Free The Corpse Came Calling by Brett Halliday Page A

check into his pocket. He got his hat and hurried outside.
    There was no sign of either Helen or Phyllis outside the Danube Restaurant.
    Shayne went to his car, swung out of the lot, and drove a block south. He parked in front of a two-story stucco apartment building and hurried into the small foyer. He had Helen’s apartment number, so he didn’t stop at the desk, but went up the stairway in long strides and down the hall to her apartment.
    No light showed over the transom. He knocked and waited. There was no sound of movement beyond the closed door. Shayne knocked again, then got out a crowded key ring and began trying keys in the lock. The fourth one unlocked the door.
    He stepped in and switched on the light, made a swift survey of the tiny two-room apartment without finding anyone at home. There was a man’s dirty shirt and underwear in the closet with Helen’s clothes, and the remains of a tray dinner was in the kitchenette sink.
    Shayne went back to the living-room and switched off the light. He had hold of the knob when he heard footsteps stopping outside. He let go of the knob and stepped back softly.
    A key turned the night latch, and the door opened. A hand fumbled along the wall for the light switch. When the light came on, Shayne said, “Hello,” to the man who was closing the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    THE MAN WHIRLED as Shayne spoke, his breath whistling explosively through a gap in his upper teeth. He was short, muscular, and dark, with close-cropped black hair growing low on his forehead. He backed away from Shayne, crouching a little, and his right hand crept upward toward the unbuttoned top of his sack coat.
    He asked, “What are you doing here?” in a hoarse voice that quavered a trifle.
    Shayne laughed shortly. “I was about to ask you the same question. And I’d like to know how you come to be entering Helen’s apartment with a key of your own.”
    He watched incredulity, dismay, then bewilderment succeed each other on Mace Morgan’s face. The last emotion changed to relief as the escaped convict slowly took in the implication of Shayne’s words and his first fear that he had been tracked down as a fugitive began to leave him. He straightened out of his crouch and glanced down at the flat key in his hand as though surprised to see it there.
    “You see,” Shayne went on equably, “I thought I had the only extra key to this dump. I didn’t know that Helen passed them out in wholesale quantities. But hell! A man never knows about a woman. They’re all chippies at heart, and what they give to one man they’ll generally give to another. Am I right?”
    The paralyzing glitter of fear was leaving Mace Morgan’s eyes. He eagerly followed the lead offered him by Shayne.
    “Yeh,” he said. “Yeh, I guess you just about hit it on the head, pal. I’m like you. I thought I had the only extra key. It’s funny, huh? Ha-ha. We’re both suckers.”
    “Looks that way.” Shayne stepped backward, getting out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and offered it to Mace, took one himself, and lit them both with the same match.
    “I just got back to town,” Shayne explained. “Thought Helen would be glad to see me and I came right over. But I guess she hasn’t been lonely while I was gone.”
    “I hope you don’t blame me, pal,” Mace defended himself. “I didn’t know I was cutting in on anybody else.”
    “That’s all right.” Shayne waved his hand amiably. “I always say a man’s a damned fool to get sore when some floozie throws him over for another guy. Hell, there’s plenty more.”
    “Yeh,” Mace chimed in eagerly. “That’s what I say, too. What’s one got that another can’t give you?”
    Shayne said, “I’m not complaining.” He let smoke trail lazily from both nostrils. “Where is Helen? She might be embarrassed if she walked in right now and found both of us waiting for her.”
    “Not Helen,” Mace Morgan chuckled. “That gal would take anything in her stride.