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After studying the print intently, she said, “Nice. Beautiful, in fact. Actually, I think those scraps of cloth and fig leaves dancing girls wear are what makes them vulgar — and the way men—”

“I told you this was business,” Shayne growled.

Lucy’s cheeks flushed. She turned quickly, opened the door wide, and said, “Mr. Shayne will see you now, Mr. Brewer.”

Chapter II

Mr. Brewer was of medium height and build, forty-ish, and foppish. He walked with short, mincing steps, and his small feet were encased in white-and-tan sports shoes. He wore a creamy tropical suit with a silky shirt a shade lighter, and a conservative tie was knotted precisely between the buttoned tabs. His trousers were creased razor-sharp, and he sported a brown linen handkerchief in his breast pocket with all four points carefully arranged to show. His hair was glossy black, and quite evidently dyed, and he carried a spotless Panama in his hand. He laid his hat on the desk, and Shayne said, “Have a seat, Mr. Brewer.”

Mr. Brewer sat down in the chair recently vacated by Mrs. Davis. His eyelids fluttered behind rimless glasses pinched on his nose. He removed the glasses and laid them beside his hat, then took a pigskin billfold from his pocket. His hands shook as he opened it and said, “I’ve come to you, Mr. Shane, to engage your services to prevent a murder.”

He withdrew a card and handed it across the table.

Shayne read: Mr. Milton Brewer. He laid it beside Mrs. Davis’s card and asked, “Whose murder?”

“Mine. I’m living in hourly fear of death, Mr. Shayne. I’ve been suspicious of this for some time — for months, actually.” He returned the billfold to his pocket, leaned forward, and gripped the edge of the desk hard. “But this afternoon I felt the shadow of death cross over me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I heard the beat of unseen wings — and I witnessed — actually witnessed with my own eyes the lust for murder etched on the face of a man. A man who is my friend, a man whom I’ve trusted.” He moistened his lips. “He meant to kill me. If I hadn’t turned at that precise moment and faced him—”

Milton Brewer’s voice rose to a thin, high pitch. “It was a horrible experience. Monstrous, fiendish, evil. I must have protection. I can’t walk alone with this — this fear any longer.” He relaxed his grip on the desk and settled back, making a visible effort to get hold of himself. Beads of perspiration stood on his forehead and trickled down the sides of his nose.

“A friend, you say?” said Shayne frowning.

Mr. Brewer nodded mutely.

Shayne swung his chair a little to the right and pulled the bottom drawer of the filing-cabinet open, took out a bottle of cognac, then opened the desk drawer and brought out two glasses.

“What you need is a drink,” he said, and began filling a glass.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Mr. Brewer said hastily. “And I suggest that you stay sober for this engagement. Even the slightest dulling of your faculties might prove fatal. You must seriously consider that my very life depends upon your ability to protect me from now on.”

Shayne set the bottle on the floor and lifted his brows quizzically. “From now on?”

“From now until tomorrow morning.”

Shayne took a sip of cognac and asked, “Who tried to murder you this afternoon?”

“Hiram Godfrey, my partner. Perhaps you’ve heard of Brewer and Godfrey. We ship the cream of the crop of tropical fruits all over the country.”

Shayne took a large swallow from his glass, nodded impassively, and said, “I’ve heard the name. Judging by your advertisements in the local papers, you’re one of the largest in Miami. With such a lucrative business, why do you think your partner plans to murder you?”

“I don’t think, Mr. Shayne. I’m positive of it. I’m also positive he plans to murder me tonight.” Mr. Brewer’s lips were compressed and he looked at the liquor glass with stern disapproval.

“If the trouble between you has been going on for months, why are you so sure he’ll do it tonight?”

“Because Hiram leaves on a business trip to New York early tomorrow morning, to be gone several weeks. I’m sure he plans it for tonight, after failing this afternoon. If you had seen the naked hatred in his eyes.” Mr. Brewer’s tone was not vindictive. Conversely, there was an occasional catch in his throat, an expression of wonderment in his brownish eyes as though he couldn’t quite believe such a thing had happened to him.

“Go back and give me the background,” Shayne suggested. “Work up to what occurred this afternoon. If Godfrey made an attempt on your life, why not have him arrested?”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Shayne. In the first place, the publicity would ruin us. Secondly, I have no witnesses. Hiram would deny my accusations and sue me for false arrest and defamation of character.” He spread out his hands in a gesture of despair.

“Why does your partner hate you?”

“Because I married the woman he loved,” said Mr. Brewer. “I’m sure he has hated me during the two years of our marriage, even though he was best man at our wedding. I didn’t suspect anything at first. Both of us were in love with Betty, but she chose me. We continued, however, as a sort of friendly threesome.

“Betty and I had a few months of happiness together. Then it began to happen. Hiram had never actually given up, and he continually showered her with compliments and flowers and gifts — which she accepted with pretended annoyance.

“But in a few short months I became conscious of my wife’s increasing coolness. It’s true I had married late in life, but Betty was a mature woman. For a while I attributed our unhappiness to the fact that I was so busy. I wanted her to have everything she wanted. Hiram was the contact partner, the outside man, you understand. He had a way with people, took care of the advertising, while I superintended the factory and saw that only top-quality stuff was shipped. Working together in this way we built up a business from a small beginning to a fifty-thousand net profit last year.

“Then I found out that Hiram was meeting Betty secretly during his absence from the office — and had been since a few months after our marriage.”

“Do you have proof?” Shayne asked.

“I have proof,” said Mr. Brewer. His head drooped for an instant, but he jerked it up and continued. “The main proof was in their guilty expressions when I accused them. Naturally, they denied it, but Betty went away. She’s with her parents now, in White Plains, New York.”

“And Hiram Godfrey?” Shayne queried.

“I thought we could let bygones be bygones for the sake of the business,” Mr. Brewer told him. “But now he doesn’t care. He’s been worrying me to sell out for weeks. We have an offer that will expire in ten days from now — before Hiram returns from his trip north. That’s why I am convinced he plans to murder me before he leaves in the morning.”

“So he will be free to sell the business?”

“That is one compelling motive,” Brewer admitted, and after a slight hesitation resumed bitterly. “I know he has been corresponding with my wife since she left me. I think that’s why he wants to sell the business for cash — two hundred thousand — half its actual value — so he can take his share and run away with Betty.”

“Why doesn’t Godfrey sell his share, if he wants to run away with Betty?”

“The offer is for all or nothing,” said Brewer. “Besides, there are two other very good reasons. Hiram and I each carry fifty thousand dollars partnership insurance payable to the other. Also, my wife will inherit my estate. Together, Betty and Hiram will have everything if I die, and Hiram will be able to dispose of the business as he wishes.”