Stalking to the counter, he said, “Shayne,” to a young man who was pensively cleaning his nails with a penknife but who quickly became very businesslike and said, “Oh, yes. We just had you paged, Mr. Shayne. It’s a long-distance call. You can take it on this phone.”

Shayne picked up the receiver and said gruffly, “Shayne speaking.”

“Michael!”

He recognized Lucy Hamilton’s voice at once, though he had never heard his secretary sound exactly like that before.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for the last half hour.”

“What for? My plane leaves in a few minutes.”

“What plane? For where?” Her voice was husky, and he didn’t know whether the huskiness came from tears or anger.

“For New Orleans, of course. Didn’t you get my last wire telling you to keep stalling Belton?”

“Oh, sure, I got your wire. I got all of them. If it’s so hard for you to tear yourself away from Miami, I thought I’d tell you you needn’t bother. I’m sure you’re having much too good a time to worry about a little thing like business.”

Shayne was positive now that the tone of Lucy’s voice indicated both tears and anger. He said, “Look, darling, I’ve just cleaned up a case here. I didn’t clear a cent on it if that pleases you; and we need the Belton retainer. Tell him-”

“I’m telling you,” Lucy Hamilton cut in sharply from New Orleans. “There isn’t any Belton case, so you needn’t rush back here. Captain Denton got a confession from the murderer an hour ago.”

“That’s all right,” Shayne soothed her. “There’ll be other cases. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You won’t see me, Mr. Shayne.” Lucy’s voice was no longer husky. It was clipped and icy calm. “I’m quitting as of tonight. I’m tired of lying to people and stalling clients and sitting here in an empty office with nothing to do while I chew my fingernails to the bone. I’ve left the key with the building superintendent, and-”