When Dorinda Dances

Chapter XV

Michael Shayne and his secretary stopped for lunch at a seaside restaurant in Hollywood. During the drive from Miami, Shayne had gone over everything with Lucy, trying to clarify his own thoughts.

Lucy had listened in silence, and now as they sat at a small table with breakers crashing on the shore less than fifty feet away, she said thoughtfully, “It seems to me that Mrs. Davis is the one you should be worried about right now. Actually, Mr. Brewer’s death isn’t any concern of yours.”

“It is indirectly. It was I who put Hank Black on the job and helped provide Godfrey with an alibi,” he reminded her, “if the dead man is Brewer, and Gibson’s solution is correct.”

“But Mrs. Davis is your client.” Lucy frowned, and her brown eyes were anxious. “I liked her, Michael. I think it was grand the way she came to the help of her friend, and the way she actually defended Julia and wasn’t shocked by her nude dancing. She seemed so honest and so nice. If anything has happened to her it will be terrible.”

Shayne nodded and said morosely, “I have much the same feeling. And I’m afraid something has happened to her. Otherwise she certainly would have gotten in touch with me. As soon as we get a look at the Lansdowne girl we’ll know how much of Mrs. Davis’s story was the truth.”

Lucy looked surprised and disturbed. “What makes you doubt her, Michael?”

“If Julia Lansdowne isn’t Dorinda,” Shayne pointed out, “we’ll know Mrs. Davis was lying from the word go. Don’t forget that she claimed to have been at La Roma and recognized the dancer as the daughter of her old friend.”

“And I believe every word of it,” said Lucy staunchly. “I had the inter-com open during her interview with you, and’ she sounded awfully sincere to me.”

“Yeh.” Shayne tugged at his ear lobe while the waiter removed the luncheon dishes. When coffee with ponies of brandy was served, he continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I think we’ll discover that Julia and Dorinda are the same person. I’m inclined to believe she just got frightened after going down the fire escape last night, and hurried back to Palm Beach on a sudden impulse — hoping to bluff it out and pretend she’d been there all the time when inquiries were made. But I still don’t understand why she didn’t get in touch with me and explain what she had done,” he ended disgustedly.

“I understand now,” Lucy mused, “why you asked me this morning whether I noticed any sign of recognition between Mrs. Davis and Mr. Brewer. That was before you knew which of the partners was Judge Lansdowne’s friend.”

Shayne nodded, lacing cognac into his cup of steaming coffee.

After a moment of deep reflection Lucy asked, “Have you thought that it might have been Hiram Godfrey who sent that picture of Dorinda and the anonymous note to Mrs. Lansdowne?”

Shayne jerked his head up and looked at her in amazement. “Godfrey — a blackmailer? The judge’s friend?”

“I’m not accusing him, Michael. But I’m remembering something you said to Mrs. Davis near the beginning of the interview, after you read the unsigned note. You asked her, ‘Do you think this note is in the nature of a threat? Or a friendly gesture by someone who felt her parents should know the truth?’”

“I remember asking that. The note was signed, ‘A Friend.’ And it merely said, ‘Would this sort of publicity help Julia’s father?’ It could be construed either way.”

“Don’t you see? That’s why I wonder if Mr. Godfrey sent it. From what you’ve said about him, he’s the sort of man who might go to a place like La Roma. If he did, and recognized Dorinda as the daughter of an old friend, he might have felt that the family should know about it and get her away from there.”

Shayne scowled and took a drink of coffee. “But if he was a friend, wouldn’t he have let the judge know privately?”

“I don’t think so, Michael. You remember how insistent Mrs. Davis was that the judge shouldn’t know. I think women are more capable of accepting a situation like that than men,” she said simply. “A man might go all to pieces and disown his daughter — or something. But a mother would be apt to react exactly as Mrs. Lansdowne did. She would accept the situation and do whatever needed to be done.”

Shayne said, “By God, Lucy, you may have put your finger on something. All the time I’ve been going along on the assumption that Ricky Moran was trying to blackmail the Lansdownes, and that he probably got to Mrs. Davis after she had been to my office.

“Which he might have done,” he went on meditatively, “even though he hadn’t sent the picture and note and knew nothing about it. I’m assuming that he knew Mrs. Davis was at La Roma trying to see Dorinda, and was determined to prevent any contact between the two. Let’s get on to Palm Beach and settle one thing for certain before we do any more guessing.” He arose abruptly and laid a bill on the table to cover the check and tip.

