The features of the corpse were flaccid, the flesh shrunken so that cheek- and jawbones stood out in harsh relief.

Phyllis asked breathlessly, “How do you suppose-Michael! what do you suppose?”

He said, “How in hell do I know?” without looking at her. He tugged at the lobe of his left ear with right thumb and forefinger, then shrugged and turned to the table where he poured himself a drink to replace the one he had spilled.

Phyllis went swiftly to him. She gripped his arm. “Aren’t you going to do something? You can’t just leave him lying there.”

“Why not?” Shayne’s eyes were narrowed and hard.

“It isn’t decent.”

Shayne said, “He’s as comfortable there as he would be anywhere.” He tossed off his drink, then said more gently:

“Look, angel. You’d better hike upstairs to the apartment and settle down with your knitting. I’ve got to figure this thing out. He said, ‘They didn’t get-’ before he died. Who are they? What didn’t they get? Why was he killed on his way to my office?”

“Aren’t you going to call a doctor?” Phyllis tightened her fingers on his arm.

“What for?” Shayne looked at her in astonishment “He’s dead. No doctor can bring him back to life.”

“But the police! Shouldn’t you report it? The murderer may be escaping right now.”

Shayne put both his hands on her shoulders and steered her back to the day bed. “You’re mighty sweet, Phyl, and sometimes you show a glimmering of intelligence, but I’m still running my end of this business. I’ll call the police when I get ready, and I’ll have a story all fixed to tell them. You relax and meditate on the pleasure of being married to a guy who has dead men drop in unexpectedly.” He pushed her down, then patted her shoulder and turned away.