detective kept quiet.
“Our friendship has been entirely platonic,” Hitchcock said. “I wouldn’t expect Trina to believe that. I think what frightens her is the possibility that I might marry again. What frightens me is what Maggie would say if I asked her. Well, I know she’d be kind. I can’t seem to stop talking about her. She’s so alive! You saw that, didn’t you?”
Shayne nodded slowly, having no trouble remembering the way Maggie Smith had felt in his arms.
“What has your investigation turned up about her?” Hitchcock asked, too casually. “I really think you’d better tell me, Mike. Otherwise I’ll have to squeeze it out of Trina, which would be unpleasant for both of us. If you can drive Maggie out of town with it, it must be fairly lurid.”
Shayne swirled the brandy around in the big bubble of glass. “I hate to do it this way, Senator. She did something for Sam Toby once. I can give you the details if you have to have them, but I’d just as soon leave it at that. She didn’t deny it.”
Hitchcock’s face had gone very still. “When?”
“Eight years ago. I know people change, and I think she’s sorry. But it raises a big question. Apparently she’s pretty close to the rocks financially. You know this guy Sam Toby and the way he operates. Leaving personalities aside, do you think he’s capable of putting a hustler on you?”
“Toby is capable of anything if there’s enough money involved and he thinks he can get away with it.” He laid his cigar carefully in an ashtray and stood up. “Excuse me.” With his back turned, he poured a glass of water from a carafe on the worktable and swallowed two pills that he took from a small vial. Shayne was on his feet.
“Is there anything I can do, Senator?”
“No. This is precautionary.”
After a moment he turned, went to the phone on a small table beside the fireplace, and began to dial.
Shayne said, “Why not sleep on it? Let her call you.”
“Do you think I’d sleep?”
He waited. The phone rang a long time. Then Shayne heard the connection being opened and Hitchcock said quietly, “Maggie?”
There was a faint scratching noise. Hitchcock turned up a volume control and reached over to throw a switch so the conversation would be recorded.
Maggie Smith’s voice said, “—feel much better. The Senate ought to put up a statue to the man who invented aspirin. But about tomorrow. A call came through from New York just after you left. I have to run up to untangle a stupid legal snafu about some out-of-town performance rights. It’s too boring to go into. I may not be back for several days.”
“I have Mike Shayne here,” Hitchcock said. “I’ve been browbeating him. Naturally I couldn’t believe that he’d been interviewing you about some runaway hoodlum. There was too much excitement in the air.”
“What has he told you?”
“Not much as yet, except that he was able to scare you with some scandal he dredged up out of the past. Ordinarily I’d refuse to listen, but in anything involving Sam Toby you must realize that I have a public responsibility. I can’t leave it hanging in midair.”
“Don’t tell me Shayne won’t supply the details. I wouldn’t give him credit for so much delicacy.”
“I’d rather hear it from you, if you don’t mind.”
She sighed. “I’ve always known it would come back to haunt me. I’ve dreamed about it, except that in my dreams it turned into a murder and I couldn’t get rid of the body. You’ve been sweet, Emory. I’ll say goodbye to you now, because I know you won’t be speaking to me in another minute.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Hitchcock said softly.
“Emory—” She waited a moment, and Shayne could guess that her eyes were shut and she was pinching the bridge of her nose. She said it fast. “I wanted a part in a Broadway production. My thirtieth birthday was coming up, and it seemed to me that that was some kind of deadline. I had to find out if I was
“Our friendship has been entirely platonic,” Hitchcock said. “I wouldn’t expect Trina to believe that. I think what frightens her is the possibility that I might marry again. What frightens me is what Maggie would say if I asked her. Well, I know she’d be kind. I can’t seem to stop talking about her. She’s so alive! You saw that, didn’t you?”
Shayne nodded slowly, having no trouble remembering the way Maggie Smith had felt in his arms.
“What has your investigation turned up about her?” Hitchcock asked, too casually. “I really think you’d better tell me, Mike. Otherwise I’ll have to squeeze it out of Trina, which would be unpleasant for both of us. If you can drive Maggie out of town with it, it must be fairly lurid.”
Shayne swirled the brandy around in the big bubble of glass. “I hate to do it this way, Senator. She did something for Sam Toby once. I can give you the details if you have to have them, but I’d just as soon leave it at that. She didn’t deny it.”
Hitchcock’s face had gone very still. “When?”
“Eight years ago. I know people change, and I think she’s sorry. But it raises a big question. Apparently she’s pretty close to the rocks financially. You know this guy Sam Toby and the way he operates. Leaving personalities aside, do you think he’s capable of putting a hustler on you?”
“Toby is capable of anything if there’s enough money involved and he thinks he can get away with it.” He laid his cigar carefully in an ashtray and stood up. “Excuse me.” With his back turned, he poured a glass of water from a carafe on the worktable and swallowed two pills that he took from a small vial. Shayne was on his feet.
“Is there anything I can do, Senator?”
“No. This is precautionary.”
After a moment he turned, went to the phone on a small table beside the fireplace, and began to dial.
Shayne said, “Why not sleep on it? Let her call you.”
“Do you think I’d sleep?”
He waited. The phone rang a long time. Then Shayne heard the connection being opened and Hitchcock said quietly, “Maggie?”
There was a faint scratching noise. Hitchcock turned up a volume control and reached over to throw a switch so the conversation would be recorded.
Maggie Smith’s voice said, “—feel much better. The Senate ought to put up a statue to the man who invented aspirin. But about tomorrow. A call came through from New York just after you left. I have to run up to untangle a stupid legal snafu about some out-of-town performance rights. It’s too boring to go into. I may not be back for several days.”
“I have Mike Shayne here,” Hitchcock said. “I’ve been browbeating him. Naturally I couldn’t believe that he’d been interviewing you about some runaway hoodlum. There was too much excitement in the air.”
“What has he told you?”
“Not much as yet, except that he was able to scare you with some scandal he dredged up out of the past. Ordinarily I’d refuse to listen, but in anything involving Sam Toby you must realize that I have a public responsibility. I can’t leave it hanging in midair.”
“Don’t tell me Shayne won’t supply the details. I wouldn’t give him credit for so much delicacy.”
“I’d rather hear it from you, if you don’t mind.”
She sighed. “I’ve always known it would come back to haunt me. I’ve dreamed about it, except that in my dreams it turned into a murder and I couldn’t get rid of the body. You’ve been sweet, Emory. I’ll say goodbye to you now, because I know you won’t be speaking to me in another minute.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Hitchcock said softly.
“Emory—” She waited a moment, and Shayne could guess that her eyes were shut and she was pinching the bridge of her nose. She said it fast. “I wanted a part in a Broadway production. My thirtieth birthday was coming up, and it seemed to me that that was some kind of deadline. I had to find out if I was
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