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

“Cal?” said the figure in his grip. “Oh, help, Cal. Help me!”

Cal Harris jumped as if he’d been stabbed.

“Let her go,” he yelled, forgetting all about any need for silence. “Mr. Shayne, that’s my Sally you have there.”

“Oh, hell,” Shayne said. “Put on the light. Just one bulb now.” He didn’t let go of the figure which now felt strangely soft in his grip.

When Harris lit one of the small table lamps they could see that it was indeed Sally Harris in Mike Shayne’s grasp. In a man’s sport shirt and slacks and a pair of penny-loafers and with a kerchief she could easily have passed for a boy even on the street on a dark night. Shayne let go of her.

“What are you doing here?” he said in a weary tone.

“I told you today I wasn’t going to let Cal get hurt,” she said. “I followed along to see that no harm come to him and you didn’t get him arrested.”

“Right now I’d feel better if it was possible to get you both arrested, fast,” Shayne said. “Then I could get on with my job. Was that you fighting upstairs just now?”

“It was,” Sally said. “Some man jumped me. I think he wanted to kill me. He had a knife. Is he the one you’re after?”

“I think likely he is,” the redhead said. “That is, unless they just made this place into a motel for escaped lunatics. How did you get away from his knife?”

“I kicked him in the face,” Sally said simply. “He didn’t like it. Then I run down here.”

“So you did,” Shayne said. He had a feeling nothing was going to go right for him tonight.

“Was it you prowling around outside earlier, honey?” Cal Harris asked.

“It sure was, lover,” she said. “I heard you squawk through the window to the next room, so I come in looking for you. When you wasn’t there I went upstairs and called you.”

“That was what the killer heard when he tied you up,” Harris said to Shayne.

“Did he tie you up?” Sally asked. “He must be tough.”

“Just lucky,” Shayne said. “If you don’t mind telling a dumb old man, how did you get in here? I thought I had the doors all locked tight?”

“You did. I didn’t use a door. One of the windows to the library across the hall was unlocked. I just opened it and came on in. It didn’t make a sound, just like it’d been greased to slide easy.”

“It probably was,” Shayne said. “I guess the killer fixed it that way before he left last night so he’d have an easy way to come back. These are old double-hung windows. He could take the screws out of the lock so it wouldn’t hold. I’ve seen it done before.”

“You’re a smart man,” Sally said.

“Only when I’m not busy being a damn fool,” Shayne told her. “Now one more question. Be sure you don’t answer unless you know. Was it a man or woman you fought with upstairs?”

“It was a man,” Sally said. “I’m absolutely sure. I heard his voice and his hands were rough and square like a man.”

“That’s fine,” Shayne said. “Now I know what this is all about. I wasn’t sure before. A couple of things had me puzzled. Now they all fit together. I know who he is and what he did — and why he did it.”

“Well, then?” Cal Harris said.

“Well what, boy?”

“Well, why don’t we go get him? I mean, if you know who he is and all, hadn’t we better grab him and turn him in?”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Shayne said. “He won’t go far because he hasn’t got the money yet that he’s after. Even if he did, the police can get out an all points bulletin and catch him like in a net. Once they know who they’re after, the cops can always run a man down.”

“Let’s us do it anyway,” Sally Harris said.

“Why us?”

“Because it’s us he tried to kill,” she said. “Because there might be a reward, and me and Cal need the money.”

“You and Cal get part of my reward,” Shayne said. “About ten thousand dollars of it, if I’m right.”

They both looked at him and gasped.

“You leave that killer to the pros,” Shayne said. “You forgot a couple of things. This guy’s killed once already. He’d do it again. You can bet on it. He’s tough and hard and desperate. And most important of all—”

“What?” Cal Harris interrupted.

“He’s got my gun.”

“Exactly,” said a voice from the doorway. “I have your gun.”

IX

The figure in the doorway was a slender man in dark, turtleneck sweater and slacks and rubber-soled shoes. He had a woman’s nylon stocking over his head and face for a mask. He also had Mike Shayne’s big forty-five Colt’s automatic held in his right hand and pointed at the three people standing in front of the fireplace.

“You always keep coming here,” he said, “so I guess what I’m after must be in this room. After I get you all tied up, I’ll find it.”

“Too bad for you you didn’t find it last night,” Shayne said. “You should have used a bigger gun. Then none of this would have happened.”

“What do you mean?” Sally asked.

The masked man waved the gun at them. “Go on and tell her, shamus. I’d like to know how much you really do have figured out. I don’t think you’re so smart. If you were I wouldn’t have you under the gun right now. Would I?”