She hung up and glanced defiantly at the detective. “There! What did I tell you? He’s coming right over.”
“That cheap little shyster,” Shayne said with acid distinctness. “If you think I’m going to bid against him you’re wrong.”
Mayme’s laugh was shrill. Her eyes glittered with greedy delight. “Shows you don’t know what it’s all about. What I’m selling Max Samuelson is different from what I’m offering you. Sort of different, that is.” She frowned, shaking her head to clear away the fog of perplexity. “What I mean is, you and Mr. Samuelson are on different sides of the fence.”
“We always have been,” Shayne growled. He hesitated, watching her carefully. “I’ll treat you fairly,” he urged. “If you’ll tell me what you’re trying to sell I’ll see about getting the cash.”
Mayme shook her head cheerfully. She wavered to her feet. “Come back after I make a deal with Mr. Samuelson. I swear I’m not playing you against each other. I got something that’s worth a grand to both of you.”
Shayne’s mouth tightened into a grim line as he fixed three names in his memory: Albert Payson, Ben Edwards, Max Samuelson. He studied Mayme Martin for a moment, then said, “Be careful,” softly, and went out.
He was sweating when he closed the door of No. 14. The hall lights had been turned on and as he passed doors which stood ajar, radio music floated into the hall.
A sweet-faced redhead stood in an open door near the head of the stairs. She cocked her head and spoke a soft greeting as Shayne passed. He stopped on the first step and looked back at her. She was no older than Phyllis and she couldn’t know much about the life that lay ahead of her. He started to speak and she moved toward him. He turned from her and went on down the stairs and out into the clean coolness of the tropical twilight.