The Connaught residence was an unobtrusive two-story house of native rock set in the center of an unpretentious garden. Shayne parked his car in front, and they went up the walk to a colonnaded porch where he rang the bell. It was answered by a maid whose friendly smile slowly faded when Shayne said, “We would like to see Miss Julia Lansdowne, please.”

The maid shook her head and avoided his eyes. “Miss Lansdowne is not in, I’m afraid.”

“When do you expect her back?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Who is it, Jennie?” A clear young voice floated out from the interior of the house. The maid jerked her head around and said confusedly, “Some people to see Miss Julia. I told them—”

“A lie, I think,” said Shayne, raising his voice. “We’re friends of Dorinda’s, Miss Connaught, and if you want to keep your friend’s secret, you’d better let us in.”

There was a brief silence; then the sound of light footsteps running down the stairway and approaching the door.

“I’ll take care of this, Jennie,” the voice said firmly. The maid hurried away, and an obviously frightened girl stood before them and declared, “I don’t know any Dorinda, and I’m quite sure Julia doesn’t. If you want me to give her a message—”

“I want to see her,” said Shayne quietly. “I’ve been in touch with Julia’s father, and she has nothing to fear from me if she sees me at once. If not, I’m afraid the whole thing will blow up in her face.”

“You’re — the private detective, aren’t you? I’m Elizabeth Connaught. I told Julia that she couldn’t — that she’d better—” She paused, and a scarlet flush flooded her cheeks. She caught her underlip between her teeth, then stood aside. “Please come in and wait in the library. I’ll fetch Julia.”

The high-ceilinged room was comfortably cool. The Venetian blinds were drawn to shut out the sun’s glare, and the books in the cases appeared well worn from handling. A heavy volume lay open on a long, old table, and two others were closed with satin markers showing.

As soon as they were alone, Lucy explained, “That’s all we need to know, really. She practically admitted that Julia is Dorinda.”

Shayne nodded absently. “I still want to know why she ran out on me last night.”

Elizabeth Connaught re-entered the room with Dorinda by her side. She wore a sheer blue blouse and a white sport skirt, and no make-up. Her eyes were enormous and frightened, and her face was tight with strain.

Julia Lansdowne met Shayne’s grim gaze defiantly, her slender body drawn up to its full height. She parted her lips to speak, then closed them. With one hand she clung desperately to her friend’s arm and she closed her eyes tightly, as though to dispel a fearful nightmare, when Shayne said formally, “I’d like to present Miss Hamilton, Miss Lansdowne, Miss Connaught.”

The two girls murmured acknowledgement of the introduction. Suddenly Julia shuddered violently, released her friend’s arm, and crumpled into a chair, sobbing.

Shayne took two steps toward her and said, “I think you owe Miss Hamilton an apology for keeping her up waiting for you from four o’clock on this morning.”

“Michael!” Lucy gasped.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I really am,” Julia choked out between racking sobs. “And I’m so ashamed. I’ve been half crazy with fear. I didn’t know what to do.”

Elizabeth Connaught and Lucy Hamilton converged on Shayne at the same instant. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” cried Elizabeth. “Let her alone. Hasn’t she—”

“No!” Julia jerked her head up, wiping her eyes with a sodden, wispy handkerchief. She blew her nose gently, and said, “Mr. Shayne is right, Elizabeth. I wanted to call you,” she continued, “but when I heard the shot and saw Ricky fall over, everything just went blank. All I could think of was getting away — and getting back here before anybody checked up on me. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced Miss Hamilton.”

“What’s that about Moran?” Shayne interrupted harshly. “Where were you when he shot himself?”

“On the l-landing — r-right outside your kitchen door. I could see in the living-room, and I–I heard all those awful lies he t-told you.”

“Wait a minute!” Shayne was honestly perplexed. “I watched you go down the fire escape before I let Moran come up.”

Lucy stepped to the girl’s side and put a fresh handkerchief in her hand. Julia nodded her thanks, blew her nose, and resumed. “I know. But when I reached the alley, I began to wonder — about what Ricky would tell you and everything. And I thought maybe I shouldn’t run away. I stayed in the alley, and I saw him when he came out on the fire escape and looked around for me. The kitchen light was on, and I was in the dark, crouching behind a bush. When he went back and you turned the light off in the kitchen I slipped up and stayed outside listening.” As Julia Lansdowne spoke her sobs subsided.

