Shayne said pleasantly, “I never make a case against a man without proof,” and went out into the sunlight.
He found Phyllis waiting impatiently in their room, and as soon as he entered, she reproached him, “You slipped away before I awoke this morning.”
He grinned and swept her into his arms. “I was out garnering some early worms while the lazy birds overslept. A regular human dynamo, that’s me.”
She snuggled against him. “Did you get any?”
“Some nice fat juicy ones.” He kissed her lingeringly, then put her aside to pour himself a moderate portion of cognac.
“Dr. Fairweather called while you were out.”
Shayne whirled on her. “How’s the patient?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you’d been here in bed with me where you belonged instead of out gathering worms, you could have questioned Joe Meade. But the doctor put him back under a hypo when I confessed I didn’t know where you were nor when you’d be back. If you’d only tell me things, Michael—”
Shayne didn’t appear overly disappointed. “How is the wound?”
“Dr. Fairweather says he’s out of danger. You can grill him to your heart’s content this evening when the drug wears off.”