Lucy drew her chair nearer the desk, picked up the receiver, and said sweetly, “Mr. Shayne’s office.”
“You stay here, Tim,” Shayne said to the reporter. “Keep an eye on things and dig everything you can out of Will.”
He turned as Lucy said into the mouthpiece, “Hold on a moment, Mr. Margrave. I think Mr. Shayne will be most interested.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Would you be interested in investigating the murder of Ralph Carrol? A Mr. Margrave is very anxious to retain you in that capacity.”
She covered the mouthpiece with her palm when Shayne said, “Frankly, this is one time I can be had, and I won’t argue about the size of the retainer.”
He took the phone and said, “Mike Shayne speaking.”
CHAPTER NINE
Shayne listened attentively for a while, then said, “I understand perfectly, Mr. Margrave, and I’m glad to say I’m free to go right to work on it. I’ll want all the information you can give me about Carrol the first thing.”
He paused again to listen, and said, “The Roney Plaza. In about half an hour. It will be a pleasure.”
He hung up and grinned exultantly at Lucy and Tim Rourke. “Looks like I won’t need that plane reservation to Wilmington, for a time at least. Mr. Margrave is Ralph Carrol’s business partner. He happens to be vacationing on the Beach, and he’s quite displeased with the way the local police are investigating Carrol’s death.”
The lanky reporter’s brows were drawn together in a frown of concentration. “Margrave,” he muttered to himself, then suddenly jerked himself erect. “Wait a minute. I get it now. There was an interview with him in the Herald a few days ago. A blast at Big Business and the pernicious methods they use to run small competitors out of the picture. I think his firm faces a huge lawsuit brought against them for alleged stealing of patents or some such.”
Shayne thought for a moment before saying, “This gives me a basis of operation, anyway. A starting-point.”
“Does Margrave know you have a personal reason for taking the case?” Rourke asked.
“I don’t believe so. That’s something I haven’t thought through. How many people in this affair are contacting me in the belief that I’m the other one, the pseudo Mike Shayne, who was handling the job for Carrol? How about that, Tim? Has my name been mentioned publicly in connection with Carrol? I didn’t read the paper beyond the story of Lucy’s arrest.”
“I don’t think your name was mentioned in the Herald story about Carrol. There was just a short item about him.”
“Then it couldn’t possibly have been on the early newscast.” He paused, fingers drumming on the desk and his eyes thoughtful. “The two phone calls, they had to come from people who knew Mike Shayne was supposed to be smuggling Mrs. Carrol into her husband’s room. Have you heard the name of Ludlow mentioned in connection with Carrol?”
Rourke shook his head.
“Who’s he?”
Shayne related details of the first call he had received just as Mrs. Carrol and Gentry were leaving. “The man who called in the anonymous tip on Carrol, evidently. Beyond that I haven’t the faintest idea who Ludlow is or how he came to discover Carrol’s body.” He sprang up, and the swift movement brought a sharp throb to his injury. He touched the swollen area gingerly. “Does your car happen to be around close, Tim?”
“Right out front in the No-Parking zone.”
“How about loaning it to me for a run over to the Beach? If I pull mine out of the parking-lot before Gentry has gone over it, he’ll be sore and accuse me of hiding something.”
“He was going to send a man over to examine your head, too,” Lucy said anxiously. “Shouldn’t you wait here for that and let the doctor put something on it?”
“I really would need to have my head examined, if I hung around for that, instead of getting over to find out what Margave knows. Where are your keys, Tim?”
Rourke came to his feet and suggested, “I’ll drive you over. I’ll hang around the Roney lobby while you see Margrave, and then brace him. He’ll be the lead for my story.”
Half an hour later the redhead and the reporter entered the luxurious lobby of the Roney Plaza Hotel. Rourke handed his car keys to Shayne as they crossed to the bank of elevators. “Go ahead and use my car, when you’re through with Margrave,” he suggested. “You may have a lot of places to get to. I’ll hop a taxi back to the office.”