“So you witnessed everything,” said Shayne. His tone was gentle, musing.

Julia swallowed dryly, moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Yes. When he — when it happened — I couldn’t think of anything except running away. I knew the police would come and there’d be an investigation — and everything would come out. It just seemed to me that — well — you’d be better off if I disappeared.”

Elizabeth Connaught had gone out of the room. She returned with a glass of water, and when Julia stopped talking she pressed the glass into her hand. While she drank the water eagerly, Shayne drew a chair up, and sank into it, and lit a cigarette.

He said, “How did you get from Miami to Palm Beach at that hour?”

“I caught a bus. It just happened, really. I was running down the street, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. I came to a bus station, and there was a Palm Beach bus just loading. I bought a ticket and got on.” She paused again, and her big violet eyes turned from Shayne to Lucy and Elizabeth who had drawn up occasional chairs and sat on Shayne’s right.

“Julia knows she can always come to us,” said Elizabeth defiantly. “It’s all over now, so why can’t you leave?”

“You could have called me from here,” Shayne broke in, “and let me know you were safe.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Julia confessed. “I talked to Elizabeth about it, and we thought it might make more trouble for you if I tried to telephone. But I was listening to the radio and watching the papers, and if you’d been arrested for what happened to Ricky, I was determined to go back to Miami and tell the truth. There wasn’t anything, so I–I just waited to see.”

“Then you didn’t hear the radio pickup put out for Dorinda last night?” Shayne asked.

“Oh, yes. That. But nothing about you, Mr. Shayne — and — Ricky.”

Shayne sighed and said, “You realize, of course, that when you put me on the spot like that I had no other course than to get in touch with your father.”

“But you didn’t — you didn’t tell him about Dorinda!” she cried out.

“No. You’re still in the clear on the dancing business. That is — unless someone else gives you away at this end.”

“But Elizabeth is the only one who knows. I had to tell her everything this morning. Can you keep it from coming out in Miami, Mr. Shayne?”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “If the chief of police didn’t happen to be a good friend of mine—” He hesitated, then asked, “May I use your phone?”

“Certainly,” said Elizabeth eagerly. “It’s right there on the desk. Oh, I think you’re perfectly wonderful, Mr. Shayne.”

Shayne grinned. “So does my secretary.” He stalked to the telephone, but before lifting the receiver he turned and said, “Before I call Miami I want to know if there’s anything you want to add to your story, Julia. Any detail you want to change. If you thought it necessary to lie to me in any slight particular last night, now is the time to come clean. You’re not the only person involved in this mess.”

“Every word I told you was the truth,” she vowed with wide-eyed candor.

“This is your last chance,” he told her flatly. “If I find that one word was a lie, I’ll throw you to the dogs with no more compunction than I’d throw a bone.”

Color flamed in Julia’s cheeks, but she said, simply, “I would deserve that if I lied.”

Shayne lifted the receiver, asked for long-distance, and gave Will Gentry’s private number at police headquarters. When the chief answered, he said, “I’m calling from Palm Beach, Will. Cancel that pickup for Dorinda. The Lansdowne girl is here, and verifies everything she told me last night. Why not release the Dorinda angle to the papers? But, for God’s sake, play it down and keep all pictures out.”

He paused to listen, nodding his red head, then muttered, “Yes, that’s right.”

Suddenly he jerked to attention and exclaimed, “The hell you say! Positively?” He listened again, tugging at his ear lobe and scowling across the room.

“Yeh,” he agreed after a moment. “That does change things. Lucy and I are on our way back to Miami right now, Will. Look, get them all together in your office — have them there when I arrive. I think I’ll have a proposition to put up to them. Black, Mathews, Gibson, and Tim Rourke. Thanks, Will.”

“Mr. Shayne!” Julia Lansdowne was standing stiffly erect before her chair, the color drained from her face. “What — changes things?”

“It’s just that the body fished out of the bay has been positively identified by fingerprints. It’s Milton Brewer.”

“Michael!” Lucy exclaimed. “You nearly scared Julia to death.” She put her arms around the shaking girl and eased her back into the chair. “It has nothing to do with you,” she soothed. “It’s something else entirely.”

“Thanks,” Julia murmured.

Shayne took Lucy firmly by the arm and propelled her toward the outer door.