Blood on Biscayne Bay Read Free

a deep breath and looked up at Shayne with dark, hopeless eyes. “I’m not trying to excuse myself. I admit it’s a hell of a jam. If I can just get out of it, I will have learned my lesson, Michael.”
    Shayne lifted the pearls again, held them up to the light. “You’ll take a big loss if I’m forced to raise ten thousand on these by midnight. If I had a little more time, I could do a lot better.”
    She shook her head slowly and said in a low, strained voice, “I can’t help it. It has to be—tonight.”
    Shayne took a sip of cognac and said, “I know Barbizon slightly. I might have a talk with him—stall him—”
    “No!” Her voice was sharp with fear. “Don’t you see? I can’t risk that!”
    “I’m catching a plane at midnight,” Shayne told her coldly. “Do you want me to handle the pay-off for you, too?”
    “If you would,” she breathed. “Just pay him the money and get my IOU and tear it up. You might phone me to let me know everything is all right.”
    Shayne nodded casually. It wouldn’t add to her peace of mind any to explain that after being out of touch with such matters in Miami for so long it would be utterly impossible for him to locate a fence who would put up ten grand for the necklace on such short notice. He said, “Consider the matter taken care of. Where can I reach you by telephone?”
    She gave him a Miami Beach number. “It’s in the phone book. Leslie P. Hudson.”
    Shayne made a note of the number. “If there’s anything left over from the amount I get, I’ll mail it to you before I leave town.”
    “No!” she exclaimed. “You keep it. It’s the only way I can possibly pay you.”
    Shayne said, “Okay,” carelessly.
    “I feel so—relieved,” she sighed.
    “I could go to your husband,” he said after a short silence between them. “He might listen to me. After all, gambling is no sin and if he has plenty of money—”
    “No!” She was sitting erect again and trembling. “Promise me faithfully you won’t do that, Michael. You don’t know how he is. He’s terribly strict about gambling, and things like that. He simply wouldn’t understand. Promise me you’ll go straight to the Play-Mor Club and pay Mr. Barbizon—as soon as you get the money—and get my IOU.”
    “All right,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it.” He finished his drink and stood up.
    Christine arose swiftly and went to him with her hands outstretched. She put them on his shoulders and said with passionate conviction, “I don’t know what I would have done without your help, Michael. I was just about ready to—to do something terrible when I read in the paper that you were in Miami.” Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and she pressed against him for an instant. Then, she turned with a stifled sob and ran from the room Shayne stood flat-footed with his long arms hanging loosely and looked after her as she fled, a frown on his gaunt face. He waited until the door closed and until he heard the elevator stop to take her down, then turned grimly to pick up the pearl necklace. He moved across the room, switched on a floor lamp and carefully examined the gleaming pearls under the bright light.
    His frown deepened into a scowl. They were an authentic heirloom. There was no doubt of that. In the inflated gem market they were worth a lot of money. Arnold Barbizon would be very happy to exchange a ten-grand IOU for the string.
    He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and grinned wryly at a head of lettuce in the hydrator. Once before he had used a head of lettuce in that same hydrator as a hiding place for another string of pearls belonging to Phyllis Brighton. He had returned them to her after the case was closed and she was convinced she hadn’t murdered her own mother.
    He placed the pearls in the bottom of the hydrator, tore up the head of lettuce and covered them thoroughly and carelessly. Going back to the living-room, he got his hat and went downstairs to