He sat down in front of Phyllis Brighton and said, “What you need more than anything else right now is someone to believe in you. All right. You’ve got that. But you’ll have to start trying to believe in yourself a little bit. Is that a bargain?”

Phyllis’s eyes blinked with tears, like a small girl’s. “You’re wonderful,” she said finally. “I don’t know how I can ever pay you.”

“That is an angle,” Shayne admitted. “Haven’t you any money?”

“No. That is-not enough, I’m afraid. But-would these do?”

She lifted a beautifully matched string of pearls from a bag and held them toward him with a hesitation that was either genuine timidity or a wonderful imitation.

Shayne let the pearls dribble into his hand without change of expression. “They’ll do very nicely.” He opened a drawer of the center table and dropped them in carelessly. His manner became brisk and reassuring.

“Let’s get this straight, now, without hysterics. Your mother is coming from New York, and you’re suffering from a morbid inward fear that you may go out of your head and do her some harm. I don’t believe there’s any danger, but we’ll let that pass. The important thing is to see that nothing of the sort can happen. When is your mother expected?”

“On the six o’clock train.”

Shayne nodded. “Everything will be taken care of. You probably won’t see me, but you have to remember that it’s part of a detective’s job not to be seen. The important thing for you to keep in mind is that I’m making myself responsible for you. The matter is out of your hands and in mine. If you feel you can trust me.”