“How does he figure in that?” Soule asked harshly.
“I can prove he did it,” Shayne answered quietly.
“You can’t. It’s a lie. Every word of it’s a lie. I didn’t have him come here.” Desmond’s voice rose.
Neither Denton nor Soule paid any attention to Henri. Shayne reached in his pocket and took out the card Lucile had given him. He flipped it on Soule’s desk and asked, “Does that look like I’m lying?”
Soule picked it up, glanced at it, and passed it to Denton without speaking.
“Henri was on the make for Margo Macon,” Shayne went on smoothly. “Two witnesses heard them quarrel at ten o’clock and heard him threaten to kill her. It looks like he got panicky when he realized what their evidence would do to him. He can’t locate one of the girls, and when he found out I’d got to the other one, he asked us to meet him here to make a deal with us. If you hadn’t happened to see me when I came in, Denton, I figure Henri would already have traded me what I wanted on you for keeping him in the clear.”
Denton started to his feet with his two big fists swinging and his face contorted with rage. He growled at Henri, “You rat! I’ll teach you!”
“Sit down, Denton,” Soule snapped. Again, his arrogant voice cut like a whiplash. He had not taken his eyes from Shayne’s face. “Don’t let this redhead get you going. He’s mixed up in the Macon killing, isn’t he?”
“Yeh, but—” Denton went back to his chair. “Quinlan turned him loose,” he said heavily, “after I had a rope tied around his neck. I don’t know what the score is there.”
Soule turned thoughtful eyes on Henri. “How do you figure in it?”