“I just had a long-distance call from the home office,” Henderson told Quinlan. “They tell me we carried a large policy on the life of a certain Barbara Little, and asked me to look into the facts surrounding the girl’s death. It’s an unusual case, of course, and extremely important that we definitely establish the deceased as our policy holder. I understand she was living here under a pseudonym.”
“She called herself Margo Macon in New Orleans. Pseudonyms are quite common among those of the writing profession, however, which makes the case not quite so complicated.” Quinlan’s tone was quietly emphatic, as it had been when Shayne first met him.
“I’ve read the newspaper account of the affair,” Henderson explained, “but the home office had only a brief press dispatch for their information. What can you tell me about the girl?”
“Her father’s name is Joseph P. Little, a New York editor. That right, Shayne?”
“That’s it. I believe Mr. Little told me she was twenty-three.”
Henderson consulted a small notebook and nodded. “That checks. Daughter of Joseph P. Little, twenty-three on her last birthday.” He put the book in his pocket, took three cigars from his breast pocket and offered them to Shayne and the inspector. Quinlan accepted one, but Shayne said, “No, thanks. I’ll stick to cigarettes.” His gaze was direct and cold.
Henderson replaced one cigar and leaned forward to get a light from the inspector’s desk lighter. He said, “The only thing remaining, then, is positive identification of Margo Macon as Barbara Little.”
“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with Shayne,” Quinlan told him. “He’s the only one actually competent to swear that the girl known as Margo Macon was Barbara Little.”
“It’s a large policy,” the agent said, “and I understand the girl’s — ah — face was badly disfigured. We must have absolute and authentic identification.”
“She wasn’t smashed that badly,” Shayne argued, “and even if she was, positive identification can be made by three people. Her father, when he arrives; her uncle, who has known her all her life; and myself. I met and talked with her before she was murdered, and I had a photograph given me by Mr. Little himself. There is no doubt about it. I am positive that the girl whom I found murdered was the same girl I talked to and made a date with.”