They were relaxed over the third cup of coffee when the telephone rang. Shayne reached out a long arm and lifted the instrument and said, “Hello.”
Timothy Rourke’s voice answered him. “Just hit the airport, Mike. What’s the schedule?”
“What time is it?”
“Twenty after one.”
“The hell it is!”
“Listen, Mike,” Rourke said earnestly, “do you know of any openings for a good leg man in this town?”
“Why?”
“If your story isn’t a whingeroo there’s no use of me going back to Miami. Do you know what this trip cost the office?”
“It’ll be worth it,” Shayne told him. “Meet me at Inspector Quinlan’s office in ten minutes, Tim.” He gave specific directions and hung up.
“We’ll have to get started,” he said to Lucile.