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Page 85
P. Sybarite drew a long breath. If this were all that Shaynon could
have trumped up to discomfit him--! He looked that one over with the
curling lip of contempt.
"I believe it's no crime to enter where you've not been invited,
provided you don't force door or window to do it," he observed.
"You admit--eh?" the manager broke in excitedly--"you have no card of
invitation, what?"
"I freely admit I have no card of invitation what or whatever."
"Then perhaps you'll explain whatcha doing here," suggested the
detective, not without affability.
"Willingly: I came to find a friend--a lady whose name I don't care to
bring into this discussion--unless Mr. Shaynon has forestalled me."
"Mr. Shaynon has mentioned a lady's name," said the manager with a
significance lost upon P. Sybarite.
"That," he commented acidly, "is much what might have been expected
of"--here he lifted his shoulders with admirable insolence--"Mr.
Shaynon."
"You saw this lady, then?" the detective put in sharply.
"Why--yes," P. Sybarite admitted.
"He not only saw her," Shaynon interpolated with a malicious sneer,
"but I saw him see her--and saw him get away with it."
"Get away with--what?" P. Sybarite asked blankly.
"Mr. Shaynon," drawled the detective, "says he saw you lift a di'mond
brooch off'n Mrs. Addison Strone, while you was in the elevator."
And while P. Sybarite gaped, thunderstruck and breathless with the
rage excited by this groundless accusation, the detective looked to
Shaynon for confirmation.
"I stood behind him in the elevator, coming down, ten minutes or so
ago," the latter stated heavily. "Mrs. Addison Strone was immediately
in front of him. The cage was badly crowded--no one could move. But
practically every one else was with friends, you understand--laughing,
talking, paying no attention to this--ah--creature. As I got in, I
noticed that Mrs. Strone's brooch, a gold bar set with several large
diamonds, was apparently loose--pin had parted from the catch, you
know--and meant to warn her she was in danger of losing it; but I
couldn't, without shouting over this fellow's head, so waited until we
got out; and then, when I managed to get to her, the brooch was gone.
Later, I remembered this--fellow--and looking round the lobby, saw him
in a corner, apparently concealing something about his person. So I
spoke to you about it."
P. Sybarite's face settled into grim lines. "Shaynon," he said slowly,
without visible temper, "this won't get you anything but trouble.
Remember that, when I come to pay you out--unless you'll have the
grace to retract here and now."
As if he had not heard, Shaynon deliberately produced a gold case,
supplied himself with a cigarette, and lighted it.
"Meanin', I take it," the detective interpolated, "you plead not
guilty?"
P. Sybarite nodded curtly. "It's a lie, out of whole cloth," he
declared. "You've only to search me. I'm not strong for
that--mind--and I'm going to make the lot of you smart for this
indignity; but I'm perfectly willing to prove my innocence now, by
letting you search me, so long as it affords me an earlier opportunity
to catch Mister Shaynon when he hasn't got you to protect him."
"That's big talk," commended the detective, apparently a little
prepossessed; "and it's all to the good if you can back it up." He
rose. "You don't mind my going through your pockets--sure?"
"Go ahead," P. Sybarite told him shortly.
"To save time," Shaynon suggested dispassionately, "you might explore
his coat-tail pockets first. It was there that I saw him put away the
brooch."
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