“Exactly. I am Barbara Little’s uncle.”
Quinlan let out a long sigh of disgust. He turned to Shayne and demanded, “What does that do to your cock-and-bull story about this man’s relationship with the girl?”
Before he could answer, Edmund Drake rose to his feet and demanded caustically, “Yes, that’s what I want to know. Who are you, and what right did you have to accost me and drag me into — into this?”
Shayne ignored the little man. He said to Quinlan hoarsely and with complete honesty, “I’ll be damned if I know, Inspector. I’ll lay ten to one he’s lying. Hell, he’s got to be the man. There couldn’t be two men like him if you looked the world over. Look at him,” he went on savagely, striding forward to tower over Edmund Drake. “Could there be two men who fit his description — out of captivity? Both of them in New Orleans at the same time? Both looking for Barbara Little? That’s just a little too pat,” he continued. “I don’t know what he thinks he’ll gain by a foolish lie like that. I guess he’s panicky to think up something to clear himself.”
Drake pushed his chair back and got up. He straightened his trembling knees and peered up into Shayne’s bleak visage. “I demand once more to know who you are,” he said in a choked voice.
Shayne’s gray eyes roved over the foppish figure, came back to rest on his tinted cheeks. He said, “I’m not the queen of the fairies.”
“Sit down, Shayne,” Quinlan’s voice barked with authority. “I’m running this show and, by God, I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Shayne said, “Thanks. That’s all I ask.”
Chapter eight
Edmund Drake remained on his feet. He watched Shayne sit down, then turned to Quinlan. “I think I deserve an explanation,” he said testily. “Why was I brought here to undergo such an interrogation?”