The detective waggled his red head back and forth. “I’m not talking about that kind of settlement.”
In a low voice that was hoarse with fury, Windrow snarled, “Nobody here is interested in what you’re talking about. You’re not wanted here. Nor in Central City either.”
Shayne smiled and rubbed his lean jaw. He protested, “I thought you’d be glad to know I’m just about set to clean up a couple of murders here. Thought perhaps you and Cal would like to contribute toward a fund the grateful citizens are making up for me.”
“You and your snooping,” snarled Windrow. His bulky body shook and his features darkened. “I said you weren’t wanted here.”
Shayne smiled and took out a cigarette. “I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not.” Windrow’s chair crashed to the floor behind him. He leaned over the desk. His eyes were mad. “Do I have to throw you out?”
Shayne lit a cigarette. He said earnestly, “I won’t stay out. I’m a tough guy to bounce when I smell a profit.”
Jasper Windrow was moving around his desk. Cal Strenk got up hastily, his shrewd eyes studying Shayne’s unconcerned face. He said, “I wouldn’t, Jasper. Damn it, I wouldn’t if I was you.”
Windrow swung his big body toward Strenk. “You owe him the same as I do. If he hadn’t dug up that tobacco can last night nobody could never have proved who Screwloose was.”
“The tobacco can,” said Shayne, “is what I came to talk about.”