“Not only claims to, but it looks as though he is her uncle. He called New York as soon as he got back to his hotel last night. My man was on the switchboard and heard him receive the news that his wife had died yesterday afternoon. Not only that, but the nurse who answered told him that his wife’s brother was on his way to New York from Miami, and complained about not having an address where she could reach Drake.”
Shayne shook his head moodily and tugged at his left earlobe. “I don’t get it. I’ll be goddamned if I get any of it. Little must have lied like hell when he sent me here.”
Both men fell silent for a time. Shayne was the first to speak. “I guess that’ll all come out when Little gets here. Anything else about Drake?”
“Nothing important. He’s fairly well known at the Angelus from other trips he has made to New Orleans. The clerk isn’t positive about the time he picked up that phone message from his niece, but believes it was around one o’clock.”
“Which checks with his story.” Shayne lit a cigarette and asked, “Have you learned what he was doing up to that time?”
“No, but I think I know why he doesn’t want to produce an alibi unless he’s forced to. He’s one of those old boys who likes to hit the really hot spots. The ones where everything goes, and where a man doesn’t like to admit he has been.”
“Like the Daphne?”
“That’s one of them.” Quinlan looked curiously at Shayne. “You seem to get around for a man who’s been out of town for years. The fact is, Drake left the hotel early last night with a hustler for the Daphne.”
Shayne said, “Sure. It was Henri Desmond.”
“That’s the lad.” Quinlan’s perplexity deepened. “You weren’t kidding last night when you claimed to have your own ways of getting information.”