“I think,” Marian French said calmly, “we are being followed.”
We had finished dinner and were on our way back to the hotel. A large, sullen-looking moon hung in the cloudless sky and floodlit the street. The night air was stifling and I carried my coat on my arm.
Marian, in a light summer frock, her hat in her hand, had wanted to walk back to the hotel. It was just after ten o’clock when we left the restaurant and we had crossed the street and were walking in the deep shadows when she made the remark.
I glanced down at her. “Sure all those ice drinks aren’t upsetting your judgment?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Don’t look now, but have a feeling someone is interested in us.”
I didn’t want any trouble just then. There was no reason to mix Marian up in my affairs. I looked around for a taxi, but the long street was deserted. I glanced back over my shoulder, but the shadows from the houses were too dark to get a clear view of the street.
“I don’t see anyone,” I said, increasing my stride. “Did you?”
“There was a man standing opposite the restaurant when we came out. He started after us, but I lost sight of him. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw him again as he passed under a street light. He dodged into a doorway as I looked back. The sudden way he did it gave me the heebies. Perhaps I’m a little nervy tonight.” She put her slim hand in mine and squeezed my fingers.
“What was he like?”
“I didn’t see him clearly,” she returned. “He was big, but I couldn’t make out how he was dressed or what he looked like.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t get excited. Maybe he isn’t following us, but if he is we’ll soon find out. We’ll turn the next corner and you go on. The clatter you make with your heels ought to fox him. I’ll wait for him and give him a surprise.”
“Is that a good idea?” She looked anxiously up into my face. “He might be dangerous.”
I grinned at her. “He won’t be. They never arc.” I opened my coat and my fingers touched the smooth butt of the .38. “There’s a turning just ahead. You go straight on. Can you find your way back to the hotel if I’m delayed?”
“I think so,” she said, a little doubtfully. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? You don’t want to be — hurt. I wouldn’t like—”
“That’s all right,” I said, patting her hand. “In my job this kind of thing happens every so often. I haven’t been hurt yet.”
We turned the corner and I gave her a little push forward. “On your way, honey,” I said softly, “and make those heels ring.”
She gave me a quick look and went on. Her wooden heels clicked steadily on the brick pavement.
I put my hand on my gun and leaned against the wall, watching the corner.
All I could hear was the distant roar of the traffic on Main Street, the fading sound of Marian’s heels on the sidewalk and the ticking of my wristwatch.
I stood there for several minutes, then I heard light footsteps approaching. I loosened my gun a trifle and waited. At the corner the footfalls slowed and then stopped. There was a long pause of silence; even the traffic seemed to have ceased to hurtle along Main Street.
I didn’t move. I stood close against the wall, breathing gently through my nose while I strained to hear the slightest sound.
Whoever it was round the corner coughed suddenly. A low, smothered cough that startled me. I half drew the gun and then, grinning savagely to myself, shoved it back again.
There came a faint sound and then a long starved shadow edged forward along the brick pavement ahead of me. I looked at the shadow and I felt spooked. Sweat that had been running down the back of my neck and under my arms seemed suddenly to go cold on me.
A man was standing out of my sight and the moonlight had cast his shadow in such a way I could see it without seeing him.
The shadow was a sinister caricature of the man. It made him seem tremendously tall with enormous shoulders. The slouch hat seemed absurdly small in comparison with the vast shoulders and his wide trousers looked like sails. He stood motionless, his hands sunk into his coat pockets and his head thrust forward.
Very cautiously, I thumbed back the safety-catch on my gun. I watched the motionless shadow for several minutes, but it didn’t move. I guessed whoever it was round the corner knew I was waiting for him and he had made up his mind not to make the first move.
The sound of Marian’s heels had died away. There was a hot, stifling stillness in the night that added to my spookiness. Then suddenly a woman laughed hysterically. The high-pitched, almost idiotic sound came from above my head. I took a step back and glanced quickly up.
On the fourth floor of a nearby house one solitary window blazed light into the street. As I looked, a hot wind suddenly blew up and the dirty curtains hanging outside the window flapped convulsively like the flounderings of a dying fish.
The woman laughed again and then the sound died away in a whimpering gurgle. A moment later she began to weep.
I looked once more at the corner of the street and down at the brick pavement. The shadow had gone. No other sound came to me except the harsh, bitter sobbing from the woman and the flapping of the curtain in the wind.
I drew my gun and edged towards the corner. Taking off my hat, I peered round the wall into the street beyond. There was no sign of the man who had been following us. The street was empty but for a stringy-looking cat that bolted into the shadows at the sight of me.
