Murder & the Married Virgin Read Free Page B

He’s in charge.”
    Shayne had one arm out of his coat sleeve. He slid the arm in again. “Where’ll I find Quinlan?”
    “Down the hall to the right. Hell, you ought to know where his office is. You practically lived in it while you were cracking the Margo Macon thing.”
    Shayne grinned. “I thought maybe he’d got a promotion and a new office out of that. He didn’t fail to grab the headlines.”
    “That was your own fault. If you’d—”
    “Sure it was. An investment. Now I’ll see if it’ll pay dividends.” He went out and down the hallway.
    Inspector Quinlan greeted him cordially. “Some of the boys said you were located here, Shayne. I’ve meant to look you up and buy a drink.” He half stood and reached across the desk to shake hands.
    Shayne dragged a straight chair up to the desk with the toe of his shoe and sat down. “I’m in the International Building,” he said.
    “There’s something I’ve wondered about, in connection with the Margo Macon case. What became of the Hamilton girl?”
    “Lucy?” Shayne looked at him in surprise.
    “Yes. I heard she’s lost her position because of her connection with the case. I’ve thought I should look her up and see if there was something I could do.”
    Shayne waggled his head gravely. “And you a married man, Inspector.”
    “It isn’t that at all,” Quinlan said hastily. “She seemed a pleasant and capable girl.”
    “Yeh.” Shayne frowned at the floor. “It was really a pity the way they batted her around. She took to drink—and worse, I’m afraid.” His voice was sad.
    The inspector cleared his throat. His cold blue eyes softened when he said, “That’s really too bad.”
    “Tragic,” muttered Shayne.
    Inspector Quinlan’s eyes narrowed. “Damn you, Shayne, you’re pulling my leg. You wouldn’t be that sad if your own grandmother—”
    Shayne chuckled. “She’s my secretary if you have to know. But hands off. Lucy’s a good girl—damn it.”
    Quinlan resumed his impersonal normalcy. He was a slender man who appeared taller than his height, which was average. His thick iron-gray hair was cut short and stood up, accentuating his high forehead. There was a practiced stoicism in his expression from long association with the criminal world, but Shayne knew him to be a man who would work tirelessly for justice.
    “Are you working?” the inspector asked.
    “Just started—on the Lomax necklace. Mac told me you were handling it.”
    “I was out there this morning checking on the Katrin Moe suicide.”
    “Does it add up?”
    “I don’t see how, but it’s a coincidence if it doesn’t. The girl was engaged to an army lieutenant and was to have been married today.” Quinlan picked up a fountain pen and rolled it slowly between his palms.
    “Oh?”
    “Yes.” He nodded slightly. “He just came in on the morning train. I was at the Lomax residence when he arrived and was shown the body of the girl.”
    “Did he take it very hard?” Shayne asked casually.
    “He was still dazed from the shock, of course,” Quinlan said slowly. “He didn’t show much emotion. He doesn’t think she committed suicide.”
    “Did she?”
    “What do you think?” he asked, surprised. “Her room was locked on the inside and the gas was turned on. She had retired early and Mattson’s first guess on time of death was between two or three this morning.”
    “She could have been given something,” Shayne suggested. “A slow-acting poison.”
    “So she got up and turned on the gas when she knew she was dying of a slow-acting poison,” Quinlan scoffed.
    “Couldn’t it have been turned on afterward? As a blind?”
    “Mr. Lomax and the chauffeur broke down the door to get to her. They went up together when the housekeeper became alarmed, and both testified that the gas was stifling in the room and the grate was on.”
    “Just the same,” Shayne insisted, “I think it’d be smart to pull a P.M.”
    “As a matter of fact, we are. It was