“Yeh, the hard way,” Shayne grunted. “One thing I don’t understand. How did Barbara Little know her uncle was in town and at the Angelus? He claimed he was looking for her, but didn’t make contact until she called him and left the message.”
A buzzer sounded on Quinlan’s desk before he could make any reply. He flipped a switch and said, “Yes?” into the mouthpiece of an intercommunication system.
A metallic voice floated faintly from the receiver. “There’s a man here to talk to you about the Barbara Little case.”
“Send him in.” He closed the connection and got up to walk across the office and open the door.
Shayne moved to another chair a little farther away from the desk as Inspector Quinlan admitted a tall, well-dressed man who said, “My name is Henderson — Security Insurance,” in a brisk, businesslike tone.
Quinlan glanced at the card Henderson gave him as he came back to the desk, said, “Sit down, Mr. Henderson. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here on the Barbara Little case,” he said, seating himself in the chair Shayne had vacated. He glanced at Shayne, and Quinlan explained.
“Mr. Shayne is a private investigator with a personal interest in Barbara Little.”
Henderson said, “Oh, yes. I believe it was you who discovered the body.” His eyes were alert.
Shayne nodded. “And thereby became the most important suspect until the Jordan girl confessed.”