“To tell Tim what?” Shayne prompted gravely.

Miss Lally took off her glasses and her eyes, large and round and sooty again, were lowered. “She told me to-tell him to try-making passes at me for a change because she didn’t believe he had another-another-”

“Another what?” Rourke demanded indignantly.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, polished her glasses carefully, and put them on again. “I never quote Miss Morton verbatim — when she’s vulgar.” She spoke primly, and her face was white again when she resumed her low-voiced recital:

“The reason I’m so worried about her right now is because she appears to have gone out before you called her-after telling me emphatically she was going to stay there all night if necessary.”

“Maybe it wasn’t my call she was waiting for,” Shayne suggested.

“I think it was. You see, she hasn’t received any call since I talked to her at six o’clock. I checked with the switchboard operator after I talked to you. Do you think we should-do anything?” The frown came and stayed longer now, accentuating the worried tone in her voice.

Shayne didn’t answer immediately. He stared down at the table, rolling his ear lobe between thumb and forefinger, acutely conscious of the threatening messages and the note in his pocket. He didn’t want to discuss them in the presence of Rourke. Not yet. Miss Lally wouldn’t want to, either.

He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I think we might go up and see if she’s in her room. She may have fallen asleep.”

Miss Lally finished her stale drink and stood beside Shayne, the top of her head even with his shoulder, while Rourke took out his billfold and laid some money on the table. When he joined them they went into the lobby and across to a bank of elevators and. up to the fourteenth floor.