Lucy Hamilton was on the telephone when Michael Shayne returned to his office after lunch. She sat at her desk beyond the low railing with the receiver held to her ear, a little frown of resignation ruffling her forehead as she listened.

She turned her head as Shayne entered, lifted her left shoulder a trifle and said into the mouthpiece: “I’ve explained it will be impossible for me to promise that Mr. Shayne will come to see you unless you give me some idea of your business. He is a very busy man, and…”

She paused, wrinkling her nice nose at the instrument and then at Shayne, who grinned widely as he tossed his hat on a wall-hook and lounged closer to lower one hip onto the railing near her.

“I understand all that,” Lucy said, firmly. “And if you wish to see Mr. Shayne in his office, I will be glad to arrange an appointment. But I’m afraid that…”

She was interrupted again by a voice Shayne could hear crackling over the wire, and, when it stopped, she said flatly, “Yes. I did get your name correctly the first time, Mr. Peralta. But I’ll still have to insist…”

“Hold it, Lucy!” It was her employer who interrupted her this time. The rangy redhead was sitting erect with a gleam of interest in his gray eyes. “Would that be Julio Peralta?”

“One moment, please,” Lucy said into the mouthpiece. She covered it with her hand and nodded to Shayne’s question. “He seems to think you should jump through hoops when he speaks. I’ve told him…”

“It’s okay, angel. Tell him I’ve just come in, and switch him inside.”

Shayne rose and took three long strides to the open door into his private office. He crossed to the flat desk in the center and scooped up the phone, said, “Hello? Shayne speaking.”

“Mr. Shayne.” Peralta’s voice was precise and demanding, tinged with relief. “I’ve been explaining to your secretary that I must see you at once. Please come to my place immediately.”