“Wait a minute, Tim.” Shayne was frowning thoughtfully. “You say Peralta skipped with his dough before Castro took over. It’s my impression, from things I’ve read, that he’s pro-Castro. That his money is one of the important sources of munitions shipped over to the revolution.”

“That’s the way it looks, and it may even be true. He claims he had a change of heart after getting out with his own money, and then seeing how Castro took over. His heart bleeds for his country, which is shaking off the shackles of American imperialism.”

“With the help of the Commies?”

Timothy Rourke looked at him shrewdly. “You don’t swallow too much of that propaganda, Mike. Hell, of course the Commies are exploiting the revolution to the limit. And Mr. Julio Peralta may even be one, secretly. You know how it is in Miami right now,” he went on disgustedly. “The city is full of refugees and rife with rumors of plots and counterplots. No one knows for sure whose side anyone is on. I’ll lay you ten to one that at least half the arms ostensibly being smuggled over to Castro end up in the hands of counter-revolutionaries. Julio Peralta isn’t the only rich Cuban who moved his money out before the crash, and most of them are eager to spend a hunk of it to get the old way of life back.”

“But not Peralta?” mused Shayne.

“I don’t know. I do know he doesn’t like newspaper reporters snooping into his affairs, and I’m surprised he’s called in a private detective. As I say, I got a strong impression from Barker, from Painter, and from Peralta himself that the loss of the bracelet was chicken-feed and was sort of being glossed over. That’s why I’m surprised he wants you in on it.”

“Hell, it may not be the jewel thing at all,” said Shayne impatiently. “Maybe he wants to hire a bottle-guard for his wife.”