“’Tis a betrayed lass you are,” mourned Casey. “To shackle a rounder like Mike Shayne to matrimony is like harnessing a Derby winner to a junk wagon.”
Shayne said, “Very funny.” He glowered at them. “Do we go to the opera or do we stay here and think up gags?”
Phyllis smiled prettily. “That scene you and the Carson girl put on was as good as anything we’ll see in the opera house. Did she find the old man she was running after?”
“She found her father.”
The waiter brought his drink and he drank half of it.
“I suppose you don’t care what happened a hundred yards from where you and Pat sat drinking liquor.” Shayne’s face was glum.
Phyllis’s dark eyes glowed with concern and curiosity. “What happened, Michael?”
“Murder.”
“Michael! You’re not mixed up in it?” she cried.
“I’m not a suspect this time, if that’s what you mean. But I was with Nora Carson when she found her father’s body, and I intend to find out who did it.”