Wisps of graying hair escaped from what Shayne felt sure was a normally sleek coiffure, and Mrs. Groat’s blue eyes were red-rimmed and frightened behind rimless glasses. She wore a black silk dress that managed to look slightly girlish on her, and she twisted plump beringed fingers together nervously as she said, “I begged Miss Hamilton not to bother you, Mr. Shayne. A busy man like I know you are. But she insisted…”

“Of course, I insisted,” Lucy said warmly. The three of them moved into the room together and a young man got up from a deep chair at the other side. He was square-shouldered and square-faced with one of the deepest tans Shayne had ever seen on a man, and white teeth showing behind sulky lips. His eyes were gray and unsmiling with heavy black brows a straight line above them, and the redhead had an immediate and distinct impression that he was both ill at ease and not pleased by Shayne’s arrival. His cheap gray suit was obviously new, and too tight across the shoulders, the sleeves showing bony wrists with big, blunt-fingered hands dangling from them. There was a look of newness also about the light tan shoes and the heavily starched collar of a soft white shirt, and his coarse black hair was freshly barbered in a short crew-cut that left a narrow line of white skin around the back of his tanned neck where it had been shaved that day.

Mrs. Groat said, “This is Mr. Cunningham,” and with the name things clicked into place in Shayne’s memory. He crossed the rug, holding out his hand to the younger man, saying heartily, “I remember it all now. You and Jasper Groat were the only crew members rescued from the plane that was lost at sea a couple of weeks ago.”

Cunningham dropped his eyes and muttered, “That’s right. I was the steward and Mr. Groat was the copilot.” He clasped Shayne’s hand briefly and dropped it.

Shayne said, “It must have been tough. Weren’t you on a life raft all that time?”