Dead Man's Diary & A Taste for Cognac by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brett Halliday
time?”
“It’s been more than five minutes.” Cross’s voice was cold. He reached for the phone with his left hand.
“Don’t be a damned fool!” Shayne said impatiently. “You don’t want the police in on this.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t want the police. I’ve got you for feloniously entering my room, if nothing else.”
“I didn’t break in. I pushed the door open and walked in. Check with the desk clerk,” he urged. “I called your room from downstairs not more than two minutes ago. Someone answered and I assumed it was you. I came up and found the door ajar. The clerk’s story will just make a fool of you with the police.”
Cross lifted the receiver and said, “Desk clerk.” He waited a moment, then said, “This is Mr. Cross. A moment ago when I came in you told me someone had just come up to my room. Did he ask for me at the desk?”
He listened for a while, nodding slowly and frowning. He said, “I see,” and hung up. He put the pistol back in his pocket. “I guess you’re right, Shayne. The clerk did hear you talking to somebody in my room.” He sat down on the bed and asked, “Who was it?”
Shayne shook his head. “Whoever it was ducked out before I could get up in the elevator. Is the diary gone?”
“So that’s what you were after?” Cross’s face was pale with anger.
“Where was it?” Shayne asked impatiently. “If it’s been stolen—”
“You’d better come clean with me, Shayne. What’s all this talk about Groat disappearing and maybe being dead? What are you and Jake Sims up to?”
Shayne looked around the room morosely. He said, “I don’t think it matters now,” and started toward the door.
Cross jumped up, bunching his right hand in his coat pocket. “You’re not leaving here until you do some talking.”
Shayne kept on going. He didn’t look at Cross. He went out the door and down the hall to the elevator, pushed the button and waited, keeping his back obstinately toward Cross’s door.
The elevator stopped and took him down to the lobby. He went out and walked back to the office.
Lucy was waiting impatiently to go out to lunch. “I’ve been waiting for hours,” she complained. “You’ve got company.” She indicated the closed door of his office.
Shayne said, “Run along now,” and opened his office door. Jake Sims was standing at the window with his hands clasped behind him. The young woman whom he had seen in Hastings’s office was sitting beside his desk. She looked up at him coolly, a cigarette in her left hand, her lips parted to let smoke flow out. He had the same impression of hard, alert intelligence, as when he had first seen her.
Sims said, “Glad to see you Shayne. This is Mrs. Meredith.”
“I’m very glad to meet you, Mrs. Meredith,” said Shayne, and sat down in his swivel chair.
Sims moved from the window and took a chair opposite Shayne. He said, “Mrs. Meredith is a client of mine from out of town.”
Shayne looked at her and didn’t say anything. She had her legs crossed and she smiled faintly. Her eyes were brown and calculating. She met Shayne’s gaze levelly, sizing him up as he imagined she did all men—to ascertain if she might use him and how best to handle him.
“I wondered,” said Jake Sims, “what sort of job you’re doing for Hastings.”
Shayne was still watching Mrs. Meredith. She made, a quick gesture with her left hand, as though she had come to a sudden decision.
“Where have you hidden Jasper Groat?” Her voice was strong and even, without impatience.
“You must be Albert Hawley’s divorced wife,” Shayne countered.
She nodded and leaned forward to stub out her cigarette in a tray on his desk.
“What makes you think I’ve hidden Groat?”
Jake Sims cleared his throat. “It’s fairly evident, Shayne. You’re working with Hastings to defraud my client of a fortune. You’ve got rid of the only witness who could testify that Hawley didn’t die until after his uncle
“It’s been more than five minutes.” Cross’s voice was cold. He reached for the phone with his left hand.
“Don’t be a damned fool!” Shayne said impatiently. “You don’t want the police in on this.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t want the police. I’ve got you for feloniously entering my room, if nothing else.”
“I didn’t break in. I pushed the door open and walked in. Check with the desk clerk,” he urged. “I called your room from downstairs not more than two minutes ago. Someone answered and I assumed it was you. I came up and found the door ajar. The clerk’s story will just make a fool of you with the police.”
Cross lifted the receiver and said, “Desk clerk.” He waited a moment, then said, “This is Mr. Cross. A moment ago when I came in you told me someone had just come up to my room. Did he ask for me at the desk?”
He listened for a while, nodding slowly and frowning. He said, “I see,” and hung up. He put the pistol back in his pocket. “I guess you’re right, Shayne. The clerk did hear you talking to somebody in my room.” He sat down on the bed and asked, “Who was it?”
Shayne shook his head. “Whoever it was ducked out before I could get up in the elevator. Is the diary gone?”
“So that’s what you were after?” Cross’s face was pale with anger.
“Where was it?” Shayne asked impatiently. “If it’s been stolen—”
“You’d better come clean with me, Shayne. What’s all this talk about Groat disappearing and maybe being dead? What are you and Jake Sims up to?”
Shayne looked around the room morosely. He said, “I don’t think it matters now,” and started toward the door.
Cross jumped up, bunching his right hand in his coat pocket. “You’re not leaving here until you do some talking.”
Shayne kept on going. He didn’t look at Cross. He went out the door and down the hall to the elevator, pushed the button and waited, keeping his back obstinately toward Cross’s door.
The elevator stopped and took him down to the lobby. He went out and walked back to the office.
Lucy was waiting impatiently to go out to lunch. “I’ve been waiting for hours,” she complained. “You’ve got company.” She indicated the closed door of his office.
Shayne said, “Run along now,” and opened his office door. Jake Sims was standing at the window with his hands clasped behind him. The young woman whom he had seen in Hastings’s office was sitting beside his desk. She looked up at him coolly, a cigarette in her left hand, her lips parted to let smoke flow out. He had the same impression of hard, alert intelligence, as when he had first seen her.
Sims said, “Glad to see you Shayne. This is Mrs. Meredith.”
“I’m very glad to meet you, Mrs. Meredith,” said Shayne, and sat down in his swivel chair.
Sims moved from the window and took a chair opposite Shayne. He said, “Mrs. Meredith is a client of mine from out of town.”
Shayne looked at her and didn’t say anything. She had her legs crossed and she smiled faintly. Her eyes were brown and calculating. She met Shayne’s gaze levelly, sizing him up as he imagined she did all men—to ascertain if she might use him and how best to handle him.
“I wondered,” said Jake Sims, “what sort of job you’re doing for Hastings.”
Shayne was still watching Mrs. Meredith. She made, a quick gesture with her left hand, as though she had come to a sudden decision.
“Where have you hidden Jasper Groat?” Her voice was strong and even, without impatience.
“You must be Albert Hawley’s divorced wife,” Shayne countered.
She nodded and leaned forward to stub out her cigarette in a tray on his desk.
“What makes you think I’ve hidden Groat?”
Jake Sims cleared his throat. “It’s fairly evident, Shayne. You’re working with Hastings to defraud my client of a fortune. You’ve got rid of the only witness who could testify that Hawley didn’t die until after his uncle