“The car that crashed into me was a black limousine,” Shayne went on swiftly. “The left fender and radiator grill were smashed in the crash. When you find that car you’ll have your double murderer, Painter. It isn’t just chance that Stallings owns a black limousine. The man who slipped into my apartment and murdered the girl is one who knew she was coming there to expose the whole rotten situation. Stallings is the only man who knew she was going to me to spill the beans. He admits that Baldy telephoned him from the Bugle Inn. I advise you to check the condition of Stallings’s limousine.”
“Good God above, Shayne.” Painter’s forefinger trembled across his tiny black mustache. “Are you actually serious?”
“I demand that you assure yourself my automobile is undamaged,” Stallings put in resonantly. “This entire fabric of lies is the most preposterous thing I ever heard of.”
“Well, I — sure. In fairness to you, Mr. Stallings, I’ll have a man look at your car.” Painter turned to one of his men and said, “Blake, go out to the garage and see that’s what.”
“And I would advise that you check the car over,” Shayne suggested. “There may be other clues in the back seat where the body-switching took place. A checkup should have been made immediately after the accident — wreck,” Shayne amended.
When Blake departed hurriedly, Shayne turned to Painter and went on.
“I’ve got all the proof you need. Give me that water tumbler, Tim.”
Rourke drew the glass from his coat pocket, carefully wrapped in a handkerchief. Shayne handed it to Painter. “There’s a full set of fingerprints on that glass. I took them from the girl’s fingers after I found her murdered. All you have to do is compare them with the prints of the body from the bay to prove I’m right.”
Blake rushed excitedly into the room while Painter was examining the tumbler. Blake was carrying a long white muslin garment unzipped down the front.
“Look at this, chief. Found it stuffed down behind the back seat. And the fender’s smashed right enough, just like Mr. Shayne said.”