The Homicidal Virgin

4

Jane Smith unlocked a door on the fourth floor and stood aside to allow Shayne to enter a pleasant sitting room that showed no sign whatsoever of human occupancy. Two floor lamps were lighted at opposite ends of the room, and two closed doors led off to what Shayne assumed would be bedroom and bath.

The girl closed the door tightly behind her while Shayne strolled across the room, and asked in a controlled voice, “Cognac, you said? Any particular brand?”

He stopped at curtained windows and turned with a reassuring smile. “I don’t really need a drink, Jane.”

“But I want you to have one,” she told him with quiet dignity, crossing to the telephone and putting her hand on it. “Please tell me what to order.”

“Just ask for a double shot of Monnet cognac… with a pitcher of ice. And whatever you want.”

She lifted the instrument and tilted her chin determinedly, said, “Room Service, please,” into the mouthpiece, and then: “This is number four twenty-six. Miss Smith speaking. I’d like a double cognac… Monnet, please. Yes, a double,” she repeated firmly. “And some ice if you don’t mind. And could you send a limeade or lemonade with it?” She paused, listening carefully, then nodded and said, “That’s correct. Room four twenty-six.”

She replaced the receiver and told Shayne, “It will be right up.”

He moved away from the window to a deep chair at the end of the room, and sank into it, stretched his long legs out in front of him and advised her, “Sit down and relax. You’re wound up as tight as a violin string. Smoke?” He got out a pack of cigarettes and started to get up.

She shook her head, crossed to the sofa close to him and dropped into it, curling her feet up under her. “I don’t really like to smoke. If I inhale it makes me dizzy… and it seems silly to smoke if you don’t.”

Shayne said gravely, “I guess that’s right. A waste of time and money.” He lit his own cigarette and inhaled blissfully. “Was it you tailing me tonight?”

“Yes. All the way from your hotel in Miami.” She drooped her lashes and caught her underlip between her teeth. “Who else do you think I could trust?”

Shayne said honestly, “I don’t know. In fact, I don’t know very much about anything. Except here we are… and I’m willing to listen.”

“You don’t know how awful I felt,” she burst out, “when the News didn’t run my advertisement in the Personal Column. I just felt like it was the end of the world. I had considered the possibility that they might refuse it,” she added honestly. “But I tried so darned hard to make it sound innocent and innocuous. I guess I didn’t succeed, did