I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face. Then I laughed softly. “All right,” I said to myself, “that made you as jittery as hell.” I tucked my handkerchief away, thinking that a few more nights like this and I’d be ready for the nut house.
I looked up and down the street, made certain that there was no one around, then in spite of the heat, I ran after Marian. She was waiting for me at the next corner and when she saw me coining, she moved quickly towards me.
“Phew!” she said, grasping my arm. “I was scared something was going to happen. Did you see anyone?”
“No, except a cat that looked like it could do with a meal,” I returned, smiling at her. “And you don’t have to be scared of cats.”
“I was scared,” she confessed. “I must be getting nervy or something. But I was sure that man was following us.”
I spotted a cab crawling down the street and I waved. “We’ll drive back and you can get yourself a good night’s rest. You’ll feel fine in the morning.”
When we had got into the cab, she said: “You wouldn’t be lying, would you?”
I patted her hand. “Not to you,” I assured her. “There just wasn’t anyone around.”
“I don’t understand it,” she returned. “I don’t really. When. I saw that man duck out of sight, I felt my flesh creep. I’ve never felt that way before.”
Every few seconds as the cab whizzed past a street light I caught a fleeting glimpse of her face. She looked white and tired and her finely pencilled eyebrows were knitted in a frown.
“Forget it,” I said. “There wasn’t anyone there. You’re letting your imagination play you tricks.”
“I wonder why you took me out tonight,” she said unexpectedly.
“I told you. I was lonely, you were lonely, and Cranville’s pretty grim town. You’re not sorry, are you?”
“Sorry?” She shook her head. “I’ve had one of the nicest evenings of my life. Only I wish I hadn’t been so silly just now.” She sat up and swivelled round so that she was facing me. “What’s the matter with this town? When I got off the train I felt...” She stopped and then went on: “Oh, never mind, I guess the heat has made me nervy.”
“What did you feel?” I asked, taking her slim hand in mine.
“I felt scared. There’s something about this place that makes me nervous. It’s so hard and dirty and cold. There’s a queer kind of frightened atmosphere about the people. Have you noticed it, or am I just imagining it?”
“It’s dirty and hard and cold all right,” I said, being purposely casual. “But that needn’t scare you—”
“You weren’t kidding about the girls who’ve disappeared?” she broke in. “I mean you really are going to try and find them?”
“Sure, but that’s nothing to do with the town. Girls disappear in any town. Why have you suddenly thought about them?”
“I don’t know. Oh, I guess I’m tired. I’ll be all right in the morning.”
While she was speaking the cab drew up outside the hotel. “That’s the idea,” I said, helping her out. “Now you get off to bed.”
I paid the driver and followed her up the steps and across the verandah.
Two dim figures sat in rocking chairs on the verandah. I saw them glance in my direction, but I thought nothing of it. I strolled across the lobby to the desk.
“Good evening,” the clerk said, looking at Marian and then at me. His sallow face showed his disapproval. “Two gentlemen are waiting to see you.”
“Waiting to see me?” I repeated.
He nodded. “They’re out on the verandah.”
“Thanks,” I said, and turned to Marian, who was watching me with a worried look in her eyes. “You go on up and get some sleep,” I said. “It’s been a swell evening.”
“Thanks a lot,” she said. “I enjoyed it too.” She hesitated, then turned to the stairs.
I called “Good night” after her and then turned back to the clerk. “Who are these fellows?” I asked, lighting a cigarette and giving him a hard look.
“One of them is Mr. McArthur,” he returned indifferently. “I didn’t see the other one.”
McArthur! That could only mean one thing. He had thought over what I had said, given his wife the slip and was ready to talk. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll see them,” and I walked out onto the verandah.
McArthur peered at me and got hastily to his feet. “Mr. Spewack?” he said cautiously. “Yes, I see it is. Mr. Spewack, I want to apologize.”
“Forget it,” I said, hooking one of the rocking chairs towards me with my foot. “If you want my help you can have it.”
The other figure stood up and came into the light. He was young, slight and a few inches shorter than me. His suit was well cut but worn carelessly. His necktie had worked round until it was nearly natter-his right ear.
“This is Ted Esslinger,” McArthur said in a low voice. “I’ve talked things user with him and we’ve decided to see you.”
“You Max Esslinger’s son?” I said, looking at him with sudden interest.
“I am,” he said, offering his hand.
I stared at him. He had a fine head. His black wavy hair was taken straight back and his face was pale, sensitive and pleasant.
