“You did. I should have been suspicious of your professional standing and ability at the time from the eagerness you showed for that assignment.”
“But you weren’t?” Shayne pressed him. “When this thing about finding Ralph Carrol came up later, you again wrote to me, but this time used the address on my letterhead?”
“Why, yes, I did.”
Shayne whirled and was on his way out. Re-entering Gentry’s office, he did not slacken his long strides as he passed through, but flung over his shoulder, “Let Margrave go, Will. I’m on my way to get a guy the airport people will identify as Mike Shayne.”
Chapter fifteen
Lucy Hamilton was pushing aside a luncheon tray, brought in from the drugstore downstairs, when Shayne entered the office. She said in a worried voice, “There hasn’t been a thing, Michael.” Then, noting the expression on his face, she stopped abruptly. “What is it? You look like the cat that ate a cageful of canaries.”
Shayne grinned happily. “I’m beginning to feel like one. Take a look back in the records, angel,” he went on swiftly. “Bill Nash. The punk I hired to hold down the office while you were on vacation. I want his address.”
Lucy frowned and turned to a filing-cabinet beside her desk. “Why do you want him? You fired him before I got back because you caught him snitching petty cash.”
“He was a lazy, no-good s.o.b.,” Shayne agreed cheerfully. “And if you ever take another vacation, I’m going to close up shop and go with you. But I want him now.”
Lucy drew out a card and read aloud, “William C. Nash. The Dillmore Hotel.”