Shayne pocketed the keys. “I’ll try to set it up for you when I leave.”
“I’ll be right here when you come down.” Rourke lifted a thin hand in farewell as the detective entered an elevator and went up, then he sauntered to a chair facing the elevators.
Shayne found the door to Margrave’s suite slightly ajar. He pushed the button, and a voice called, “Come in.”
A wide entrance hall opened onto a spacious living-room, luxuriously furnished, with an eastern exposure of wide windows overlooking the Atlantic. The curtains were drawn back and the morning sun streamed into the room. Shayne blinked at the brightness and at the man sitting beside the wheeled dining-table near the windows.
He was a big man with coarse black hair that looked as though it hadn’t been combed for days. He had heavy, black brows, a square face with a bulbous nose, and an aggressive jaw. He wore cerise pajama bottoms, and his naked torso basked in the warm sunlight, as he busily wolfed down a breakfast of ham, eggs, and a stack of pancakes.
“Mr. Margrave?” Shayne inquired.
He nodded, munched methodically, swallowed, then boomed, “You’re Shayne, I take it. Pull up a chair and join me.”
“I’ve had breakfast, thanks.” Shayne’s feet sank into the deep carpet as he crossed the room to a comfortable chair near the table. He sat down facing his host who speared half a fried egg and a generous portion of ham which he crammed into his big mouth.
Shayne was fishing a cigarette from the pack in his pocket when a woman’s voice spoke from his left. “Maybe you’d prefer to share my breakfast, Mr. Shayne?”
He turned his head slowly. She was curled up on a rose silk divan against the opposite wall. She was young and startlingly beautiful, with hair so black that it shone with a glossy, bluish sheen in the sunlight. By contrast, her face appeared unnaturally white, relieved only by the bright-crimson gash that was her mouth. She wore a white nylon gown beneath a sheer silk dressing-gown, belted tightly around her slender waist. Her feet were bare, and a pair of white satin slippers lay on the couch.
Propped against fluffy colorful cushions, her right arm dangled over the side of the couch, and she held a highball glass in her left hand. A bottle of whisky, and ice cubes in a silver bucket, stood on the coffee table beside her. As he stared at her in astonishment, she lazily lifted the glass to her lips, and returned his gaze with frank curiosity over the rim of it.
“Nonsense, Ann.” The gruff asperity of Margrave’s voice was muffled by the food in his mouth. “I’ve told you a thousand times that no sane person would touch the stuff before lunch. You’re turning into a lush, and I don’t like it.”
Shayne shifted his chair to a vantage point that included them both in his range of vision. He saw an expression of rebellious hatred cross the girl’s face and disappear, leaving her features as white and placid as before.
Margrave swallowed, took a drink of black coffee, and said, “My daughter has an idea it’s smart and modern to get half-tight at breakfast and try to stay that way all day. She simply doesn’t understand that no man could conduct business in that state. You tell her, goddamit.”
“On the contrary,” Shayne told him gravely, “I think it’s an extremely good idea.” He lifted a goblet of ice water from Margrave’s breakfast table, emptied it into the silver pitcher, and went across to the girl, saying, “Will you pour, Miss Margrave? Or, is it Miss Margrave?”
A mischievous light twinkled in her eyes. “It is,” she answered, “but anyone who defies my father and drinks with me at breakfast must certainly call me Ann.” She set her glass down and
reached toward the bucket. “Ice, Mr. Shayne?”
“A couple of lumps, and make it Mike.”
Standing with his back to Margrave, he looked down with interest and pleasure at the sinuous body of the girl as she put ice in his glass and poured whisky over it. She was in her early twenties, he thought, long-limbed and lithe.
Margrave cleared his throat loudly and warned, “You’ll need a clear head for this business, Shayne. I have no intention of paying out good money for nothing.”
Ann Margrave paused uncertainly, with less than an inch of liquor in his glass. Without turning his head, Shayne said, “That’s right. You haven’t hired me yet, have you? So I’m just a guest, Ann, and you needn’t spare the horses.”