I shook hands rather blankly and looked at McArthur for a lead.
But it was Ted Esslinger who took charge. “Mr. Spewack,” he said, keeping his voice down, “you can appreciate I’m in an embarrassing position. Is there any place we can go where we can talk without interruption?”
I remembered the man in the room next to mine and shook my head. “Not in my room,” I said. “Suggest some place and I’ll come with you.”
Ted looked at McArthur and then shrugged. “I’ve got my car,” he said. “We can talk as I drive.”
“That suits me,” I said, and followed him down the steps of the hotel.
We crossed the street to where a Pontiac convertible stood in the shadows. Ted opened the door and slid under the steering wheel.
I glanced back over my shoulder at the hotel. The blinds of all the windows were drawn, except one on the third floor. I could see the outline of a man standing looking down into the street. He was framed in the window, and as I looked up at him he jerked back out of sight. I noticed three things. He was looking from a window that was next to mine. He wore a slouch hat and he had very wide shoulders.
I climbed into the Pontiac and slammed the door.
As we drove away from the hotel I felt suddenly spooked. But I kept it to myself.
Outside the city’s limits Ted Esslinger slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder of the road. He parked tinder trees and, relaxing down in his seat, said: “We’re all right here.”
None of us had spoken during the drive out of town.
MacArthur, sitting in the rear seat, leaned forward and began to breathe heavily down the back of my neck. I could tell by his restless movements that he was worried and jumpy.
I lit a cigarette, flipped the match out of the open window and waited. There was a long pause and I shot a side-look at Esslinger. He was staring into the darkness of the trees. In the moonlight he looked young. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-three, and I could see he was also a little jumpy.
“You’re our only hope,” he said suddenly in a low voice. “That’s why we’ve come to you.”
I didn’t say anything.
He looked back over his shoulder at McArthur. “You’re not to tell anyone about this, Mac,” he went on. “Father would be furious if he knew that I...”
McArthur wheezed excitedly. “You go ahead,” he broke in. “I’m not saying anything.”
I let them frighten each other. I wasn’t going to make it easy for them. They had come to me and it was up to them to put their cards on the table.
Ted Esslinger turned his head so he could look at me. “I want you to know I’m not taking sides in this business,” he said, his hands fiddling with the steering wheel. “You may be working for Wolf against my father, but I can’t help that. I’m sure if anyone can find these girls you can, and that’s all I’m interested in.”
“What makes it so important to you?” I asked, looking at him inquiringly.
“Luce was a pal of mine. I went to school with Vera. Joy and I kept a regular date each week. I knew them well and I liked them. They were good kids.” He drew a deep breath, then blurted out: “At the rate we’re going now, they never will be found.”
I grunted. “So they were your pals?” I said, underlying ‘pals’.
His face tightened. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, half in anger, “but there was nothing like that. They were decent girls. Just ordinary kids who liked a good time. I and the rest of the-boys in Cranville kicked around with them, but nothing else.”
I looked back at McArthur. His skinny, yellow face showed his misery. “He’s right, mister,” he said. “There was nothing wrong with the girls.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, shrugging. “What makes you think they’ll never be found?”
Esslinger’s knuckles showed white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “It’s a political set-up.” There was bitterness in his voice. “No one cares a damn what’s happened to them. The police aren’t doing anything. As long as no one finds these kids, Macey’s sitting pretty. The election is in the bag, anyway. Starkey’s planning to strong-arm the voters. His gang will control the polls. It’s easy enough. All they have to do—”
“I know,” I broke in; “don’t let’s waste time. I’m tired. What do you want me to do?”
“But I want you to understand the set-up,” he protested. “You see, if these girls aren’t found, it won’t make any difference to Starkey, but it will to Wolf and my father. They’ve guaranteed to find the girls. It’s in Macey’s interests now for them not to be found.”
“Can you believe people could be so wicked?” McArthur said, punching the back of my seat.
“So the police aren’t working on the case?” I said, jerking my hat lower over my eyes. “How about the investigator your father’s hired?”
Ted made an impatient movement with his hands. “Audrey? I can’t think what father’s doing. He’s crazy to expect Audrey Sheridan to do anything. She’s a good kid. I’ve known her all my life, but against Macey and Starkey she’s helpless. Besides, she’s never had any experience of this kind of thing.”
I let smoke drift down my nostrils. “She’s a licensed operative, isn’t she?” I said. “Why did your father hire her if she’s that bad?”
