Miss Shumway Waves A Wand

I thought about this, then I shook my head. “The girl’s Myra Shumway,” I said. “You gave me her picture. Remember?”

Juden opened a brief case, lying by his feet and produced a full plate glossy print. “Take a gander at that,” he said, handing it to me.

There was Maddox looking like a well-fed turtle, another oldish man I hadn’t seen before and Myra. They were standing in Maddox’s office and Maddox was handing Myra a slip of paper. By the glassy smile that Maddox had hitched to his face, there could be no doubt that the slip of paper was the cheque for the 25,000-dollars reward.

I stared at the girl in the photograph. If I hadn’t known that Myra hadn’t been out of Mexico for the past week, I’d have been prepared to take an oath that the girl in the picture was indeed Myra Shumway. There were the same obvious points of similarity. The blonde hair down to her shoulders, half hiding her left eye. The same way of standing and the same way of tilting her head. The features were the same although the expression was a little puzzling. There was a look on her face I had never seen before, but then I’d never seen her receiving a cheque for twenty-five grand and that amount of money is enough to change anyone’s expression.

I handed it back to Juden in bewilderment. “Something’s wrong here,” I said. “I don’t know what it is.” I shrugged helplessly. “When was this photo taken?”

“Eleven o’clock this morning,” Juden said promptly. “It was flown out and I got it this afternoon.”

“At eleven o’clock this morning, Myra Shumway was with me,” I said firmly.

It was Juden’s time to look startled. “Are you drunk?”

“Not with you handling my expense sheet,” I returned bitterly. The berman came over at this moment and Juden ordered a second round. When he had gone away, Juden said, “So she was with you, was she?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “But who’s going to believe it? Look, why don’t you admit that you slipped up? Maybe, I can put things right with Maddox. I’m not promising, but…”

“Hold everything,” I said waving my hand to the door.

“Snatch a peep at that.”

Myra was standing by the bar waiting for me to spot her. I’ve told you from time to time that this kid was a looker. I don’t want to keep on at it or you’ll think I’ve got something to sell. But I’ll put this on record. She made anything that Earl Carrol had ever put up to dazzle the tired U.S. business men look like a wallflower in red flannel.

Maybe it was the dress. It was gold lamé and the full skirt was lined with scarlet so that as she moved the scarlet showed in sudden unexpected flashes, making the dress look as if it were on fire. From the knees up, it clung to her curves like a nervous mountaineer.

She practically caused a riot. The men sitting around paused in their conversation like someone had jabbed them with a skewer, while the women radioed hate on a short wave length.

Myra didn’t care. She came over, took the seat I offered her and settled herself with all the self-assurance in the world.

I said, “I’d like you to meet Paul Juden of the Central News Agency. Miss Myra Shumway,” I went on to Juden.

He was like a man cut off at the knees. He managed to get to his feet and when Myra sat down, he collapsed into his chair. But he didn’t seem able to say anything.

“He’s not always like this,” I said to Myra. “As a matter of fact he has a pretty good head on him.”

“So have some umbrellas,” Myra said. “But, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Now, look, sunshine, don’t let us have any unpleasantness, Juden is suffering from delayed shock He thought you were in New York.”

“I hope we’re not going to have all that all over again,” Myra said.

The barman came over and stood admiring her.

“Something that would resurrect a corpse, please,” Myra said, smiling at him. “Nothing small. Serve it in a brandy glass.”

The barman blinked. “Yes, madam,” he said, and went away.

“I’m going to get tight,” she went on to me in a confidential undertone. “I haven’t been in a decent hotel for months and I haven’t been tight for years. I am pandering to my whims tonight.”

By this time, Juden began making croaking noises. “Twins,” he said feebly. “Twins.”

Myra looked at him with interest. “No wonder you look like such a sad man,” she said.

“Should I congratulate you or buy you a wreath?”

Before I could stop him, he gave her the photograph. There was a long electric silence while she looked at it. Then she turned to me. “Who’s this delightful little blonde trollop?” she asked, pointing with a trembling finger at the girl in the photograph.

“To all intents and purposes,” I said as gently as possible, “it’s you.”

Myra drew a deep breath. “Have you ever seen me wear such an expression on my face as this over-dressed, sex-ridden, over-ripe, two-face hag is wearing?” she demanded, furiously rattling the photograph under my nose.

Even Juden shrank away from her fury.