“Sorry, miss,” he said harshly. “You’ll have to tell it to the judge. We’ll want to find this accomplice of yours, and we’ll need you for a witness. The force is working night and day to rid the community of crime,” he continued, his tone filled with pride and determination. “Come on over to the desk and we’ll talk to the clerk.” He caught her arm firmly.
At the desk the clerk looked her over with interest and confirmed her story about the manner in which she had gained possession of the key to 360. Then she was led out to a police car waiting at the curb.
Her only hope, now, was that Chief Gentry would be busy elsewhere, for at least a couple of hours, and that she would not be brought into contact with anyone on the police force who would recognize her as Michael Shayne’s secretary.
Her hope was short-lived. A reporter from the Herald was lounging at the desk when she was brought in. He glanced at the pair without much interest. Then his bleary eyes widened in recognition as he studied Lucy more closely.
He was a short, fat man, partially bald, and, as the young officer propelled Lucy nearer the desk, he jumped up and exclaimed, “What’s up? You’re Lucy Hamilton, Mike Shayne’s secretary, aren’t you?”
“Hell, no. Who’s that?” She looked him in the eye and screwed her face up defiantly. “I ain’t nobody’s secretary.”
The fat reporter whooped with laughter. “Okay, sister. But that’s what the shamus insists on calling you. What gives, Hagen?” he asked the young officer.
Hagen was plainly shocked. He studied Lucy with a puzzled expression on his face. “You say this is Shayne’s secretary?” he asked incredulously.
“Sure. Lucy Hamilton. Who did you think you had in tow?” the reporter said. “How about a story?”
“I—” He gulped and turned to the night sergeant, “Is the chief in his office?” he asked.