The mischievous twinkle in her eyes spread over her face and she poured more whisky. She looked up at the wound on his head and said, “Maybe you do need a big one.”
Shayne grinned at her. “You should see the other fellow,” he told her lightly, and turned back to the table with the glass half filled. “I always like to get certain things straight in the very beginning,” he went on to Margrave. “I get paid for results in my work, and the way I achieve those results is entirely my affair.” He sank into his chair, took a drink of liquor, and asked evenly, “Do you want to discuss your partner’s death? Or shall I just have this drink and forget the whole thing?”
Margrave opened his mouth to reply, closed it slowly, turned his eyes away from Shayne’s hard gaze, and dug his fork into a triangle of stacked pancakes. He deluged it with syrup and bent over his plate to put it in his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, and chasing it down with a large swallow of coffee, he said, “I do want to discuss Ralph Carrol’s murder—to retain you on the case. I merely thought, that is, I learned a long time ago that if I take one drop of liquor in the morning I’m knocked out for the rest of the day,” he added defensively.
“Some people are like that,” Shayne conceded. He set his glass down and lit a cigarette, then asked, “Why call me in, Mr. Margrave? What makes you think I can do more than the police?”
“The police!” snorted Margrave. “They’re hamstrung! They’ve had their orders already, you can be sure of that! What have they accomplished thus far? Nothing! And they won’t!” He pointed his empty fork at the redhead. “You’re different. At least I’ve heard you are. They say when you take a case you follow through come hell or high water, no matter whose toes get stepped on.”
“Whose toes,” asked Shayne with interest, “are the police avoiding this time?”
“Their masters’, of course! The entrenched power of illimitable wealth. Big Business. My partner was assassinated, Shayne, because he dared to stand up like a man and challenge the Vulcan Chemical Corporation of Delaware. That is lèse-majesté in these United States.”
“Wait a minute,” said Shayne. “Are you implying that the Miami police department takes orders from Vulcan?”
“Not directly, of course. But good God, man, let’s not quibble! It is the power of monopoly that has been challenged. When Ralph Carrol could not be bought off or frightened off, he was removed, as an object lesson to any individual who has the integrity and courage to stand up against the entrenched interests.”
Shayne settled back and said, “You’d better give me the whole story.”
“I shall.” Margrave hesitated with his fork ready to stab the last wedge of pancakes. Suddenly, he placed it on his plate and pushed the plate aside. “It’s common knowledge and a matter of record which can easily be verified. Carrol was a research chemist—a genius. He was hired by Vulcan when he graduated from college six years ago and placed under a slave contract to labor in their laboratories with hundreds of other bright young men, all seeking new ways of enriching the corporation. He worked diligently, on a miserly pittance, for more than five years. He developed various processes, over that period, which earned millions for the corporation.
“A year ago Ralph Carrol paused to take stock of the situation. He wasn’t embittered, you understand. He had accepted the position with Vulcan, fully realizing that he was placing his brains and ability at their service, in exchange for the salary they paid him. But was it a fair exchange? What did the future hold for a man like Ralph Carrol?”
The monologue rolled out smoothly and without pause. It was clear to Shayne that this was a rehearsed speech, which Margrave had delivered often.
“A continued pittance! A few thousand dollars doled out to him each year in exchange for ideas which were worth millions! In the end, after years of faithful service and giving his all to the corporation, a miserly pension. Enough to keep body and soul together until he died.
“That is what Ralph Carrol clearly foresaw in the future, sir, as he stood at the crossroads of his life and took stock. He had no capital to fall back on, only his supreme confidence in his own genius and ability.
“To make a long story short, he resigned his position and came to me for advice. We formed a partnership and I set him up in a small laboratory of his own. And there, in six months’ time, on his own initiative, and spurred on by the knowledge that he would be allowed to retain a fair share of the profits in any new discovery made by him, he justified my faith and his own by perfecting a new plastic, which will undoubtedly revolutionize the industry. It is worth millions,” Margrave went on impressively. “Once we get into large production, all the previous plastics will become obsolete. You can easily see the tremendous stake a firm like Vulcan has in such a discovery. You can easily understand the lengths to which they might go to suppress the new process or to gain control of it for themselves.”
