“Shayne? What are you doing here at this time of night?”
“Come down and open the door.”
“I have no intention of doing that,” Stallings retorted sharply. Then, with less assurance, “What is it? Have you news of Helen?”
“I’ve got a lead. But I’m not going to stand here and shout it up to you.”
“Very well. If it’s so important I suppose I can’t refuse.” Stallings withdrew his head from the window, and the curtains fell back into place. Shayne moved forward and leaned against the threshold.
The door opened after several minutes. Stallings wore a silk dressing-gown, and his bare feet were encased in leather slippers. His silvery hair was awry and he demanded in an outraged tone, “What is it that won’t wait until morning?”
“Just this.” Shayne brushed past him into the small anteroom where he had interviewed the housekeeper. He swung about to face Stallings and in clipped accents explained, “I’ve got a hot tip that your stepdaughter Helen is right here in this house.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“I’m not so sure of that. Your story of her disappearance could be a phony.”
“But that’s fantastic. She hasn’t been near the house since noon yesterday.”