Shayne shook the tight fingers from his arm and started purposefully toward Gate 3, saying, “I don’t believe it’s any of your business.”

The smaller man trotted beside him, again clutching at Shayne’s arm. “But you don’t understand,” he said. The low murmur of his voice became a whisper. “It’s terribly urgent that I get a seat on that plane. There’s not a single vacancy. I’ve been pleading with the girl at the desk. When I heard your telephone conversation-”

Shayne stopped suddenly and again forced the man’s hand from his arm.

The man sighed and set his suitcase down, wiped sweat from his pallid brow, and went on rapidly: “It’d be a tremendous favor, brother, if I could have your seat. Pressing business, you understand.” He drew in a deep breath and tried to calm the shakiness of his voice. “I simply must be in New Orleans tomorrow morning. This is my only possible chance.”

Shayne shook his head, glancing at the clock. “There isn’t time to exchange tickets now. The plane leaves-”

“We needn’t bother about formalities,” the man broke in. “To avoid explanations and delays I’ll simply take your ticket and say nothing. Your girl turned you down flat, didn’t she? I heard enough to get that. You don’t want to go running after her. Show her you’re independent. That’s the way to handle ’em, brother.” His trembling hand dug into his pocket and came out clutching a roll of bills. Under Shayne’s bleak and angry gaze he peeled a C-note from the outside of the roll, hesitated briefly, then peeled off another. “I’m glad to pay-well,” he whimpered. “You can get another plane tomorrow. That’ll be too late for me.” He ended on a note of despair.

The sonorous tone of the loud-speaker filled the room, calling, “National Airlines announces the immediate departure of Flight Sixty-two to Jacksonville and New Orleans from Gate Three. All aboard, please.”