Shayne grinned, and lit a cigarette.
“It is not Mr. Carson, Madame,” he heard the maid say.
“Not Frank? Then, who is it? Of course I can’t see anyone at this ridiculous hour. Send him away.”
“But he wouldn’t go away, Madame. He seemed confident you’d see him.”
“Well, ask his name,” Olivia Mattson snapped.
“I did. He wouldn’t tell me, Madame.”
There was a short silence in the room beyond. Shayne got up, found an ashtray, ground out his cigarette and went stealthily toward the richly grilled archway.
Presently, Olivia Mattson asked, “What does he look like.”
“He’s a tall man. Not handsome, Madame, but you couldn’t say he is ugly.”
“Nonsense,” Olivia Mattson said irritably. “Tell him it’s impossible.”