The macadam drive curved gently upward between a double row of feathery Australian pines to the large three-story house dominating several acres of carefully landscaped lawn and tropical shrubbery. There was a cream-colored Cadillac convertible and a long, dark blue limousine parked in front of the house, and Shayne pulled in behind them. Twin porch lights illuminated a flagstone path leading to wide double front doors beyond a row of white pillars rising two full stories, and the front windows of all three stories showed light behind them. There was the scent of hibiscus and bougainvillea in the soft evening air as Shayne went up the flagged walk to press the doorbell, and, as he stood there, he could hear the barbaric strains of a Stravinsky symphony coming from a second-floor window. A maid opened the door for him. She wore a plain, dark uniform with a little, frilly white apron, and she tilted her head slightly to look up at the detective and ask, “Yes, sir?”
