The Homicidal Virgin by Brett Halliday

advice and give up her silly idea of arranging a murder.”
    “Why should she? She barely knows the guy. Only met him tonight.”
    “And he let her down,” agreed Shayne tonelessly. “But they did establish a certain rapport. She trusted him utterly for a few minutes.”
    “But suppose she doesn’t call you?” argued Rourke. “What then? Are you going to do nothing to prevent her from going ahead with her murderous ideas?”
    “I don’t see why I should.” Shayne spoke slowly, evidently arguing with himself. “If her story is true, a simple killing is much too good for the guy. Who am I to sit in judgment?”
    “Who, indeed?” agreed Rourke. “But isn’t that just what you did this evening?”
    “Hell, no! I simply gave her some good advice.”
    “According to your standards. But what about hers?”
    Shayne sighed and said, “Stop needling me, Tim.” He morosely lifted his glass and drained it.
    “Okay. Let’s change the subject. You got any hot cases on the fire?”
    “Nor any cold ones either.”
    “That’s what Lucy says. In fact, she told me in confidence just yesterday that if you kept on turning down cases offered to you, she was going to quit you cold.”
    “She’s always threatening to quit.”
    “One day she’s going to do it. You don’t know how that girl looks up to you, Mike. She feels you’re wasting your talents…”
    The telephone shrilled between them.
    Shayne’s big hand shot out to grasp it. He saw Rourke grinning at him, and controlled his impatience, lifting it slowly and saying, “Michael Shayne speaking,” in an impersonal tone.
    A frown of disappointment furrowed his brow when Lucy Hamilton’s voice lilted over the wire, “I hope you weren’t asleep or busy, Michael.”
    “I was neither. Tim Rourke is here sopping up my liquor.”
    “Oh. Well, I called because something came up this afternoon after you left the office. A Mr. David Waring of the Southern Mutual Insurance Company came in to talk about putting you on an annual retainer. I told him you aren’t terribly tied up right now, and I ended up going out to dinner with him. He just dropped me off home, and I did a terrific selling job on you.”
    “It was a long dinner,” said Shayne crossly.
    “Michael!” Her amused voice made three distinct syllables out of his name. “I do believe you’re jealous.”
    “Of course I’m not jealous.”
    “Well, he’s fat and a lot of fun.”
    “Good clean fun, I’ll bet. All right, angel. Put him on the phone and I’ll talk to him.”
    “You are jealous,” she said wonderingly. “And you’re trying to trick me. He isn’t here, silly. I told you he dropped me off.”
    “I know what you told me. Okay, Lucy. I’m waiting for an important telephone call. Get your beauty sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”
    He hung up and stared bleakly at Rourke, then sighed and dragged the telephone directory closer and looked up the number of the Palms Terrace hotel on Miami Beach.
    He gave the number to Pete who also handled the switchboard at night, and when he got the hotel, he said, “Jane Smith, please. Suite four twenty-six.”
    There was a moment of waiting, and then the girl said, “I will give you the desk.” A man’s brisk voice came over the wire a few seconds later. “The desk. May I help you?”
    “I’m trying to reach Miss Jane Smith in four twenty-six.”
    “I’m sorry, sir. Miss Smith checked out about an hour ago.”
    “Did she leave a forwarding address?”
    “No, sir. She left in quite a rush.”
    Shayne said, “Thank you,” and hung up. He looked across at Rourke and said tonelessly, “She checked out of the hotel right after I left her.”
    Rourke lifted his glass and said, “So that disposes of Jane Smith. If she keeps trying, she’ll find plenty of guys to do the job for her.” He emptied his glass with a flourish. “Okay, Mike. Send a bill to the News for your expenses. It was a good try.”
    “There won’t be any bill,”