“Why the hell,” Shayne asked irritatedly, “don’t you put her in an asylum?”

“But that would be too terrible,” Dr. Joel Pedique exclaimed, spreading his hands out, rounded palms upward. “I have every hope of effecting an ultimate cure if I can keep her mind at ease. The shock of being incarcerated in an asylum would completely unhinge her reason.”

Shayne asked, “Where do I come in?”

“Her mother arrives from the north this afternoon. I should like to arrange for some sort of a superficial guard to be kept over the mother or child during the first few days of her stay. During that period I shall keep the child under close observation and determine definitely whether she can be cured or if she is doomed to enter a psychopathic ward.”

“I see.” Shayne nodded slowly. “You want me to arrange to keep the crazy girl from murdering her mother while you observe her?”

“Bluntly, yes.” Dr. Joel Pedique nodded his small head with a birdlike motion.

“Do you want her tailed from the moment of the mother’s arrival?” Shayne became very brisk and businesslike.

“I hardly think that will be necessary.” The doctor smiled thinly. “I feel that a rather informal watch will be sufficient. It is a matter which must be handled with discretion and the utmost privacy. I-wondered if you might undertake it yourself instead of sending an operative.”

“I might,” Shayne told him casually. “It will cost you more.”

“That’s perfectly splendid.” Dr. Pedique stood up enthusiastically, slipped his right hand inside his coat and drew out a fat wallet. “I suggest that you drop over tonight after dinner and meet Mrs. Brighton and the girl. Everything could be arranged quietly.”

Shayne stood up. “I’ll be there,” he promised, “about eight-thirty.”

Dr. Pedique nodded and fiddled with his wallet.

“Two hundred for a retainer,” Shayne told him.

Dr. Pedique’s eyebrows shot up. Shayne stared at him coldly. The doctor reluctantly drew out two one-hundred-dollar bills. Shayne crumpled them in his hand and led the doctor to the corridor door.