The detective lounged into the room behind Marsh and grinned widely at the confused expressions on the faces of the four who confronted him. He held up a big hand to halt the barrage of angry denunciations flung at him.
“Hold everything, gentlemen. I wanted to get you all together for a conference and I told each of you something that I thought would bring you in a hurry. That’s all there is to it.”
Dr. Patterson stood across the room near a window with his hands thrust in his coat pockets, glaring at Shayne. Arch Bugler was sunk deep in a chair with a sour sneer on his swart features. Jim Marsh stood near the door looking worried and uncertain. Burt Stallings took immediate command of the situation.
As soon as Shayne finished speaking, he rumbled, “I believe the police are anxious to get their hands on you, Shayne.” He strode forward toward a telephone stand behind Bugler.
Shayne laughed shortly. “You needn’t bother calling the police, Stallings. The island is already surrounded, and Painter will be here any minute to arrest the murderer.”
Stallings stopped a pace from the phone. The look of indecision went away from his face when bustling footsteps sounded in the hall and Painter appeared in the doorway behind Shayne. Whit Marlow, looking frightened and depressed, was by the detective chief’s side.
“There’s your man, Painter,” Stallings said, and pointed a long forefinger at Shayne. “I can’t imaging why he chose this melodramatic fashion of surrendering himself, but I hope you’ll manage to hold on to him this time.” His frown of disapproval rested on Painter’s immaculate features and attire.
“He won’t get away from us again.” Painter stepped back and jerked his head at two of his men in the hall. “Put the cuffs on the redhead,” he directed brusquely.
Shayne allowed his wrists to be handcuffed, though he protested. “You’re making another one of your damn-fool mistakes, Painter. Better save this hardware for the real criminal.”
“I’m satisfied to have them on you. Are you coming along, quietly?”