“I never have,” Shayne said harshly. “I’ll change my bet, Joe. Make it five grand.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Joe looked completely unhappy. “But I’m telling you flat Marsh stands to lose fifty thousand by winning the election. No man’s going to cut his own throat. All he has to do is withdraw.”
Shayne smiled. “I get the angle without your drawing me a picture. Marsh is going to stay in and he’s going to win. And my five grand will be that much sweeter coming from him on his double cross.” He stood up. “Want me to sign something?”
“You know that ain’t necessary.” Joe looked up at him reproachfully. “I was just trying—”
“And I appreciate it,” Shayne told him. The smile on his gaunt features grew broader. “You’ve cleaned up the last angle that had me worried. So long. Just hold my winnings for me. But — do this, Joe. Call Marsh right away and tell him I’ve increased my bet to five grand and tell him I said I’d break his neck if he withdrew and caused me to lose — and that I mean it. He still has time to cover some of his money.”
On his way out Shayne stopped at a telephone booth and called Timothy Rourke at the Miami News.
Rourke sounded worried. “I was just starting down to headquarters to sign the complaint against Marlow. They picked him up a little while ago.”
“Good. How about the Stallings maid?”
“Nothing on her, Mike. I’ve tried every agency. None of them supplied servants for the Stallings ménage. That looks like a blind alley.”
“Okay, Tim,” Shayne told him cheerfully. “The accusation against me hasn’t broken yet, eh?”