The clerk swallowed hard, displaying his Adam’s apple prominently. “N-No, sir. I — have such a beautiful forgettery.”
Shayne grinned and said, “Swell,” again. He turned his full attention to the clerk. “This is off the record. Did anyone ask for me while I was seeing my wife to the train?”
“No, sir.” The clerk was positive. “Mr. Gentry and that reporter were the first to come.”
“And you didn’t see any strangers going in or out who looked as though they might have lethal intentions?”
The young man’s eyes were wide and frightened now. He shook his head emphatically. “No, sir.”
Shayne nodded. “If you hear anything after a while — someone going up and down the fire escape to my office — don’t pay any attention and you’ll save the hotel some notoriety.” He lit a cigarette, then swung toward the door in a loose-limbed stride.
He passed within two feet of the man who was deeply interested in his newspaper. Glancing down, Shayne saw that the paper was folded back at the editorial page. The man impressed him as one who lacked the intellect to cope with a newspaper editorial page.
Going out the door without slackening his pace, Shayne glanced over his shoulder as he passed wide windows looking into the lobby. The anemic man was folding his paper and getting up.
Shayne continued to Second Avenue and swung around the corner where his car was parked. A small coupé was parked a discreet half block behind his shabby convertible. A man sat in the driver’s seat.
Shayne walked briskly on to his car, opened the door, and folded his long body in under the wheel. He adjusted the rearview mirror and watched with interest while the editorial reader hurried around the corner toward the coupé and got in beside the driver.