The night was hot, humid, and still in Miami. Clad only in pajama bottoms, Michael Shayne lay spread-eagled on the double bed, hoping for a vagrant breeze to cool his rangy body. For hours he tossed restlessly, and at last fell into a fitful sleep.
A slight sound awakened him. He opened his eyes and lay motionless, listening. The dim light of a waning moon shone through the open windows. He wondered what time it was and how long since he had fallen asleep. He turned on his side, and yawned groggily. He was about to close his eyes again when he saw the rectangle of yellowish light coming through the bedroom doorway.
A shuffling, slithering sound reached his ears. Wide awake now, and alert, he swung his long legs cautiously over the edge of the bed and stood up. Two steps took him to the bedroom doorway. The living-room door was ajar, and the light from the hotel corridor faintly outlined objects in the room.
Leaning against the doorjamb, Shayne observed a sexless, shapeless figure seated in a chair near the wall. The figure was bent double, fumbling with something on the floor. Then it stood up, and hands caught at the hem of a garment, raised it; and when the garment was removed, the slender, curvaceous form of a woman stood before him. Her hair had fallen over her forehead. She tossed her head to fling it back, ran fingers through it, and glided noiselessly to the living-room door.
Briefly, her body gleamed like ivory in the yellowish glow. She eased the door shut. There was a slight click. She turned the knob, made certain the latch had caught, and then turned toward the bedroom guided only by the moonlight from the open windows.
Shayne took a quick step backward, frowning in deep perplexity. He felt a strong desire to stride forward, grab her, and demand the reason for her intrusion; but he did not move. He watched her glide past the door and go on to the bathroom a few feet farther on. She went in, closed the door, and snapped on the light.
Stepping forward again, Shayne stood for a moment watching the rim of light under the bathroom door. A muscle twitched in his angular jaw, and he rubbed it meditatively. In all the years he had been a detective this, he decided, was the most fantastic thing that had ever happened to him. Passion, anger, astonishment, and curiosity intermingled in him as a grin spread his wide mouth.
He crept back to the bed and stretched out on one side. As he waited for the woman’s next move, he tried to identify her silhouette, tried to figure how and why she had gained entrance to his apartment. He looked at the luminous dial of the electric clock on the bedside table. The time was 2:20.
Listening to the trickle of water in the bathroom, he concluded that he had never seen her before. He had no female acquaintances who would act in this manner, and there were no keys to his apartment in circulation among any persons of either sex.
Yet, this woman seemed to know her way about. She had ignored his open bedroom door and gone straight to the bathroom. She acted, in fact, exactly like a wife who had returned from an extra-marital assignation and did not want to awaken her husband.
Shayne’s body tingled again. He would be less than human, he told himself, if he were not intrigued by the situation. He found it extremely pleasant to lie there, in the dark with the knowledge that a naked woman was within a few feet of him, and that, in a few minutes she probably would slip quietly into his bed.
Shayne didn’t have long to wait. He heard the bathroom door open, the click of light, and the slow tread of bare feet coming toward him. His muscles stiffened involuntarily, and through half-closed eyes he watched her go around the bed. With difficulty, he kept his breathing deep and regular.
She smoothed the pillow on her side, then eased herself onto the far edge of the mattress. For a while she lay motionless, flat on her back, her arms circled above her head.
Presently she stirred, turned toward him and moved nearer. He heard the softly whispered word, “Darling,” and her finger tips trailed lightly across his chest.
Shayne gave up all pretense of sleep. He reached out a long arm, clamped a palm on her bare flank, and said, “Hi.”
Her muscles contracted convulsively under his grip. She raised herself on one elbow, and cried out in surprise and fright, “You’re awake!”
“How long did you expect me to keep on sleeping under these circumstances?” Shayne said in an amused voice.
She screamed, and leaped from the bed.
“You’re not Ralph!” she shouted in alarm.
“No,” he agreed. “I’m not Ralph.”
“Then who are you? What are you doing here?” she gasped, backing away. With one arm and hand she tried to cover her breasts, while with the other hand, she attempted to conceal the spot that Eve once covered with a fig leaf.
