Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 29, No. 4, September 1971

There was only one conclusion. The killer was already in the house and had ambushed Cal. When Harris came into the room, he’d been bushwhacked and killed or taken prisoner.

Since Shayne couldn’t locate the body, he decided the young man must be a captive. That rearranged the detective’s whole priority list of objectives.

The first thing he had to do now was find and rescue Cal Harris. He was sure the killer would have had only one possible reason for taking the boy away with him, to torture him and force out of him whatever he might know about the hidden money.

If Cal Harris told, it would be the same as signing his own death warrant. If he couldn’t or wouldn’t give out any information to help the killer, it would probably amount to the same thing. This killer wouldn’t be the one to leave behind a live witness who might identify him at some future date.

Everything Shayne had learned so far tagged this one as smart, aggressive and utterly ruthless, not a man to take chances or leave loose ends lying around under any circumstances whatever.

Well, he wouldn’t find Harris by staying on the dining room floor. He had to get out of there and search the entire house. That wasn’t going to be easy or safe with a killer waiting and ready for him.

Shayne crawled over to the door and reached up to the knob. He opened the door with one swift motion and stuck his head out at floor level. It was a trick he’d used before in a tight place, and it had saved his life more than once.

Anybody waiting in ambush outside the door would expect the big man to walk out, not crawl. From a prone position Shayne could have spotted his feet, grabbed for the ankles and brought the man down while he was still peering into the open door for the bulk of a standing man. Once a killer had even fired two shots into the empty air where Shayne’s stomach would have been.

This time there was nobody in the hall. When Mike Shayne was sure of that he got to his own feet. He was holding Harris’ heavy cane, and had his big forty-five loose in the holster and ready for instant use if needed.

The worst part of the whole situation was that he had no idea at all where to start searching. There were at least six rooms on the ground floor where he stood, and two more stories above. The killer might be holding Cal in any of the rooms — and any one was so crowded and cluttered as to offer a fine setting for an ambush in the dark.

If the detective just went blundering about in the dark, he stood a very good chance of meeting the same fate as the young fellow had. If he tried turning on lights, he’d just alert the killer for sure as to his own whereabouts.

At that point Shayne wished old John Wingren hadn’t been too miserly to keep a phone. He wished he could put in a call to his friend Will Gentry to have the house surrounded by police so the killer’s escape would be cut off.

He didn’t dare leave the house long enough to find another phone and call for help.

Shayne decided to search the ground floor first. He didn’t think the killer had had time to carry Cal Harris’ unconscious body very far. He’d probably known that Mike Shayne was also in the house and been afraid of being surprised himself at any moment.

Of course he’d want to get the body out of the room where the attack had taken place.

Shayne was pretty sure he’d have heard the sounds of anything heavy being carried up to the second floor. The stairway was an old one and a couple of the treads were loose and creaky. It could have been done while one of the planes was overhead, but he doubted it.

The dining room was between the living room and kitchen on the left side of the hall as a person walked in from the street. There was what had probably been a butler’s pantry between it and the kitchen, but this was so narrow and so cluttered as to be little more than a hallway.

Shayne went on down the main hall toward the rear of the house. The door from the hall to the kitchen was open, and he went inside.

The first thing he checked was the door from the kitchen to the small porch at the rear of the house. That door was locked with its key and also secured by a heavy brass draw-bolt. No one could have gone out that way and shot the bolt from the outside.

As a matter of routine Shayne checked the passage through what had been the butler’s pantry. It was empty.

There was another big storage pantry or closet. Again a quick inspection showed it empty of everything except stacked cases and canned and bottled food, boxes of soaps and detergents and similar items. Old Wingren had enough stuff hoarded away to live for months without setting foot outside of his home.

There was another door set flush with the wall, back where the bulk of one of the big freezer units kept it in heavy shadow. Shayne didn’t want to turn on a light, and as a result he almost missed seeing that door.