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Michael Shayne said good-by to Leslie and Christine Hudson outside the 36th Street air terminal at Miami. “Don’t bother to come in,” he insisted, as he got out of the Hudson car. “I’ve got only a few minutes to check in and catch that plane. ”

Christine’s gray eyes were pensive when she turned them upon the tall, redheaded detective standing beside the open car window. She said, “Good-by, Michael,” and put her dark head out, her red lips puckered. Shayne bent to kiss them lightly. “And thanks again,” she added softly.

“Yes, thanks a million,” said Leslie Hudson, leaning across his wife to take Shayne’s hand in a hearty grip. “You realize, of course, how much Christine and I appreciate what you’ve done for us. Anything we can ever do for you-”

“I know. ” Shayne’s left hand touched the square jewel box in his outer coat pocket and he grinned crookedly at the couple. “If I can sell a certain girl the idea that these pearls are the real thing, I may be bringing her back here for your inspection. ” He turned away hastily, waving a big hand in their direction as the car slid forward.

Inside the crowded terminal, he pushed his way up to the National Airlines counter in front of a lighted sign that read Immediate Departures.

There was a brown-haired girl behind the counter who had freckles across the bridge of her nose and a nice smile. He said, “Shayne. For the midnight flight to New Orleans. I’ve a reservation, but no ticket yet. ”

The girl ran her index finger down a typewritten list. “You’re the one who has been causing us so much trouble with cancellations. Michael Shayne?” She looked up for corroboration, pencil poised to check a name near the bottom of the list. “Flight Sixty-two?”

Shayne nodded.

“It is. ” She lifted a telephone and tucked it under her ear while she drew a ticket blank in front of her and began filling in the spaces. Into the mouthpiece she said, “Sixty-two. Michael Shayne. That’s right. He’s ticketing now. ” She waited a moment, then replaced the receiver. “Have you any baggage, Mr. Shayne?”

“One bag. It has been checked here at the airport since yesterday noon. ” He took the check from his pocket. The girl lifted her brows to a uniformed Negro porter who came forward and took it from Shayne’s hand.

“Sixty-two,” she informed the porter, and he hurried away while she continued filling out the ticket.

Shayne took out his billfold. The girl said, “That will be forty-five seventy-seven, Mr. Shayne. That is, if your bag doesn’t weigh more than forty pounds. ”