escaping by the fire escape. The boys chased after them, but when they didn’t see anyone they got suspicious and came back to check up. I stuck to my story, but I don’t mind having you know the truth, Will.” Shayne laughed hollowly.
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the wire. Then Will Gentry sighed wearily. “More hocus-pocus. All right, Mike. I’ll kill the report if that’s what you want.”
“You sound,” Shayne complained, “as though you don’t believe me. You don’t know Phyl when she goes on a rampage. She’s got the damnedest temper.”
Gentry said, “Shut up,” and hung up.
Shayne replaced the telephone and looked up, startled. Phyllis was regarding him belligerently from the bathroom door. She wore an old kimono and a fresh-scrubbed look.
“Who were you talking to,” she demanded, “about my fierce temper?”
“It’s this way, Phyl. That was Will Gentry. I didn’t want any headlines about our playful visitors so I stalled him with a yarn about you getting sore and throwing things at me.”
“You—you lug. What will Mr. Gentry think of me when he sees you all battered up?”
“I don’t think it’ll change his opinion of you, angel. He didn’t sound completely convinced,” Shayne admitted ruefully. “Hurry and slide into some glad rags. We’ve got a dinner date.”
Phyllis’s expression softened. “Let’s have something sent up—or I can open a can. You look like the wrath of God even if you don’t realize it. If you’re going around telling people I did that to you, you’d better stay home until you heal up.”
Shayne grinned. “People are used to seeing me pasted together. I feel like going out for dinner.”
“You’ve got something up your sleeve,” Phyllis charged. “You never want to go out when I want to.”
Shayne poured a small drink from the decanter which had been refilled since the melée. He took a sip and explained. “I’ve got a hankering to take on a load of hasenpfeffer. You know how it is when you get a hankering for some special dish. Nothing else will do. And the only place they really know how to make it is at the Danube Restaurant on the Beach. Come on,” he cajoled. “Slip into something and let’s go.”
Phyllis studied him a moment with compressed lips. “You’re still up to something,” she asserted. “But I may as well go along to pick up the pieces as to stay at home worrying myself sick.”
“You may as well,” he agreed cheerfully. The side of his face and jaw was swollen and the lobe of his ear was taped down with a bit of adhesive, but otherwise he felt pretty good. He sipped his cognac and waited until Phyllis was nearly ready, then fastened his soft collar and put on a tie, meekly let her persuade him to wear a double-breasted blue coat with his flannels, and they went down through the lobby and out into the springlike softness of Miami’s tropical night.
The perfume of flowers and of lush tropical foliage blew in from Bayfront Park as Shayne drove north on Biscayne Boulevard, and when he turned east on the winding causeway across the bay there was the tang of salt air to lift a man’s spirits and make him know it was good to be alive.
Sitting silent beside him, Phyllis shuddered and relaxed against the back of the seat with her cheek pressing against his shoulder. In a low voice she said, “Michael! I don’t think I’ll ever forget that horrible moment this afternoon when you kept going toward the man while he backed away threatening to shoot you. Why didn’t he pull the trigger?”
“He didn’t want to shoot me any more than I wanted him to,” Shayne scoffed. “He knew one shot would end the party—bring someone to investigate—and I wasn’t any good to him if I couldn’t talk.”
“This is the kind of case you’re crazy about, isn’t it?” Phyllis demanded after a moment of silence.
“It’s beginning to look interesting,” Shayne hedged. “I like to find out things as I go
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the wire. Then Will Gentry sighed wearily. “More hocus-pocus. All right, Mike. I’ll kill the report if that’s what you want.”
“You sound,” Shayne complained, “as though you don’t believe me. You don’t know Phyl when she goes on a rampage. She’s got the damnedest temper.”
Gentry said, “Shut up,” and hung up.
Shayne replaced the telephone and looked up, startled. Phyllis was regarding him belligerently from the bathroom door. She wore an old kimono and a fresh-scrubbed look.
“Who were you talking to,” she demanded, “about my fierce temper?”
“It’s this way, Phyl. That was Will Gentry. I didn’t want any headlines about our playful visitors so I stalled him with a yarn about you getting sore and throwing things at me.”
“You—you lug. What will Mr. Gentry think of me when he sees you all battered up?”
“I don’t think it’ll change his opinion of you, angel. He didn’t sound completely convinced,” Shayne admitted ruefully. “Hurry and slide into some glad rags. We’ve got a dinner date.”
Phyllis’s expression softened. “Let’s have something sent up—or I can open a can. You look like the wrath of God even if you don’t realize it. If you’re going around telling people I did that to you, you’d better stay home until you heal up.”
Shayne grinned. “People are used to seeing me pasted together. I feel like going out for dinner.”
“You’ve got something up your sleeve,” Phyllis charged. “You never want to go out when I want to.”
Shayne poured a small drink from the decanter which had been refilled since the melée. He took a sip and explained. “I’ve got a hankering to take on a load of hasenpfeffer. You know how it is when you get a hankering for some special dish. Nothing else will do. And the only place they really know how to make it is at the Danube Restaurant on the Beach. Come on,” he cajoled. “Slip into something and let’s go.”
Phyllis studied him a moment with compressed lips. “You’re still up to something,” she asserted. “But I may as well go along to pick up the pieces as to stay at home worrying myself sick.”
“You may as well,” he agreed cheerfully. The side of his face and jaw was swollen and the lobe of his ear was taped down with a bit of adhesive, but otherwise he felt pretty good. He sipped his cognac and waited until Phyllis was nearly ready, then fastened his soft collar and put on a tie, meekly let her persuade him to wear a double-breasted blue coat with his flannels, and they went down through the lobby and out into the springlike softness of Miami’s tropical night.
The perfume of flowers and of lush tropical foliage blew in from Bayfront Park as Shayne drove north on Biscayne Boulevard, and when he turned east on the winding causeway across the bay there was the tang of salt air to lift a man’s spirits and make him know it was good to be alive.
Sitting silent beside him, Phyllis shuddered and relaxed against the back of the seat with her cheek pressing against his shoulder. In a low voice she said, “Michael! I don’t think I’ll ever forget that horrible moment this afternoon when you kept going toward the man while he backed away threatening to shoot you. Why didn’t he pull the trigger?”
“He didn’t want to shoot me any more than I wanted him to,” Shayne scoffed. “He knew one shot would end the party—bring someone to investigate—and I wasn’t any good to him if I couldn’t talk.”
“This is the kind of case you’re crazy about, isn’t it?” Phyllis demanded after a moment of silence.
“It’s beginning to look interesting,” Shayne hedged. “I like to find out things as I go
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