“Why shouldn’t I be here in my own bed?” Shayne demanded reasonably.
“But this is Ralph’s room. Where is he? What kind of trick is this?” The woman moved around the foot of the bed as she spoke. Her voice was strained with fright and anger. She grabbed at the top sheet to cover her nakedness, but it was firmly tucked in and did not give.
Shayne sat up and propped both pillows behind him. “This,” he told her coolly, “has been my apartment and my bedroom for more years than I like to remember. I’m turning on the light,” he warned. “Let’s see who you are and what this is all about.”
The woman sprang through the doorway as the light came on. Shayne glimpsed a heart-shaped face framed in brown hair, and a slender, youthful body only partly concealed by arms and hands.
“Please, please stay in there until I can get some clothes on,” she begged. “I’ll only be a minute. There has been a terrible mistake. I thought you were my husband. Please stay there.”
“Like hell I will,” Shayne grated. “And let you run out on me before I find out what this is all about?”
“No! I tell you it’s all a horrible mistake!” her voice was sincerely pleading. “I’ll get dressed in the bathroom and then I want an explanation. I don’t understand any of this, but I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
“I could do with an explanation myself,” Shayne growled. He glanced at the clock again. The time was 2:26. He was amazed that only six minutes had elapsed since he last noted the time. He retrieved his pajama top from the floor where he had tossed it earlier and pulled it over his tousled red hair. Then be lit a cigarette and leaned back comfortably against the pillows.
Shayne crushed out his cigarette, got up, and padded into the living-room in bare feet where he turned on the ceiling light. A black suède slipper and a gossamer bit of blue nylon lay on the floor beside the overstuffed chair where the vision had sat a short time ago. He picked them up, strode to the bathroom door, and knocked. “Don’t you dare come in here!” she screamed.
“I wouldn’t intrude for the world,” he retorted amiably. “You overlooked your brassiere and a shoe. Open the door a crack and I’ll hand them to you.”
She opened the door a trifle. Her hand groped through the aperture and he put the apparel in it. She drew back hastily, saying, “It was so dark out there.”
“Then why didn’t you turn on the light? You seem to know your way around pretty well.”
“I still think this is Ralph’s apartment,” she snapped angrily, “and that you’re playing some sort of—”
“Trick,” Shayne supplied ironically. “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record, baby. Get dressed and get out here, and we’ll talk about it.”
Shayne strode to the front door, opened it, and examined the lock carefully. There was nothing to indicate that it had been tampered with. He clicked it shut and went into the kitchenette where he switched on the light and tried the door leading to the fire escape. It was securely locked, and the key hung on the nail where he always kept it.
Shayne’s mouth was grimly set and his eyes were puzzled. His thoughts flashed back to several occasions when his apartment had been opened by police, or by Chief Gentry, himself. A few times both the front and back locks had been forced by criminals who had left plenty of evidence. He swore under his breath and muttered, “And now, bygod, a dame opens my door with a key, strips herself, and crawls into my bed.”
Shaking his red head savagely, he went to the refrigerator, took out a tray of cubes, and carried it to the sink. While tepid water ran over the bottom of the tray, he took two glasses from the china cabinet and set them on the drain-board; twisted the plastic container and spilled ice cubes into the sink. Then he filled the two glasses with ice.
“I just don’t know what to say,” said a girlish voice from the open archway behind him. “I’m completely confused. I’ve never seen you before in my life, but I know this is the right apartment.”
Shayne turned slowly and studied her for a moment. He said, “I’ve never seen you before, baby, but you look good.” His steady gaze went over her body. “Even with clothes on.”
“How dare you!” she exploded. There was maturity and courage in her uplifted chin and in the dark eyes that met his with angry challenge.
“Hold it,” Shayne ordered. “Stand where you are and let’s have a better look at you in the light.”
She wore a tailored suit of light material, beige or sun tan in color, that fitted her trim figure well. A vivid-yellow scarf was fluffed out under her chin. Her brown hair was tousled, giving her a youthful appearance.
