonderingly.
Shayne said softly, “I don’t know the woman. What about the gambling angle, Tim? You do know Ambrose better than you admitted tonight. Has he bought lots of hay for the nags who didn’t come in?”
“I doubt it,” said Rourke cautiously. “That is… I seem to recall that he used to ask me for tips, and I think maybe he invested small sums now and then, but I seriously doubt that he got in over his head… the way she intimated.”
“Intimated?” questioned Shayne. “You think she was making it up?”
“Either that, or else your explanation fits. That the doctor made her think he was gambling to account for the drain on his income for blackmail.”
“What do you suppose he was being blackmailed for?”
“Damned if I know.” Rourke scowled down at his glass. “In my book,” he said strongly, “Doctor Ambrose was one fine gent… and a hell of a good doctor. I suppose every man is capable of making a slip now and then. And, as he pointed out to you, Mike, an M.D. is particularly vulnerable. One breath of suspicion directed at him can ruin his practice. Not like a private eye or a newspaper reporter.”
Shayne nodded somber agreement. “Too bad it’ll all probably have to come out now… after he paid off plenty to prevent it.”
“Why should it, Mike? Whoever killed him and lifted the envelope with those documents isn’t likely to make them public.”
“This is a murder investigation. Everything about the doctor’s private life is important now. Painter won’t leave a stone unturned to dig up the blackmail information. There’ll be something in the doctor’s files that’ll put him on the trail. Painter’s not too smart, but he’s dogged as hell.”
Timothy Rourke nodded unhappy agreement. He tightened his lips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I still owe Doc Ambrose something.”
Shayne watched his old friend speculatively. “He’s dead now. There’s not very much you can do, Tim.”
“Celia’s still alive. They’ve got married children, I think.” Rourke’s thin fingers closed convulsively about his glass. “I feel responsible in a way. If I’d tried harder to talk him out of it tonight. If I hadn’t sent him to you… put pressure on you to help him make the pay-off…”
Shayne said, “Afterthoughts don’t help.”
“No, but maybe there’s something we can do.” Rourke peered across the table at him with eyes that were feverishly bright. “You feel up to a spot of breaking and entering?”
“Frankly… no.” Shayne stifled a wide yawn, then asked resignedly, “What have you got in mind?”
“His office files, Mike. They’re not ten blocks from here. If we go through them before Painter gets around to it in the morning…”
Shayne drummed blunt fingertips on the table. “That’s illegal as hell. In addition to obstructing a murder investigation.”
“Obstructing?” snorted Rourke . “Don’t be ridiculous! If we do find a lead to the blackmailer, you’ll know how to follow it up a lot better than Petey will. We owe it to Ambrose to try it, Mike. It might lead straight to his murderer.”
“It might. But it’s a slim chance.”
“All right. If we don’t find anything important there’s no harm done.”
Shayne hesitated. “You got his address?”
“Sure. I’ve been there several times. It’s a perfect location for us. On a side street off Fifth. One of those little medical centers with half a dozen doctors’ offices grouped in a U about a patio. Not a soul around this time of night.” He got out his wallet and looked around for the waiter who hurried up and presented the bill. Rourke put four ones on the table and got up.
Shayne followed him out reluctantly. Rourke said, “Follow me,” and got in his coupé before Shayne could protest further.
The detective walked back to his own car and got in, inwardly
“Don’t you?” Rourke looked at him wonderingly.
Shayne said softly, “I don’t know the woman. What about the gambling angle, Tim? You do know Ambrose better than you admitted tonight. Has he bought lots of hay for the nags who didn’t come in?”
“I doubt it,” said Rourke cautiously. “That is… I seem to recall that he used to ask me for tips, and I think maybe he invested small sums now and then, but I seriously doubt that he got in over his head… the way she intimated.”
“Intimated?” questioned Shayne. “You think she was making it up?”
“Either that, or else your explanation fits. That the doctor made her think he was gambling to account for the drain on his income for blackmail.”
“What do you suppose he was being blackmailed for?”
“Damned if I know.” Rourke scowled down at his glass. “In my book,” he said strongly, “Doctor Ambrose was one fine gent… and a hell of a good doctor. I suppose every man is capable of making a slip now and then. And, as he pointed out to you, Mike, an M.D. is particularly vulnerable. One breath of suspicion directed at him can ruin his practice. Not like a private eye or a newspaper reporter.”
Shayne nodded somber agreement. “Too bad it’ll all probably have to come out now… after he paid off plenty to prevent it.”
“Why should it, Mike? Whoever killed him and lifted the envelope with those documents isn’t likely to make them public.”
“This is a murder investigation. Everything about the doctor’s private life is important now. Painter won’t leave a stone unturned to dig up the blackmail information. There’ll be something in the doctor’s files that’ll put him on the trail. Painter’s not too smart, but he’s dogged as hell.”
Timothy Rourke nodded unhappy agreement. He tightened his lips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I still owe Doc Ambrose something.”
Shayne watched his old friend speculatively. “He’s dead now. There’s not very much you can do, Tim.”
“Celia’s still alive. They’ve got married children, I think.” Rourke’s thin fingers closed convulsively about his glass. “I feel responsible in a way. If I’d tried harder to talk him out of it tonight. If I hadn’t sent him to you… put pressure on you to help him make the pay-off…”
Shayne said, “Afterthoughts don’t help.”
“No, but maybe there’s something we can do.” Rourke peered across the table at him with eyes that were feverishly bright. “You feel up to a spot of breaking and entering?”
“Frankly… no.” Shayne stifled a wide yawn, then asked resignedly, “What have you got in mind?”
“His office files, Mike. They’re not ten blocks from here. If we go through them before Painter gets around to it in the morning…”
Shayne drummed blunt fingertips on the table. “That’s illegal as hell. In addition to obstructing a murder investigation.”
“Obstructing?” snorted Rourke . “Don’t be ridiculous! If we do find a lead to the blackmailer, you’ll know how to follow it up a lot better than Petey will. We owe it to Ambrose to try it, Mike. It might lead straight to his murderer.”
“It might. But it’s a slim chance.”
“All right. If we don’t find anything important there’s no harm done.”
Shayne hesitated. “You got his address?”
“Sure. I’ve been there several times. It’s a perfect location for us. On a side street off Fifth. One of those little medical centers with half a dozen doctors’ offices grouped in a U about a patio. Not a soul around this time of night.” He got out his wallet and looked around for the waiter who hurried up and presented the bill. Rourke put four ones on the table and got up.
Shayne followed him out reluctantly. Rourke said, “Follow me,” and got in his coupé before Shayne could protest further.
The detective walked back to his own car and got in, inwardly
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