“Well, there was the usual scene and Charles was wonderful. He never suspected me for a moment. Poor darling, he wanted to protect me-protect my name from being smirched by a divorce suit. My name! Get it? That was a laugh, but I–I couldn’t laugh. He made me promise to marry him as soon as the divorce went through.”

“And you agreed?”

“Sure I did. What else could I do? Tell him the truth? Smash the last thing he believed in? He loved me. And I loved him. I didn’t see why it wouldn’t be all right-why he’d ever have to know the truth.”

A single tear from beneath each of Helen’s eyelids rolled down her cheeks while she stared fixedly at the detective.

He said, “Finish your drink and I’ll pour you another.” He lifted his own glass and emptied it. Helen turned hers up, too. She made a wretched attempt to smile as she held it out to him. She breathed, “Now you know the truth. Do you despise me? Do you think I should have thrown away the only chance I’ll ever have for happiness?”

Shayne shrugged and poured cognac over the half-melted ice cubes in her glass. He splashed soda on top and handed the glass back to her. “Who am I to pass judgment? Everyone has to play the cards dealt them the way they see it.” He refilled his glass and sank back into his chair. “You haven’t told me anything very dreadful yet. What’s troubling you? Threats of blackmail from someone who knows about your career as a marriage buster-upper?”

“Worse than that. You see-I’m already married.”

Correctly interpreting Shayne’s look of astonishment, Helen explained, “I’m not as young as you probably think. I’m twenty-six. I married when I was seventeen-a heel named Mace Morgan.