“That’s the job I started to tell you about. We got a tip that Two-Deck was heading west to put the clamps on some bird that fed his joint a handful of rubber markers.” He paused to mop his forehead. “Happens there’s a couple of unsolved murders on the books. Both of them were suckers that bet over their heads in Two-Deck’s place before they ate lead. Well, we figure maybe those killings wouldn’t be unsolved if Bryant didn’t have so many connections in the city where he can buy alibis a dime a dozen. So, the Chief hopes he’ll maybe get careless out here and not waste money on an alibi, so I tag along just for a look-see.”
Phyllis was amazed to see her husband nod his head, indicating that he understood Casey’s gibberish perfectly. He muttered, “Too bad he pegged you for a tail. He’ll wipe his chin every time he spits from now on.”
They went down the stairs. Upon reaching the crowded lobby, Shayne tucked Phyllis’s arm into Casey’s. “Make her buy the drinks this time,” he suggested. “I’ve got to nose around and see if Nora Carson has turned up.”
He went outside and glanced speculatively over the heads of the milling throng and spotted the uniform of a courtesy patrolman. It was Stout, one of the officers who had been with Pete’s body when he left.
Stout nodded affably when Shayne approached. “I’ve always wondered how a private detective works. Got that murder solved?”
“Not quite. Seen anything of the girl who identified the old man as her father?”
“The actress? Not since she started for the opera house with her husband.”
“She’s not in circulation. I wish you would pass the word around quietly among the other officers. No use starting a panic.”
“Sure thing — right away,” Stout said.
Shayne saw Sheriff Fleming’s broad hat down the street and moved in that direction. He caught the sheriff’s eye and beckoned to him. When they met, Shayne inquired about Nora.