“What reporter was it, Mrs. Groat?”

“I don’t know. Daily News, I think he said.”

Shayne swung on Lucy. “Was the rescue story in the News by-lined?”

“I don’t think so, Michael.” Lucy puckered her smooth brow. “Why don’t you ask Tim Rourke?”

Shayne said, “I will.” He turned back to the telephone and dialed another number. After waiting for some time, he hung up, shaking his red head.

“I don’t know much more we can do tonight, Mrs. Groat. If you haven’t heard from your husband by tomorrow morning, call me at my office and I’ll do everything I can to help you locate him. Coming home, Lucy?”

“I… guess so.” The brown-haired girl hesitated. “Unless Mrs. Groat feels she wants me to stay.”

“Land sakes, no.” Mrs. Groat replaced her glasses on her nose and said firmly, “I’ve got the feeling now that all this is what you might call a tempest in a teapot. I shouldn’t have got upset, and Jasper won’t be any too happy if he knows the police have been called in and all. You run along and get a good sleep,” she urged Lucy, walking to the door with them, “and I do thank you, Mr. Shayne, for coming over and talking to me. Made me feel a mighty sight better somehow.”

Shayne said reassuringly, “I think tomorrow morning will be time enough to really get worried, Mrs. Groat. Just be thankful tonight that you have him back safely.”

He held Lucy’s arm firmly as they walked toward the elevators, and she glanced up into his rugged face and sighed. “Shouldn’t I have bothered you about it, Michael?”

He pushed a button to bring the elevator up, and said, “Of course, you should, angel.” He opened the door when the cage stopped on the fourth floor, and followed her inside. “Something funny about Cunningham’s attitude,” he added.