“I’ve got a hunch you’re bluffing,” Soule said slowly. “I don’t believe you had any Dictaphone planted there. It sounds like something you dreamed up.”
Shayne laughed harshly. “It makes a pretty good bluff. Think it over.”
Soule’s telephone rang as he turned away. He lifted the receiver and said, “Yes... Oh, wait a minute — I don’t—” then fell silent to listen. He then said, “I think maybe I know something about that. Shayne’s just been here. You’d better come over right away.”
Shayne paused near the door to light a cigarette and listen.
Soule’s perturbed eyes turned toward Shayne. “That was Denton. He smells some kind of a rat in a burglary report they just had from the apartment house where the Jordan girl died last night.”
Shayne frowned. “Burglars?”
“One burglar — a big redheaded guy. He was seen running out of the apartment next to the suicide room with a bundle under his arm. But they don’t find anything missing. It’s been vacant nearly a week.”
“That,” said Shayne, “is damned strange. Any clues?”
“A taxi driver phoned in a report on the same guy. He told the driver he was a detective and got him to wait while he went in. The guy came out running, rode away for about a block and then jumped out.”
Shayne said with heavy irony, “Maybe the damned house is haunted. After you’ve figured it out, meet me in Inspector Quinlan’s office at one-thirty.”