“Get me the Dillmore, angel.”
She consulted the directory and dialed a number. When someone answered, she said, “Just a moment, please,” and handed the receiver to Shayne.
“Mr. Nash. William Nash.”
A girl’s voice said, “I’m sorry. We have no Mr. Nash at the present.”
“Do you have a Michael Shayne registered?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Look, honey,” said Shayne persuasively. “This is very important. Bill Nash was living there a couple of months ago, the first two weeks in January, for sure. Will you check and see when he left? And what forwarding address you have?”
“It’ll take a few minutes.”
Shayne said, “I’ll hold on.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and explained to Lucy. “You heard enough this morning to realize that a lawyer in Wilmington claims he hired me to locate Ralph Carrol in Miami a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t, but he swears he had letters and phone calls from me. I just learned that he first wrote me early in January, while you were on vacation and Nash was in the office. Nash evidently decided to turn detective himself, and kept the letter from me, had some Michael Shayne letterheads printed, and replied to Bates on one of them. God knows how many cases he may have picked up.”
The girl’s voice was on the wire again. He said, “Yes?”