Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 8, No. 6, May 1961

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Neither the girl nor the man spoke the young bank teller’s language. They were from another world — a world of stark criminal violence and sudden death. And their game was Russian roulette.

When Oscar Blinney became acquainted with Evangeline Ashley, that delectable young lady was on the brink of losing one lover and murdering another, although, at the time, she had not the faintest premonition of the impending imminence of either catastrophe. And, of course, Oscar Blinney was totally unaware of the pertinent gentlemen involved or of the gradual gathering of the uneventful events which would culminate in such twofold tragedy. It was March in Miami, last scented breeze-swept month of the dying winter season of that warm, golden, riotous, luxuriant, ocean-lapped resort.

Blinney had come down on the first day of March, and had met Evangeline Ashley that same afternoon. And they had had their first actual conversation — initiated, in point of fact, by Miss Ashley, since it was not the wont of Oscar Blinney to address himself to any strange young lady no matter how delectable.

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