Things were beginning to come clear to Shayne. Denton had recognized him as soon as he entered. It looked as though Henri had kept his mouth shut about his part in it as soon as he learned the identity of Lucile’s escort.
“The hell you don’t,” Shayne said. “Why did you invite us here in the first place?”
Both Denton and Soule turned to stare at Henri. Henri pushed his lips into a deeper pout and whined, “That crack on the head Bart gave you must of knocked you cuckoo.”
Shayne laughed shortly. “You shouldn’t start to sell out and then get cold feet, Desmond.”
“The guy’s crazy,” Henri panted. “I never saw him after he tried to horn in this evening till just now.”
“What’re you trying to do, Shayne? What kind of bunk is this?” Denton demanded.
“It looks like you’d better start cleaning your own house,” Shayne told him sardonically. “Your boy friend is the one that tipped me off to this setup.”
“He’s lying,” twanged Henri.
Soule said, “Shut up, punk.” The words were like a whiplash across Henri’s dark face. Soule turned to Shayne. “Go on talking, copper.”
“Don’t blame him too much. He’s worried about his own skin.” Then he added carelessly to Denton, “If you’re looking for a fall guy to take the rap for the Margo Macon killing, he’s ready-made for it.”