“I think,” said Shayne, “you do.” He finished his drink and frowned into the glass, paying no further attention to the bartender, who remained standing uneasily in front of him.
When Shayne pushed the empty glass and bottle away and stood up, the man reminded him uneasily, “You haven’t paid for your drinks, sir.”
“Tell Arch to mark it up to profit and loss.” He strolled along the bar toward a rear door that said Gentlemen. It opened onto a corridor leading to the back of the building. The first door on the right was also chastely lettered Gentlemen. He went into a lavatory and washed his face and hands with soap, dried them meticulously, and combed his unruly red hair with his fingers. There was an ugly bruise on his left cheek, and both lips were badly swollen, but the cut on his upper lip had stopped bleeding.
A waiter passed him as he stepped into the hallway. He carried a tray with two highballs on it. Shayne watched him stop at a door near the end of the hall. The man knocked, then entered, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Shayne followed him, treading noiselessly on the rich hall runner. The door was marked Private. He heard Arch Bugler’s peculiarly sinister and purring voice, a soft sibilance acquired by the mobster to conceal the naturally harsh and guttural quality of his tone.
“Forget it, Marlow. I should be sore at you for barging in like this, but I don’t blame you for being upset. You can’t trust a skirt nowadays. Too bad you had to make a trip down here to find out how you stand. Put it down the hatch. It’s out of my private stock.”
A thin, shaky voice answered him. “I’m not going to believe it until Helen tells me so herself. There’s something screwy going on.”
Shayne stepped forward quickly as the door started to open inward. He strode nonchalantly down the hall without looking back, turned to the right at the end. An intersecting corridor led to a wide archway opening into a big square room which was deserted except for a couple of workmen busily polishing roulette tables and crap layouts. White cloth covers still were in place over other tables in the rear.
Stopping in the doorway, Shayne scratched a match noisily and put flame to a cigarette. One of the workmen glanced up without interest. Shayne grinned at him and asked, “Getting ready for the grand opening, eh?”
“Yep. That’s about it,” the man replied, and his companion added, winking broadly, “If the election turns out right.”