that looked a little warm for the Miami climate.
Lucy’s first impression was that she faced a nonentity. A pleasant, fairly intelligent man, but not a pusher. Not a doer. A man who had safely come to grips with life and who accepted the terms and the limitations placed before him.
She was aware of the color in her cheeks which came from her thoughts about Michael, but she wasn’t bothered by it because she was quite sure her visitor did not notice her as a human being. Her appraisal of him was that he would regard any secretary in a business office as impersonally as he would regard any other piece of furniture.
When he spoke, his dry and precise voice bore out this first impression:
“Is Mr. Shayne in?”
Lucy Hamilton said, “No,” glancing openly at her wrist-watch. “I don’t expect him back this afternoon.”
The man said, “Oh, my!” in a voice of definite disapproval.
Lucy repressed a silly desire to giggle. She and Michael had a private joke about the two words the man had just uttered, and the subject matter was so very far removed from the sort of man he appeared to be that it struck her as utterly ludicrous that he should speak them.
“It is extremely important,” he told her, “that I should see Mr. Shayne at once. Or contact him over the telephone at the very least. Do you know where he can be reached?”
Lucy hesitated. He still stood in the doorway with his hand on the knob. She said, “Won’t you come in and have a seat?” She moved her own typing chair out and sat down in it on her side of the railing as he entered the anteroom and perched himself on the edge of one of the straight chairs lining the wall.
Lucy said, “It’s possible that I could reach him by phone, but I wouldn’t want to bother him unless it’s very important. Can you tell me what it is about?”
He settled his hat on his thighs and told her earnestly, “I want to speak to him about an emerald bracelet.”
“The Peralta bracelet?” she asked in astonishment.
“Yes. It is imperative that I talk to him before he discusses the case with Mr. Peralta.”
Lucy said, “I’m afraid that will be impossible. His appointment with Mr. Peralta was half an hour ago.”
“Perhaps it isn’t too late yet.” He leaned forward eagerly. “Could you telephone him there? Allow me to speak to him.”
Lucy hesitated. The baldheaded, precise-voiced man baffled her. Her first impression of him had subtly changed. She asked, “Do you have the bracelet? Do you have information about it?”
“Miss…” The voice was still precisely enunciated, but it had become sibilant and somehow dangerous. “If you will be kind enough to tell Mr. Shayne that I wish to speak to him about the recovery of the bracelet, then your function in the matter will have been performed.”
Lucy reached for the telephone. Before lifting it, she asked stubbornly, “Who shall I say is calling?”
“My name doesn’t matter. If you will get him on the telephone, please…?”
Lucy compressed her lips, lifted the receiver and dialed the Peralta number on the Beach. A masculine voice answered almost at once. She said, “This is Michael Shayne’s office calling. His secretary. May I speak to Mr. Shayne, please?”
She listened and a frown furrowed her smooth brow. She said, “One moment, please,” and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. To her visitor, she explained, “Mr. Shayne has not arrived yet to keep his appointment. They are still expecting him.”
“Splendid! Excellent. Have him call you immediately on his arrival. Before he confers with Mr. Peralta. Say nothing about the bracelet.” His voice was harsh now. His eyes gleamed behind the thick lenses. “Simply say that Mr. Shayne must telephone his office on an urgent matter upon arrival.”
Lucy kept her hand tightly over the receiver. She spoke calmly, though her heart was pounding angrily. “I don’t think I like the way you are issuing orders to me.”
“Orders?” He jumped to his feet, worried and distraught. “I did not intend… forgive me, Miss. It is because it is so urgent. I beg you to have Mr. Shayne call you at once.”
She took her hand from the receiver and said, “Please have him call his office.” She replaced the telephone and said composedly, “I’m willing to wait ten minutes or so. No longer than that unless you explain the urgency.
“But I have explained it.” He sank back into the chair and settled his hat on his thighs again. “About the bracelet.”
“Did you steal it?”
“I? Steal it?” he sputtered. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“But you do have it?” persisted Lucy.
“No. That is… not precisely. Am I to be cross-examined because I wish to speak to Mr. Shayne?”
Lucy said calmly, “Many people wish to speak to Mr. Shayne. As his secretary, it is my job to keep a lot of those people from wasting his time. I’m beginning to think you are one of them.”
“Indeed, my dear Miss… ah…?”
“Hamilton,” she told him sweetly. “Lucy Hamilton.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Perhaps it would be best if you explained to Mr. Shayne personally in the morning. I’m sure he will be in soon after nine.”
He made no move to get up. He studied her very earnestly for a moment, and then nodded seriously. “Of course. It is after office hours and you are young and pretty and have affairs of your own.” He cocked his head on one side and essayed a wintry smile, taking a thick wallet from his breast pocket. “There is no need for you to remain. I will answer the telephone when Mr. Shayne calls. If you will accept this for the trouble I have caused…?”
“This” was a crisp hundred-dollar bill which he held out to her, standing up with a slight bow to do so.
Lucy looked at the bill, horrified. “And leave you here alone in Michael Shayne’s office?”
“But my dear Miss Hamilton,” he soothed her. “To allow you to go on and keep your engagement. There can be no harm in my remaining to answer the telephone.”
Lucy said, “My salary is quite adequate.” She bit her underlip and glanced at her watch. “I said ten minutes. If you will excuse me…” She unlatched the gate in the low railing and swept past him into Shayne’s private office, leaving the door open behind her.
She crossed to the window and stood looking down at the late afternoon traffic on Flagler Street while she fought to regain her composure, and then turned when she sensed that she was no longer alone.
The man stood on the threshold, hat pressed against his chest and an apologetic smile on his face.
“I regret that I have offended you in my eagerness to reach Michael Shayne. If I knew any other way to contact him…”
“Why don’t you call the Peralta residence yourself?”
His smile faded. He said shortly, “I am the best judge of the manner in which this should be handled. If you would relax and sit down…”
Lucy looked at her watch again. She said, “His appointment was for four-thirty and he is always very prompt. Something important must have detained him. I think I shall have to ask you to leave now, and I will close up the office.”
He took a small, short-barreled gun from the side pocket of his coat and gestured toward the swivel chair behind Michael Shayne’s desk.
“You will sit there, Miss Hamilton. We will wait for the telephone call, and you will proceed as instructed when it comes.”
FOUR
Michael Shayne was almost exactly four hours late for his appointment with Julio Peralta when he turned Timothy Rourke’s shabby coupe between imposing stone gateposts off Alton Road.
The macadam drive curved gently upward between a double row of feathery Australian pines to the large three-story house dominating several acres of carefully landscaped lawn and tropical shrubbery. There was a
