He stayed there while Rourke slowed to a snail’s pace, then crawled back into the front seat when the reporter said, “Okay.”
Rourke chuckled happily as the police barricade was left behind them. “They had forty cars lined up waiting to be searched. I damned near exploded laughing when they waved me past. Would Petey’s face be red if he could see you blithely sneaking back into his trap!”
“Painter’s face will be red anyhow before this night is over,” Shayne asserted grimly. “Know where the Patterson Sanitarium is?”
“Sure. I was thinking about taking the cure there once. What do you want there?”
Shayne grinned. A relaxed grin of real mirth. He looked at Rourke and deliberately forced a look of cunning to his gray eyes. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said ominously. “But I have an operative planted in the sanitarium.”
“An operative?” Rourke took his eyes from the road for an instant to look wonderingly at Shayne, saw the look of sly cunning in his eyes. “By God, Mike, maybe I’m taking you where you belong.”
“S-h-h,” Shayne said. “It’s a dead secret, but I’ve got Sherlock Holmes in with me on this case.”
Rourke’s hands tensed on the wheel. “Now look here, Mike, you’ve let this thing go to your head.”
“The Duchess was murdered there last night,” Shayne went on in a low cautious tone. “I’ve got to get the details and report to the Duke. They’re going to try to pawn off a phony on the Duke.”
Rourke risked taking his eyes from the road once more to stare at the detective. He turned away with a shudder at what he saw.