“Give that to Doc,” Harry said. “I’ll have mine straight.”

She looked at Shayne for support. When he didn’t give her any, she grudgingly covered the bottom of an old-fashioned glass with bourbon and handed it to her employer.

Doc Waters was fidgeting around without sitting down. “One thing I didn’t tell you, Harry, and it makes a difference. My big winner’s Al Naples. Anybody else I could maybe stall.”

“Don’t worry about Al. He’s retired.”

Doc drank some of the weak highball. “Maybe, but I don’t think I’ll take a chance on it.”

“Is this the Al Naples from Chicago?” Shayne asked.

Waters nodded. “And I wish he’d stayed there.”

“Harry, if you don’t need me right now,” Theo said, “why don’t I finish my typing?” She bit her lip and burst out, “I can’t just sit down, and have a drink, and pretend everything’s normal! The doctor said fifteen minutes, but when did a doctor ever come when he said he would? You ought to be in the hospital. You’ll need X rays, and why not have them now instead of later?”

“Let’s see what Goldstein says about X rays,” Harry said. “Get the typing out of the way, and if I have to go to the hospital you can come along. I won’t blast off at Doc any more. I’ll try to remember he’s human.”

Doc’s mustache jerked in annoyance. “I’m human. But who else?”

“Turn on the TV for Mike,” Harry said.

Theo touched Harry’s shoulder lightly, crossed the room and switched on the big set. Again Harry watched her leave, his eyes soft and vulnerable.

Shayne adjusted the volume. The announcer was delivering a razor-blade commercial, in a tone of great conviction. After that he went directly into a fast review of the Florida Christian-Southern Georgia contest, which the favorite had won but with little to spare. Shayne watched Johnny Black hit with two scoring passes in the first quarter, then suddenly lose his touch.