“I’m not. I’m dumb enough to stick my neck out a mile.” He hung up and returned to the living-room, a set look of decision on his gaunt features.
“What’s happened?” Lucile asked hastily. “You look as though you’d had a reprieve.”
Shayne said slowly, “This may be it, Lucile.” He strode across the room and back pounding his hard right fist into the palm of his left hand. “If Denton faked that Jordan confession I may have him wide open. It may be crazy, but—” He stopped suddenly and stared at her. “Have you got the guts to play along with me? If I play my hunch and it fails, Denton won’t hesitate to use that picture. You’ll be publicly branded as a prostitute. Do you want to take that chance?”
She started to answer at once, but he held up his hand, said, “Wait — this isn’t any time for heroics. You don’t know anything about me — except that I’ve got you into a hell of a jam.”
She met his gaze squarely. “I think I know you better, Michael Shayne, than I’ve ever known any man.”
He said hoarsely, “Don’t make a mistake, Lucile.”
“I won’t.” Her eyes were shining.
He resumed his pacing. “We’ve got to decide right now,” he warned her. “There won’t be any quitting if I start. I can call it all off — let the whole thing go as it stands. Get out of town this afternoon — or I can take a long chance.” He stopped beside the couch and looked down at her. “And it’s just that — a long chance,” he warned her harshly. “I’ve got a wild hunch I can prove Denton deliberately faked Evalyn Jordan’s confession,” he went on. “There’s only one way to do that — by producing her real murderer. But — it’s only a hunch.” He emphasized the last sentence heavily.
“You’ve played hunches before, haven’t you?”
“Always. But that was when only I was involved. You’re in this with me — up to your neck. It won’t be any picnic if things go wrong. We won’t have a leg to stand on. It’ll be a stinking mess and you’ll be square in the middle of it.”