Matrix waited until Shayne started the car, then said, “You know I killed Hardeman. Why are you doing this for me?” His voice was quietly cold, filled with suspicion.
“Because I hate the guts of a louse who cold-bloodedly plans a crime with the intention of framing another man for it.” His foot pressed down on the accelerator, sent the speedometer up to sixty. “And when a louse gets stepped on and the life crushed out of him, I don’t call it murder.”
“I was-I guess I just went to hell when I read that anonymous letter intended for you,” Matrix confessed. “I made a mistake when I was a kid. I paid for it. It was too much to live in terror for weeks-with Midge’s happiness at stake-everything. That’s what I went through after the counterfeiting started.”
“Yeh,” Shayne muttered. The roadster slid past Edwards’s house on the corner. The windows were dark. Shayne nodded toward it. “There are a couple of other people who deserve a break.”
“Claude was crazy about his wife and boy,” Matrix said. “That’s why he broke prison, to provide for them. If he knew about it he’d be glad he was dead so his invention could pay them dividends, and I’ll see that it does.”
Shayne said, “That’s all behind both of you now. As soon as a thing is brought out in the open it loses its force. But don’t try running away again. Stay here and whip it. You and Midge together can do it.”
“We will,” Matrix promised fervently. “After what you’ve done-”
“Don’t thank me alone,” Shayne said roughly. “Thank Will Gentry too. He knows damned well Hardeman didn’t shoot himself.”
“I didn’t know cops were ever like that,” Matrix said in a tight voice. “I never heard of a cop giving an ex-con a break.”
“That’s hooey. Cops are people.” He slid his roadster to a stop behind Matrix’s Ford. Window curtains were drawn at the beach cottage and lights burned dimly behind them.
Shayne stopped Matrix as he started up the walk with rapid, short strides. He grunted. “Wait-there’s a little formality we need to take care of first.” He held Matrix’s arm and urged him toward the beach. The tide was going out, leaving a wide expanse of springy wet sand which supported their weight to the water’s edge.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he took out the small-caliber pistol. Swinging his arm in a wide arc, he hurled it far out to sea. “If anybody thinks to remove the bullet from Hardeman’s head,” he said grimly, “you don’t want to be in possession of the gun that fired it.”
Matrix’s body was rigid as he watched the faint splash as the pistol fell into deep water, beyond where the combers broke. He turned silently and followed Shayne back to the cottage.
Shayne opened the door and beckoned to Phyllis. She sprang up and got her wrap. Outside, Shayne said, “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m beginning to feel like a fairy godfather.”
Phyllis had difficulty keeping up with his long strides. “But-what is it all about, Michael? Is it all over? Isn’t Mr. Matrix in any more trouble?”
“No more than any man about to be married,” he grunted.
“But you-you acted so grim when you took him away, and he was so crushed and tragic. Why, Midge and I both thought he had committed the murders.”
Shayne opened the door of the roadster and helped her in. He closed the door and went around to the other side and got in. “That was a test of true love,” he explained as he started the motor. “I had to know whether Matrix had the guts to stand up and take it.”
“You brute,” Phyllis exclaimed, “do you mean it was just a gag-you knew all the time that everything was all right and let Midge think-”
“Something like that, angel. Anyway, you can spend one night in your magnificent hotel suite. I’ll have to be here tomorrow to collect a fee from the Cocopalm Greyhound Track.”