Shayne’s hand came out holding a bottle of cognac. He said, “Everything in this cabinet is ancient history, including this cognac, I hope. You won’t mind if I destroy a little of it?” He carried it back to his desk and sat down. “Go right ahead and examine my files. If you find anything on the Carrol case I’ll be interested to see it.”
“Where do you keep recent correspondence? No use tearing everything up.”
Shayne poured cognac into a glass and took a drink. “You’ll have to ask Lucy about the current files,” he said. “I don’t know where she keeps things.”
“You know she won’t be here today,” said Sturgis patiently.
“All right. So you lock her up on a bum rap and then come crying around because she’s not here to help you go through my private papers. To hell with it.” He settled back and lit a cigarette.
Sturgis’s partner came to the door and said, “Hey, Len, there’s a file out here at the reception desk marked ‘Current Correspondence.’ Nothing in it on Carrol.”
The telephone on Lucy Hamilton’s desk rang. Shayne got up and trotted into the outer room. The other detective turned hastily toward the phone. Shayne slammed a big hand on his shoulder and jerked him back.
“Keep your goddamned hand off my phone.” All the frustrated rage that had been boiling inside the redhead since early morning was in his voice.
“Better be careful who you push around, shamus,” the big plain-clothes man growled while the phone continued to ring.
“Hold it, Gene.” Len Sturgis spoke placidly from the inner doorway. “Let him answer his phone.”