another thousand dollars every three months, but I will be in bad trouble and there will be no more money if you upset the apple-cart.
“Believe me, darling, I have thought it all out and this is best for you and me, and for the baby. This is more money than I could earn in a year.
“You can tell people I’ve re-enlisted in the army or something. Or that I’ve gone out West to another job.
“Just don’t worry! And don’t try to find out any more than I’ve told you. I love you and I always will. You will understand when it is all over.
“Kiss the baby for me when he comes… and please try to trust me to know what’s best. Your loving husband.
LEON”
There was silence in the office when Shayne finished reading the letter. It was broken by the crackle of brittle paper as he carefully refolded the sheet into its original creases. Mrs. Wallace opened her eyes wide and swallowed. “Well? What should I have done, Mr. Shayne?” She turned to look at Lucy intensely. “You’re a woman, Miss Hamilton. What would you have done under those circumstances?”
Lucy shook her head slowly, her brown eyes warm with understanding. “If I loved my husband… and trusted him… I guess I would have done the same as you. But what does it mean, Michael?” she went on swiftly. “Ten thousand dollars! And another thousand every three months.”
He shook his red head at Lucy, asked Myra Wallace, “Did you hear anything further?”
“Only an envelope every three months, mailed from Miami and with another thousand-dollar bill inside.” Her voice trembled slightly. “It was addressed in his handwriting and had the same return address, but there wasn’t a scrap of writing inside. Just one bill. I’ve had three of them now. The last one about a month ago.”
Shayne replaced the letter in its envelope. “And last night Jasper Groat telephoned to say he had information about your husband… just before he disappeared?”
“That’s right. But he didn’t tell me what sort of information. Whether Leon was alive or dead.”
Shayne said, “I think it’s time you did some checking with the Hawleys.”
“I did! I telephoned out there this morning from Mrs. Groat’s apartment and asked for their gardener, Mr. Leon Wallace. Some servant answered. A Negro, I’m sure. And he said they hadn’t had any gardener for at least a year… and he didn’t know anything about my husband. That’s when I decided… I should come to you, Mr. Shayne. I’ve heard about you, of course,” she went on breathlessly. “Everybody in Florida has, I guess. I can pay you. I’ve saved most of the money Leon sent me. Just find him for me. I don’t care what he’s done. The farm’s doing fine now. We can pay all the money back.”
Shayne said, “I already have one client in this case, Mrs. Wallace. It seems to me that the disappearance of your husband and Jasper Groat are tied together somehow.” He hesitated, tugging at his left ear lobe and furrowing his forehead. “Have you kept those other envelopes the quarterly payments arrived in?”
“Yes. I have them at home. But they’re just like this one, Mr. Shayne. Addressed in ink in Leon’s handwriting. So I know he was alive and here in Miami just a month ago.”
Shayne said, “I’d like to have the envelopes, Mrs. Wallace. And a picture of your husband.”
“I have one at home I can send you.”
“Do that as soon as you get back. In the meantime, describe him to me.”
“He’s twenty-four. Just my age. He was a little late graduating because he elected to do his selective service between high school and college. He’s about five-ten, and slender and dark-haired. He…”
She broke down suddenly, bowed her face into her hands and her sobbing was loud in the silent office.
Shayne got up. He lifted one shoulder expressively at Lucy, jerking his head toward Myra Wallace, and, as she closed her notebook and hurried around to the young wife, he said, “Get her address