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as playing with an atomic bomb. Tim says no matter who it is, if the man is mixed up in the sort of graft Bert claims, he’ll have all sorts of underworld connections who won’t hesitate to commit murder to keep the story quiet.”
    “Tim’s probably right,” Shayne agreed. “You’re afraid Bert will go direct to the man tonight after I turned down a chance to help him collect?”
    “Yes.” She shivered, then took a quick sip of sherry before saying, “I know that’s what he’ll do, Mike. He’s bewitched by that woman and by his insane jealousy of me.”
    Shayne glanced at his watch. It was almost time for him to leave to keep his dinner date with Lucy Hamilton. “If you really want to find your husband before he does anything foolish, why don’t you check with this woman you’ve mentioned? That’s probably where he is.”
    “But I don’t know who she is. That’s one thing Tim said you could do, find out her name and whether Bert is there tonight.”
    “How am I supposed to find out her name?”
    “Tim says you’re the best detective in the country,” she answered simply.
    “Yeh,” grated Shayne. “But how in hell does a detective find out the name of some woman you think your husband is in love with?”
    “I know where she lives,” she told him, eager and hopeful again, “At the Las Felice apartments on Northwest Sixty-Seventh Street. Tim said you’d know how to go there and check up on all the women and find out which one Bert goes to see.”
    “Tim says a lot of things,” Shayne growled. He glanced at his watch again, frowned, and hurried on. “Frankly, Mrs. Jackson, after meeting your husband this afternoon I can’t work myself up into a lather about what happens to him. I have an engagement.” He drained his glass and started to rise.
    “I wish you’d call me Betty,” she said wistfully, coming to her feet. Her face was tragic and full of despair. “You’re supposed to be Tim’s friend. You care about what happens to him, don’t you?” She took a few steps toward him, swaying a little.
    “What’s Tim got to do with it?” he demanded roughly.
    “He’s out looking for Bert right now. If he finds him while they’re both in this mood—I don’t know what might happen.”
    “Tim can take care of himself.”
    “But don’t you see that Bert is using the thing that happened on the News as a lever?” she cried out. “If anything happens to him and it all comes out—”
    She was weeping openly now, moving close to him. Shayne had to catch her in his arms to prevent her slipping to the floor as she flung herself upon him. Her arms went around his neck and she clung to him, sobbing convulsively.
    “Please, Mike. Don’t you see that Tim is determined to prevent that? I’m so frightened. If they should meet while they’re both angry and upset—”
    Shayne had both hands under her armpits to push her away when the door opened.
    “Pardon me, Mr. Shayne,” Lucy Hamilton said frigidly. “If I’d known you were entertaining a client I wouldn’t have dreamed of intruding. But the door was on the latch.”
    Shayne whirled about angrily, slipping his hands along Betty Jackson’s clinging arms to disengage them from his neck. He growled, “Skip it, Lucy. This isn’t a client. It’s Mrs. Jackson—a friend of Tim Rourke’s.” Lucy was cool and poised in a frosty-green cocktail dress, lace gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat. She looked down her straight nose at Betty’s tear-stained face and murmured, “How nice for Tim. I came up to save you the trouble of stopping by for me, Michael, but if you’re otherwise engaged—”
    “I’m not,” Shayne assured her. “Mrs. Jackson is on her way out.” He took her firmly by the arm and led her to the door, thrust her into the corridor without a word, and swung back to try to make his peace with Lucy.

 
Chapter Three
    BLOOD MINUS BODY
     
    THE INSISTENT RINGING of the telephone wakened Shayne. He lay in the darkness and