Inspector Quinlan said, “A girl has been murdered.”
“My niece. Yes.” He nodded his head several times. “And because she telephoned my hotel this evening — because I hurried to her as soon as I received the message. Does that make me a suspect?”
“You haven’t explained where you were while she was being murdered,” Quinlan told him. He held a pencil poised above the pad.
“There are thousands of people in New Orleans who haven’t been called on to produce an alibi,” Drake broke out irritably. “Why should I be singled out?”
The inspector settled once more in the swivel chair, letting it spring back to a comfortable position. “Perhaps you’d better tell him, Shayne. You fingered him — and not for the girl’s uncle.”
Shayne nudged his chair closer to the desk, sat down again, and muttered, “There’s something screwy about the whole setup. I gave you my end of it straight. How can this man be Barbara Little’s uncle when he fits the description of the guy I was hired to keep away from the girl?”
“I don’t know,” Quinlan said wearily, “but you’d better think fast. One of you is lying like hell.”
“I demand to be heard,” Drake demanded in his ineffective falsetto. “I have not been shown the courtesy of an explanation of why he — ah — fingered me — or why I was brought here.” He sat down with great dignity, folding his pasty-white hands across his concave stomach. “What preposterous insinuations,” he added, “is this man bringing against me?”
Shayne stood up and circled his chair, yanked it around and straddled it with his arms folded across the back. He growled, “Just that you’re a dope peddler — and worse. You had a hold on this girl once and refused to let her go. You threatened her life, but she broke away from you. When you got your filthy hands on her again and she refused to play along a second time, you bumped her off. Hell,” he ended disgustedly, “I’ve got your whole history. You can’t talk yourself out of facts. And I can prove every word of it.”
Edmund Drake’s red-veined eyes glittered queerly. He shook his bald head and turned back to Quinlan. He said, “This man is a maniac, or else he is lying for some purpose of his own. I can prove who I am. I can easily prove my relationship to Barbara Little.”