“Well, what have you to say for yourself?” she asked curtly.
“Just this. My apartment is number one-sixteen. I live here. I don’t know your Ralph and I don’t know you. Have a drink?”
“I–I could use one,” she stammered.
Shayne’s back was turned while he filled the glasses with water. He swung around with them in his hands.
“How could there be a mistake?” she stormed. “The key fitted your door perfectly. The whole place is exactly the way it was described to me. It must be Ralph’s place.”
“It isn’t,” he said shortly, moving toward her. She stepped aside to let him pass into the living-room where he set the glasses on the battered oak desk. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Maybe we can make some sense out of this if we work at it over a drink. Cognac all right for you?” he added on his way to the liquor cabinet.
“Anything. Anything at all.” She crossed to a chair near the desk and sat down. “I haven’t got over my fright yet. I — you — well, you can’t expect me to be calm after finding myself in bed with a perfect stranger.” Her lips trembled and her hands were clenched together tightly in her lap.
Shayne’s brows quirked upward, and his gray eyes were wary. He padded to the desk holding a bottle of Croizet, gave her a crooked smile, and said, “It must have been quite disconcerting, if you’re telling the truth.” He began pouring cognac into her glass, and added, “Say when.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stiffen.
“What do you mean?” she flared. “Of course it’s the truth. Do you think I intended to go to bed with you?” Her glass was full to the brim. He filled his own glass and said amiably, “It would be a flattering assumption. I confess no woman has ever been so smitten with my charms that she forced entrance to my bedroom, but I can be optimistic, can’t I? If I hadn’t opened my big mouth so fast there in the beginning, maybe—”
“You — you beast!”
Shayne lifted his glass, held one out to her, and said, “Skip it. Let’s drink to what might have happened.”
A flush spread over her cheeks and she lowered her eyes as she took the glass in a trembling hand. “I’d have known,” she stated flatly. “Before you spoke a word, I sensed it wasn’t Ralph. But I kept telling myself it had to be. Don’t you see? Even when you said ‘Hi’ in a voice that sounded strange, I was so sure in my own mind—”
“Your drink,” Shayne interrupted. “It’s spilling. Suppose we drink to your husband. Then,” he went on firmly, “you can start at the beginning and tell me how you came to mistake my apartment for his.”
She took a drink, sputtered and coughed, reached quickly for the ice water, and gulped a mouthful. She regained her composure after a moment. The cognac seemed to ease her tense muscles. “I don’t know,” she murmured, “just where to start, because I still don’t understand. I was definitely told apartment one-sixteen. And the key fitted. Everything here is just the way I expected it to be — the kitchen door there, the bathroom, and bedroom.” She looked around with, wide, wondering eyes.
“Someone told you that your husband would be asleep here tonight?” Shayne asked patiently. “Someone gave you a key to my apartment so you could slip in? Why? I don’t know anyone who’d play a trick like that. Was your husband supposed to be expecting you?”
“Oh, no,” she answered hastily. “He didn’t know. That was the whole thing, don’t you see?” She took a small sip of cognac, and set the glass on the desk. “That’s why I undressed so quietly in here. I didn’t dare turn on a light for fear of wakening him. I knew that if I could just, you know, get in bed with him before he knew I was there, he’d have to—” She paused, her face crimson. “Can’t you see I had to do it?” she burst out. “Because I know he still loves me. It’s just his crazy pride. I had to have a chance to break it down, and show him that nothing is really different — that he’s still my husband, and I’m still his wife. You do understand, don’t you?” she ended, leaning tensely toward him.
“Hell, no,” said Shayne curtly. He took a sizable drink of cognac, leaned back in his swivel chair, and lit a cigarette. “Now, start at the beginning. What’s your name?”
“Nora Carrol. Mrs. Ralph Carrol.” She glanced down at a plain platinum wedding band and a diamond solitaire. She turned the rings on her finger as she continued, “We live in Wilmington. That is, we did, until Ralph came to Miami a few weeks ago to establish residence for a divorce.” Her shoulders sagged, and she lapsed into silence.
