Shayne stood aside with his hand on the doorknob and said, “Come in, doctor.”

Dr. Pedique held out his hand. “Mr. Shayne?”

Shayne nodded, closed the door, and walked back to sit down without taking the doctor’s hand.

Dr. Pedique followed mincingly and sat down.

“You have been recommended to me, Mr. Shayne, as an efficient and discreet private detective.” Shayne nodded and waited. The doctor folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. They were effeminate hands, soft and recently manicured. “I have an exceedingly delicate mission for you,” he went on in a voice like thin silk, his sharp white teeth flashing behind full lips. “I am the physician attending Mr. Rufus Brighton, of whom you must have heard.” He paused as though for effect.

Shayne blinked and looked at his cigarette. He said, “Yes,” noncommittally.

“An exceedingly curious and difficult situation has arisen.” Dr. Pedique seemed to choose his words carefully. “You are perhaps not aware that Mr. Brighton has lately married, and his stepdaughter has accompanied him here.” He paused again.

Shayne kept on looking at his cigarette and didn’t tell him whether or not he was aware of the fact.

The doctor purred on. “The unfortunate child is subject to certain-ah-hallucinations, I may call them in nontechnical terms, stimulated by a violent sexual oestrus and marked by unmistakable symptoms of an Electra complex. In her depressed moods she sometimes becomes violent, and I fear the poor child might do harm to her mother if such a mood were to come upon her.”