Shayne hesitated on the fringe of the throng in front of the hotel and was hailed by Patrick Casey from the boardwalk which rose high above the street level. Shayne beckoned and Casey came down, using the shoulder of a convenient spectator to steady his jump, and sauntered toward Shayne with half of an unlit cigar protruding from his mouth.
Shayne asked, “Have you been up to see the body?”
“I hung around until they carted him off to the undertaker’s ten minutes ago. We turned up a big rock smeared with blood, but nothing else.”
“Did you see the girl up there?”
“Nary a girl,” he said sadly, “blast it.”
“And you went right after we left?”
“Sure. ’Twas the favor you asked of me.”
Shayne said, “I’m going into the hotel.”
He used his right shoulder to force a path to the lobby. Phyllis and Casey were engulfed behind him, reaching him as he turned away from the desk to ascend the winding mahogany stairs.
“Any luck?” Phyllis panted.