A door on Shayne’s right, leading into Thrip’s office from the corridor, came open while the detective was stalking away from the desk. He stopped, facing a woman with the most remarkably tranquil eyes he had ever seen. She turned them full upon him, holding his gaze with a quiet inner serenity which kept him from going past her and out the door.

Her gaze was incurious, yet held a warm regard that was not wholly impersonal. Meeting it, Shayne had a feeling of recognition though he was positive he had never seen the woman before. She was forty or more; a small-boned woman with regular delicate features and a fresh youthful complexion. Placidity clung to her like a tight-fitting garment; every graying hair was neatly in place, and she wore a modish dark dress which seemed to have been selected for its quality of self-effacement.

While she held him with her eyes, Arnold Thrip rose from his desk and came forward. Behind the detective’s back he was saying, “Ah, Leora, I didn’t expect you in today. This is Mr. Shayne, my dear. Mrs. Thrip, Mr. Shayne. Mr. Shayne is a private detective, Leora.”

Mrs. Leora Thrip nodded gently. A faint animation which lighted her whole face conveyed a message of cordial approval to the detective. “Mr. Shayne looks very competent, Arnold. It is a relief to know that the matter is being attended to.”

Shayne didn’t get it. He would have sworn that she was not the type to connive with her husband on an insurance fraud, yet there was real warmth and relief in her voice.

Arnold Thrip’s lower lip came forward again; his upper lip drew away from even white teeth. He brought them together to say, “That’s the difficulty, my dear. Mr. Shayne has refused to take the case.”

Mrs. Thrip looked quickly from her husband to the detective. Color came into her smooth cheeks. She spoke with grave impulsiveness: