“I did wipe them off. You’re lying—”
Shayne jerked his right foot, that had the toe of his shoe under the edge of her chair, just as she realized what she had said. She pulled the trigger of her automatic, and the small bullet went over his head into the ceiling. He had her in his arms, with one hand clamped over the gun, while his other reached for the telephone to call the police to take her away.