Shayne drew her back, extinguished the light and went out, closing the door. He said gruffly, “Let the poor devil sleep it off. He has had it pretty tough tonight. I suppose he heard about Nora and decided to take this way out of his misery.”
Phyllis swayed against him and whispered, “Do you mean — Celia was right about Nora?”
Shayne looked down into her tired face compassionately. “Hasn’t the news got around town yet? Christine seemed to know all about it. Nora is dead — murdered.”
“But you said ‘bunk’ when I was telling you what Miss Moore said about — three murders. And you knew all the time,” she accused him, her voice teary.
“I wasn’t sure she was passed out,” he told her, “so I just said ‘bunk.’”
“So Nora was the second,” she breathed.
Again Shayne swung her into his long arms and carried her across the threshold of their room and dumped her on the bed.
Chapter fourteen
PHYLLIS LEANED BACK comfortably against the high headboard of the bed. She looked diminutive and ridiculously childlike snuggled into a rose-colored wool dressing gown with the blankets drawn up to her waist.
Shayne extinguished the lights and rolled the window shades high to let the gray light of morning into the room. For fifteen minutes he paced up and down the spacious room while Phyllis reported her interview with Christine in elaborate detail, bringing Celia Moore into the story with dramatic effect.