“And?” Shayne questioned sharply.
She lifted her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Shayne got up, padded into the bedroom, and returned with a handkerchief. Flipping it from a square, he tossed it in her lap. She wiped her eyes and face, drew a long breath, and expelled it with a tremulous sigh.
“I suppose I have to tell you all of it. You’ll never believe me unless I do. Well, we’ve been married less than a year. We were terribly happy. Ralph was so sweet, at first.
“Then he started getting those anonymous letters accusing me of the most dreadful things. He didn’t believe them, of course, but when they kept coming he began wondering. He started spying on me. That made me angry, because he didn’t love me enough to have faith in me.
“So, I did a dreadfully foolish thing. I began flirting to get back at him. And then, there was a week-end party and I–I drank too much.” She jerked herself erect and added in a stricken voice, “Well, I made a damned fool of myself.” She covered her face with Shayne’s handkerchief.
Shayne took a long drink, lit another cigarette, and waited patiently.
Nora Carrol dropped the moist handkerchief in her lap and resumed. “I don’t really blame Ralph for being angry and leaving home before I could even try to explain and ask him to forgive me. But he left me such a curt note, I felt awful. He wouldn’t answer my letters, and he wouldn’t talk to me when I called him long-distance. So, I came to Miami. It was just too terrible for words! He wouldn’t let me go to his room! When I tried to talk to him in the lobby he cut me dead. Then, he checked out of the hotel that very night, and nobody knew where he went.”
Shayne said, “H-m-m. When was all this?”
“About two weeks ago.” Nora Carrol took a drink of cognac, washed it down with ice water, and continued. “I went back to Wilmington and talked to our lawyer there. He tried to help me and was very understanding, but he said there wasn’t a thing in the world I could do if Ralph was determined to get a divorce.
“You see, he had plenty of evidence from that horrible week-end, and he said I didn’t have a chance of getting alimony or anything.” She stopped talking suddenly. Her brown eyes were dull and inscrutable behind a mist of tears.
Shayne sipped cognac, smoked, and waited. When she showed no sign of continuing the story, he said bluntly, “But you didn’t give up.”
“No. I was just thinking. You see the lawyer told me there was one chance, a slim one, for me. I love Ralph so much I was ready to grab at anything. So, when he outlined the plan, I didn’t hesitate for a moment.”
“What sort of plan?” Shayne demanded.
“Well, he said that if I could find out where Ralph was staying, and if I could persuade him to come back to me for just one night it would be enough to nullify what I had done. It would do away with Ralph’s grounds for divorce — everything. There’s something in the law about it. I don’t quite understand, but it seems that if a husband takes his wife back after, well, after she’s made a mistake like I did, then the law says it doesn’t count and can’t be used against her as evidence later.”
Michael Shayne emptied his brandy glass. He nodded slowly, avoiding her eyes. “So that’s what you planned to do? Slip into your husband’s bed and use your sex appeal to win him back, at least for one night. After that, no matter how much he wanted to be rid of you, he wouldn’t have further legal grounds for a divorce action.”
“You make it sound depraved and indecent!” she flared angrily. “It’s not true. I do love Ralph, and I know he loves me. All I could think of was making him remember how much we loved each other so he would forgive me, and we could start all over again.”
“So, we come to tonight,” the redhead said casually. “Fill me in on that.”
“I can’t,” she said brokenly. “I can’t explain it at all. All I did was follow Mr. Bates’s instructions to the letter.”
Shayne’s eyes were very bright. He swiveled forward in his creaky desk chair and asked, “Who is Bates?”
“Why, he’s our lawyer in Wilmington. I just told you.”
Shayne creaked back and said, “Go on, Mrs. Carrol.”
“Well, he, Mr. Bates, suggested that we might get a detective in Miami to find out where Ralph had moved to. Then I could try once more for a reconciliation. It all seemed so simple and logical when we planned it in Wilmington,” she went on in the faltering tone. “A detective was to get a key to Ralph’s room. All I had to do was unlock the door and slip in sometime after midnight. I just knew it would work.”