“Even to murder?” asked Shayne dubiously.
Margrave shrugged his massive naked shoulders. “Let us not be naïve, Shayne. What is one man’s life to a corporation? One man who stands between them and millions of dollars in profits? You’re not a child. I imagine you’ve investigated many murders committed for a few hundred dollars.”
“But will Carrol’s death stop the manufacture of the plastic?” Shayne asked. “Certainly, you’re not going to tell me that the secret process died with him—that you can’t go on with it.”
“No. I’m not going to tell you that, Shayne. We are already in limited production and can go ahead. No, the plot is much more subtle and ingenious than that. You see, as soon as Vulcan learned about Ralph’s discovery, they immediately brought suit to gain control by having the courts declare it actually belonged to them. That suit is now pending before the courts of Delaware.”
“On what grounds?”
“They base their suit on the allegation that Ralph actually made the discovery in their laboratories and while in their employ. He was working under a contractual agreement, you understand, which stipulates that any discovery made by him while in their employ becomes the property of the corporation. It is their contention that Ralph realized the tremendous value of the discovery as soon as he came upon it, and that he suppressed the truth. That instead of reporting it to his superiors, he faked a set of notes on his work which indicated the experiments were a failure, and then resigned, taking his secret with him for his own private enrichment.”
Shayne nodded slowly. “If they can prove that, I suppose they would win the suit.”
“Absolutely. If they can prove it. Which they can’t, of course. There’s not a word of truth in it. Ralph Carrol was an honorable man. When he left Vulcan he took nothing with him but his own genius. The process was developed completely in our own laboratory. This we can prove beyond the shadow of a doubt, despite the false affidavits they have secured from former co-workers, who have been liberally bribed to state the opposite.”
Shayne picked up his drink which was now well diluted with melted ice. “Tell me in exactly what way Carrol’s death will benefit Vulcan.”
“With Ralph out of the way and unable to testify in his own behalf, they have a much better than fifty-fifty chance of winning a judgment against us,” said Margrave bitterly. “The false testimony they bring in
to court will stand uncontested. Ralph Carrol himself was the only person on earth who knew exactly what went on during those months they claim he was working on the process—the only person who could tear the false testimony to shreds and prove otherwise. And now that threat has been neatly removed by the simple expedient of murder. Who else had a motive? Who else was ruthless and powerful enough to hire assassins to do the job?”
Shayne drank a third of the watery liquor and set the glass back on the table. “You haven’t anything else to go on?” he demanded. “No actual proof at all?”
“Naturally not. That’s up to you, I should think. Find the man or men who drove the knife into Ralph’s heart. You’ll find the Vulcan Corporation behind it. Once you have the actual killer, I think it won’t be too difficult to prove whose money hired him.”
Shayne said, “I see. Now, just for the record, what about Carrol’s private life? Any motive for murder there?”
“None. Positively not,” Margrave asserted vigorously. “He was a fine young man. Not an enemy in the world.”
“Do you know his wife?” Shayne asked casually.
“Very well, indeed. Nora’s a wonderful woman. Loyal to the core.”
Shayne turned his head at a curious sound from the divan across the room. He saw Ann Margrave set her glass down hastily and clamp a handkerchief to her mouth, coughing and sputtering as though a drink had gone down the wrong way. She stood up suddenly, and drew the robe tightly about her slim body, and started for one of the bedrooms. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said in a muffled tone.
Margrave scarcely glanced at his daughter as she went out, but continued, “I realize you will want to check every possibility, and I expect you to do so. But I’m certain you’ll find nothing in Ralph’s private life that could possibly have led to murder. There’s only one answer and bygod! I hope you are the man to come up with it, since the police refuse to listen to me.”
Shayne gently tugged at his left ear lobe. “I suppose you know that Nora Carrol was in Miami last night?”
One Night with Nora Page 8