Shayne hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a Ralph Carrol registered here?”
“One moment, please.”
Nora Carrol slid to the edge of her chair. “Please,” she pleaded, “oh, please don’t tell him.”
Shayne held up a broad palm for silence and covered the mouthpiece with his fingers. “Hold it,” he whispered. “Let me find out if your husband is in this hotel.”
He waited a moment.
“Mr. Ralph Carrol is in two-sixteen. Shall I ring him, sir?” the clerk asked.
Shayne hesitated, then said, “No, thanks. Skip it for now.” He slowly cradled the receiver and said, “Your husband is in two-sixteen, one floor directly above. Could you have mistaken the number?”
“No. That is, I don’t see how I could have. The key opened your door. The same key wouldn’t fit both of them, would it?”
“If it does,” Shayne growled, “the management is going to get hell in the morning. Let’s see that key.” He held out a broad palm and waited while she picked up a black suède purse. After a period of digging and fumbling she produced a flat brass key and handed it to him.
Shayne observed its shiny newness, turned it over and found that it had no room number stamped on it. Otherwise, it appeared to be a duplicate of the familiar one he had carried on his key ring for so many years. He shrugged, tossed it on the desk, and asked, “Do you want to go up one flight and try it on your husband’s door? He should be sound asleep now, and you should be able to seduce him without too much trouble.”