“Sure, it would have worked. You would have had him right back if you’d gotten into his bed instead of mine. The question is, how the devil did you make such a mistake?”
“I don’t know,” she cried wildly, straining forward with her hands clenched. “Do you think I would have subjected myself to this — this inquisition if I had known? I flew down from Wilmington yesterday and checked in at the Commodore. Everything was arranged. There was a message for me from the detective, enclosing a key to Ralph’s room and a sketch of the apartment, so I could get around in the dark without waking him too soon. I was to wait in my room until the detective phoned that Ralph came in for the night. He called me about one o’clock. I waited awhile, until I felt sure Ralph would be asleep; then I taxied over here and slipped quietly upstairs. And that’s all.” She made a gesture of finality with her hands, reached for her cognac glass, took a long swallow, chased the liquor with ice water, and sank back in the chair as though exhausted.
Shayne tugged at his ear lobe, his gray eyes somber. He considered her story and wondered how much of it was true. Her words and her tone had the ring of sincerity, but it was impossible for him to understand how anyone could have mistaken his apartment for the one occupied by her husband, considering the years he had lived here and how well known he was to all the employees.
Shrugging his wide shoulders, he swiveled forward and picked up the telephone, waited a moment until a hoarse and unfamiliar voice said, “Yes, sir.”
He frowned at the instrument and asked, “Is this Dick?”
“No, sir. Dick is sick and I’m substituting for him. Can I help you?”
Shayne hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a Ralph Carrol registered here?”
“One moment, please.”
Nora Carrol slid to the edge of her chair. “Please,” she pleaded, “oh, please don’t tell him.”
Shayne held up a broad palm for silence and covered the mouthpiece with his fingers. “Hold it,” he whispered. “Let me find out if your husband is in this hotel.”
He waited a moment.
“Mr. Ralph Carrol is in two-sixteen. Shall I ring him, sir?” the clerk asked.
Shayne hesitated, then said, “No, thanks. Skip it for now.” He slowly cradled the receiver and said, “Your husband is in two-sixteen, one floor directly above. Could you have mistaken the number?”
“No. That is, I don’t see how I could have. The key opened your door. The same key wouldn’t fit both of them, would it?”
“If it does,” Shayne growled, “the management is going to get hell in the morning. Let’s see that key.” He held out a broad palm and waited while she picked up a black suède purse. After a period of digging and fumbling she produced a flat brass key and handed it to him.
Shayne observed its shiny newness, turned it over and found that it had no room number stamped on it. Otherwise, it appeared to be a duplicate of the familiar one he had carried on his key ring for so many years. He shrugged, tossed it on the desk, and asked, “Do you want to go up one flight and try it on your husband’s door? He should be sound asleep now, and you should be able to seduce him without too much trouble.”
Nora Carrol sprang to her feet, and said angrily, “You’re insufferable! You make my wanting Ralph back sound cold-blooded and bitchy.”
“Maybe,” said Shayne moodily. “I’m sore at being wakened so enticingly and so futilely. Call me tomorrow and let me know how you make out.”
“Thanks for releasing me,” she replied acidly, “and I hope I never see you again.” She took a couple of steps toward the door, but stopped abruptly as heavy, measured footsteps sounded in the corridor.
A knock sounded on the door, hard and insistent. Running to Shayne, she breathed, “Do you suppose they called Ralph from the desk to say you’d asked about him? If he finds me here with you like this—” Her eyes were frantic, and her gesture indicated Shayne’s pajamas and bare feet.
Shayne was on his feet. “Whoever it is,” he said swiftly, “get into the bedroom and keep out of sight.” He picked up her two glasses as he spoke and shoved them into her hands. Nora sprinted into the bedroom and closed the door.
A louder knock came, accompanied by a gruff voice that ordered, “Open up.”
Shayne glanced over his shoulder to make certain the bedroom door was closed, then opened the front door.
He scowled at the florid-faced, bulky man who stood on the threshold.
“Thought I recognized your voice, Will,” he said casually. “Come in and tell me what the hell keeps you awake at this hour of the morning.”