Read Online The Corpse Came Calling by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online
Authors: Brett Halliday
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along—stay one jump ahead of the other fellow.”
“I mean the danger. The continued imminence of death. Pitting yourself against murderous forces. That’s what you really like about it, Michael.” She shuddered again.
He was thoughtfully silent for a time. “Maybe so, Phyl. I never put it into words before.” His voice roughened. “I’m sorry if it’s tough on you, but you knew my business before you married me.”
“I’m not kicking,” she disclaimed quickly. She sat up straighter, reached over, and got two cigarettes from a pack in his shirt pocket. She lit them both, inserted one between his lips. “Let it be a short life and a merry one,” she went on with mock bravado. “Only—it is fun being married to you, darling. I’d like to have it last another month or so.”
“I lasted a lot of years before I had you to worry about me. And you’d better be glad,” he went on, “that I’m not flying a bomber or riding a submarine tonight. Bucking a couple of New York gunsels isn’t half so dangerous as taking a whack at the Nazis.”
“That would be different. At least, I think it would,” Phyllis said slowly, seeking to rationalize a thought that wasn’t wholly rational. “It seems to me I wouldn’t mind that half as much.”
“A man is just as dead,” said Shayne sententiously, “from an enemy machine gun as from a sawed-off .45 in the hand of a hired torpedo.”
“Oh, I know.” Phyllis shivered and pressed against him. “War and death seem so far away. It’s sacrilege to think about such things on a night like this.”
That, Shayne realized with a sense of shock, was in line with what he had been thinking a short time before, only in an entirely different way. He remained silent, driving down the last incline off the causeway and turning abruptly south on the peninsula.
A few blocks more and he pulled up in front of the Danube Restaurant, a low, inconspicuous building facing Biscayne Bay.
There were not many cars in the large parking lot, and as they got out, Shayne explained casually. “The war has practically ruined Otto’s trade, I guess. He’s a nice, harmless old fellow but he had the misfortune to be born on the wrong side of the Atlantic.”
“It’s a shame,” Phyllis said warmly. “He’s an American citizen, isn’t he?”
Shayne said, “Yes. Otto’s naturalized, but he’s still a German to a lot of people who think in terms of headlines.”
He guided Phyllis through the entrance and gave his hat to a motherly Frau behind the check counter. A tall, heavy-shouldered man met them at the entrance to the dining-room. He had a long, horsy face and sad brown eyes. He wore dinner clothes and had a napkin neatly folded over his arm.
“Two, sir?” He did not bow, but there was servility in his tone.
Shayne said, “You’re new here,” as they followed him into the large dining-room where less than a dozen diners sat.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been here only a short time.” He spoke without a trace of foreign accent. “Will this be suitable, sir?” He led them to a table near the wall.
Shayne said, “This will do.” The headwaiter drew out Phyllis’s chair, then snapped his fingers loudly for a waiter.
Shayne ordered two sidecars and inquired about the hasenpfeffer. The moon-faced waiter beamed delightedly and assured him it was of the most delectable.
Phyllis leaned close to her husband when the waiter went away. “Now will you tell me why you insisted on coming here tonight?”
He told her, “I wanted to get a look at the head-waiter.”
She craned her head around to look at the sad-eyed man. “What about him?”
Shayne admitted he didn’t know. He gave her a brief résumé of his talk over the telephone with Will Gentry. “It’s an old dodge,” he concluded, “reporting one’s car stolen while it is being used to commit a crime. So old,” he added ruefully, “that few of our better crooks use it except as a last resort. But it’s the only
“I mean the danger. The continued imminence of death. Pitting yourself against murderous forces. That’s what you really like about it, Michael.” She shuddered again.
He was thoughtfully silent for a time. “Maybe so, Phyl. I never put it into words before.” His voice roughened. “I’m sorry if it’s tough on you, but you knew my business before you married me.”
“I’m not kicking,” she disclaimed quickly. She sat up straighter, reached over, and got two cigarettes from a pack in his shirt pocket. She lit them both, inserted one between his lips. “Let it be a short life and a merry one,” she went on with mock bravado. “Only—it is fun being married to you, darling. I’d like to have it last another month or so.”
“I lasted a lot of years before I had you to worry about me. And you’d better be glad,” he went on, “that I’m not flying a bomber or riding a submarine tonight. Bucking a couple of New York gunsels isn’t half so dangerous as taking a whack at the Nazis.”
“That would be different. At least, I think it would,” Phyllis said slowly, seeking to rationalize a thought that wasn’t wholly rational. “It seems to me I wouldn’t mind that half as much.”
“A man is just as dead,” said Shayne sententiously, “from an enemy machine gun as from a sawed-off .45 in the hand of a hired torpedo.”
“Oh, I know.” Phyllis shivered and pressed against him. “War and death seem so far away. It’s sacrilege to think about such things on a night like this.”
That, Shayne realized with a sense of shock, was in line with what he had been thinking a short time before, only in an entirely different way. He remained silent, driving down the last incline off the causeway and turning abruptly south on the peninsula.
A few blocks more and he pulled up in front of the Danube Restaurant, a low, inconspicuous building facing Biscayne Bay.
There were not many cars in the large parking lot, and as they got out, Shayne explained casually. “The war has practically ruined Otto’s trade, I guess. He’s a nice, harmless old fellow but he had the misfortune to be born on the wrong side of the Atlantic.”
“It’s a shame,” Phyllis said warmly. “He’s an American citizen, isn’t he?”
Shayne said, “Yes. Otto’s naturalized, but he’s still a German to a lot of people who think in terms of headlines.”
He guided Phyllis through the entrance and gave his hat to a motherly Frau behind the check counter. A tall, heavy-shouldered man met them at the entrance to the dining-room. He had a long, horsy face and sad brown eyes. He wore dinner clothes and had a napkin neatly folded over his arm.
“Two, sir?” He did not bow, but there was servility in his tone.
Shayne said, “You’re new here,” as they followed him into the large dining-room where less than a dozen diners sat.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been here only a short time.” He spoke without a trace of foreign accent. “Will this be suitable, sir?” He led them to a table near the wall.
Shayne said, “This will do.” The headwaiter drew out Phyllis’s chair, then snapped his fingers loudly for a waiter.
Shayne ordered two sidecars and inquired about the hasenpfeffer. The moon-faced waiter beamed delightedly and assured him it was of the most delectable.
Phyllis leaned close to her husband when the waiter went away. “Now will you tell me why you insisted on coming here tonight?”
He told her, “I wanted to get a look at the head-waiter.”
She craned her head around to look at the sad-eyed man. “What about him?”
Shayne admitted he didn’t know. He gave her a brief résumé of his talk over the telephone with Will Gentry. “It’s an old dodge,” he concluded, “reporting one’s car stolen while it is being used to commit a crime. So old,” he added ruefully, “that few of our better crooks use it except as a last resort. But it’s the only
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