Mrs. Dawson straightened to her full height. She was at least ten inches over five feet tall, and her body tapered gracefully from heavy shoulders and big breasts to a neat waistline above the spread of wide hips. She turned slowly to study the interior of the waiting-room again with an intent gaze.

Shayne lit a cigarette and met her eyes from beneath the brim of his hat as her gaze passed over him. Her eyes were blue. A clear, hot blue like the clean flame of an alcohol burner. They dwelt upon him for a moment before going on to the others. She was relaxed now, and steady, with the outspread fingers of one hand lightly touching the counter.

The little man whom she had brushed aside fidgeted behind her, but made no move to take his rightful place.

Mrs. Dawson turned back to the girl and asked in her husky voice, “Where’d he go if he didn’t get on that plane? I don’t see him around.”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” She spoke with the compressed-lip patience of a public servant dealing with a fool or a drunk. “I presume he returned to the city after being told there would be no more planes departing until morning. And now, if you please-”

“I don’t see him around,” said the woman again.

“I’m very sorry I can’t do anything to help you. If you’ll please step aside now-”

The big blonde looked down at her for a moment in speculative silence. The girl looked back at her with a touch of weariness in the bend of her head. The little man behind Mrs. Dawson fidgeted again.

She turned, finally, and strode across the waiting-room toward a door marked Men.

Shayne thought she was going in, but she stopped just outside, beckoned to a porter and said something to him. The man went inside the room and Mrs. Dawson remained firmly planted outside, oblivious of the glances of people standing about.

The porter returned shaking his head. She gave him a coin and went toward the front door, and people got out of her way again.