When the elevator came down, the Negro bellhop got out. He went to the desk and said something to the clerk, then picked up Shayne’s suitcase.
The clerk said, “Your room is ready, Mr. Shayne.”
On the third floor, Shayne followed the bellhop down a carpeted hallway. He said, “That was fast work. How did the other fellow feel about getting the bum’s rush out of his room?”
The boy turned and flashed white teeth. “It wa’n’t nothin’, suh. Jes’ moved his stuff out lak Mistuh Rainey tol’ me.” He stopped near the end of the corridor and turned the knob of a door, then stepped back with a great show of gallantry and waved Shayne into the room.
Shayne stepped inside and glanced around. A slow grin spread over his face when he saw nothing whatever to indicate that the room had been recently occupied, and though a humid breeze came in through open French windows, the odor of unoccupancy clung to the room. Taking a half dollar from his pocket he flipped it to the boy who caught it expertly. “Bring up some cracked ice,” Shayne ordered.
“Yas, suh. Thank you, suh,” the boy responded, and went out with his buck teeth clamped on the silver coin.
Shayne muttered to himself, “Thirteen-fifty on the expense account for asking questions,” then strode to a short double window and opened it. Looking out, he saw ancient buildings, some of them boasting modern additions, which encroached upon the courtyard below and pressed against each other. A narrow service alleyway twisted around the new additions, with nooks here and there where unkempt palms and shrubs and vines straggled between flagstone slabs.
He frowned, searching his memory. He recalled that a part of the ground on which the hotel was built had once been a beautiful courtyard filled with palms and tropical shrubs and dining tables. Nine years ago it had been one of the gayest of the Quarter’s al fresco night clubs, operated in connection with the hotel which was now converted into the Peloine Apartments.
Turning from the window, Shayne went to the long French windows leading out onto the small, private balcony. The enclosure was not more than two feet wide and ran the length of the doors. The grill work was fashioned of thick, trailing vines topped by a smooth, flat railing.
Stepping out on the balcony, Shayne emitted a low whistle of surprise, for directly before him, so close that he could have touched her, a girl lay in a canvas deck chair on a more spacious projecting balcony of the Peloine Apartments building. The grille work of openmouthed amphibians and writhing reptiles of the larger balcony was not more than two feet removed from Shayne’s iron trellis. His belt buckle clanked against the top rail when he bent over and leaned against it in an effort to see the girl’s face.