“Yes. He arrived a few minutes ago by plane and telephoned me. I put him in touch with Henderson from the insurance company and they’ve gone over to identify the body. I promised to try and have you meet them here about one-thirty to sign that affidavit you promised Henderson.”
“I’ll be there,” Shayne assured him. “Say — how big is that office of yours, Quinlan?”
“What did you say?”
“I asked you how big your office is.” Shayne’s wide mouth spread in a grin close to the mouthpiece.
“Why, about twelve by fourteen, I guess. What the devil are you driving at? Drunk?”
“Sober as an Inspector,” Shayne told him. “You see, I’ve taken the liberty of inviting quite a few others for a one-thirty conference in your office, and I wanted to make sure there’d be room. There’ll be — let’s see — Soule, Henri, Denton, Drake, Little, Henderson, Lucile, Tim, Veigle — that makes nine besides us. Is there another office where we can gather?”
“Look here, Shayne,” Quinlan asked angrily, “what have you got up your sleeve?”
“Rabbits. White ones with pink eyes.”
Quinlan groaned. “If you’ve held out evidence—”
“I haven’t, Inspector,” Shayne assured him. “I’m doing a lot of wild guessing, and God help me if I’m wrong. There’s only one thing — will you arrange to have Edmund Drake there at one-thirty? He’s the only one who hasn’t been issued a personal invitation.”