“That gray traveling-hat? You mean the dinky one with a bow on the side? The one that makes you look like a demure imp about to sprout wings?”
“That’s the one. It must be down here.”
“I know right where it is,” he lied hastily. “It’s way back on the shelf in the big closet upstairs.”
Phyllis’s eyes clouded with concentration. “I felt on that shelf and couldn’t find it. I’ll just take a peek in the bedroom to be sure.”
“Good Lord, Phyl, you’ll miss the train.” Sweat streamed from his face. He caught her when she was two feet from the bedroom door and urged her toward the outer door. “Come on — I’ll get that hat for you. I can see on that shelf.”
Phyllis’s reluctant feet stopped suddenly and she pulled back. “Why didn’t you want me to go in that room?”
He lifted her through the door and slammed it shut. Outside, he said, “If you must know, I had to put my client to bed. He passed out completely and I’m holding him until he comes to and spills his information. It’s important.”
“In that case, I might as well have looked for my hat,” she argued as his arm lifted her up the stairs. “It’s the one I wear with this suit.”
“You’ve six minutes to catch the train,” he reminded her when they entered the living-room. Shayne strode to the bedroom closet and returned triumphantly bearing the gray hat. Tossing it to her with a command to put it on in a hurry, he swept up the bags and preceded her to the waiting car.
Taking a back-street route to the station, Shayne sat moodily beside her. Presently he said, “This is the first time for us to be separated, angel.” He frowned, recalling many hilarious jokes about husbands getting rid of their wives and wondered if the time would come when he would feel that way.