Shayne squatted on his heels and frowned at the clipping while Cassidy moved nervously around the room. Rourke read the item over Shayne’s shoulder, asking, “Is that what you’re looking for?”
Shayne shook his head. “I’m looking for something that’ll tie this sax player up with Arch Bugler.”
“Bugler?” Rourke’s interest quickened. “You haven’t told me anything,” he complained.
“You had a chance to go along with me and turned it down,” Shayne reminded him. He tugged meditatively at the lobe of his left ear, then closed the scrapbook and laid it on the pile of other articles taken from the grip. He rocked forward and explored the interior of the bag carefully, drawing the fitted toilet articles from their niches to be sure that nothing was concealed beneath them.
A sudden exclamation escaped his lips. He bent forward to examine a slit in the silk lining. The room telephone shrilled as he did so.
Cassidy leaped to answer it. “Yeh?” he barked, and then, “Okay.” He dropped the instrument into place, exclaiming, “Marlow’s on his way up!”
Shayne stubbornly remained on his knees beside the empty grip. His fingers were exploring behind the lining. With a grunt of satisfaction he drew out a folded sheet of heavy paper.
Cassidy was dancing up and down near the door in a fever of impatience, begging, “Hurry it, Mike. It’ll be worth my job if we get caught in here for no good reason.”
Shayne shoved the folded document into his pocket and dumped the contents of the grip back in a jumble. He closed the bag and buckled it swiftly, then darted for the door behind Rourke. The trio stepped out just as the elevator stopped at that floor.
The operator appeared to have trouble opening the elevator door. Cassidy had the door of 214 locked and was strolling leisurely down the hall behind Shayne and Rourke when Whit Marlow stepped out and turned toward them.