Counterfeit Wife
“A dim light shone through the front windows, however, and Shayne turned into the driveway on the chance that the proprietor had not left.
He tried the front door and found it was locked, walked to one of the windows and peered inside. Chairs were stacked on the tops of tables, and the only person he could see was the bent figure of a man mopping the floor.
Going around to the rear door, Shayne pounded on it loudly. After a time he heard a bolt slide back and the door opened to show the dark face and oily black head of the waiter he had encountered earlier in the evening.
He said, “We close up, mister. Nobody here.”
“Not even Bates?” Shayne shoved the door open and walked into the dimly lit room.
The waiter recognized him, and his black eyes widened with fright. “No. He go half hour ago,” he whimpered.
Shayne went to the bar, saying over his shoulder, “Let’s have a drink.
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