Ted lifted his square shoulders helplessly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I wish I did. He must know she won’t get anywhere.”
“It’s no good, Ted,” McArthur said. “We’ve got to tell him the truth.” He leaned forward so I could see his troubled face. “Everyone likes Audrey,” he went on to me. “Ted’s father thinks by hiring her he’ll ride along on her popularity. He figures if she doesn’t find the girls they won’t blame him so much.”
“That sickens me,” Ted burst out. “Even my father isn’t worrying about the girls. All he thinks about is the election. Can’t you understand how I feel? It’s driving me crazy. My father won’t listen to me. When Mac told me he’d seen you, I knew you were our only hope. I don’t give a damn who becomes mayor, but these kids must be found!”
“If they’re anywhere around, I’ll find them,” I promised. “But I want help. There’s too much opposition in this town to please me. What do you think’s happened to them?”
“I can make a guess,” he said. “Mac doesn’t agree with my ideas, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.”
“Look,” I said patiently, “I said I was tired, didn’t I? Well, spill it, if you’ve got anything to spill, and let me get to bed.”
“I think the whole business is a frame-up to discredit my father and Wolf. I’ll bet even money Starkey’s kidnapped the girls, knowing father and Wolf will lose votes by it.”
“Guessing won’t help. Have you any proof?”
“There’s something that might help. I told Audrey about it, but she got nowhere with it.”
I pulled down a lungful of smoke and waited.
“The day before Luce disappeared she told me a street photographer had taken her photo, She was going to collect the photograph on the day she disappeared. The shop where she was to collect the photograph is owned by Starkey. It’s one of his sidelines.”
I thought about this. At face value it didn’t seem much, but I was interested. “You think that was where she was kidnapped?”
He nodded. “That’s how I worked it out.”
“You don’t know if the other girls were photographed in the same way? If they were, there might be something in it.” Then I remembered the three photographs Dixon had shown me and I sat up abruptly. The photographs had all been taken on the street, showing the girls’ heads and shoulders with buildings as a background. “They were all photographed like that!” I said, getting excited. “The Camille Gazette has photos of all three girls and they were all taken on the street.”
McArthur sucked his teeth. “I told you this guy could help. knew it as soon as I saw him.”
Ted stared at me. “Then Starkey must be at the bottom of it,” he said grimly. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “Is there anything else?”
They looked at each other and decided there wasn’t anything eke. That was all right with me. They hadn’t wasted my time. I had something useful to work on.
“We want to be in on this, Mr. Spewack,” Ted said anxiously. “You won’t leave us out?”
“I’m working for Wolf,” I reminded him, “but if you want these girls found, you give me all the information you have.” I glanced at my watch. It was just after eleven. “Do you know where the photographs are collected?”
“It’s a shop called the Street-Camera and it’s halfway down Murray Street.”
“Okay.” I lit another cigarette. “We’ll go back now. Where can I get you if I want you?”
He scribbled a telephone number on the back of an old envelope and gave it to rue. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he said. “My father will be mad.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll take care of that.”
He started the engine and then he said: “I hope your wife won’t be worried about you.”
“My wife?” I said, surprised. “I haven’t a wife.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded embarrassed. “I thought the lady you were with...”
I laughed. “She’ s not my wife,” I returned. “I only met her tonight. We were lonely, so I took her out to dinner.”
“I see.” He still seemed embarrassed. “I thought I hadn’t seen her before. She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
I grunted. “Drop around one of these days. I’ll introduce you. She could do with a little company.”
“I most certainly will,” he said, brightening, and, engaging gear, drove back the way we had come.
I walked into the lobby of the hotel and glanced around. The place was empty except for a girl who sat behind the reception desk. She was chewing gum and reading a movie magazine. She didn’t look up until I reached the desk.
“Good evening,” I said.
She shot me an interested look and then reached for my key. “367?” she said.
“Right first time.” I took the key from her.
She was small, dark and nicely built. She had a red, pouting mouth and big, sulky eyes.
“Do you go with the hotel or are you hired by the hour?” I said, leaning on the desk and admiring her figure.
“Whichever way it is, it wouldn’t mean anything to you,” she said, touching her black curls with plump little fingers.
“It might,” I said. “I go for sophisticated dames in a big way.” She chewed thoughtfully and then lifted her shoulders. “Don’t waste your time on me,” she said. “When I prospect for gold I use a dredger.”
I took out a roll of notes and showed it to her. “I light cigars with this stuff,” I said carelessly. “I keep my spending money in the bank.”
Her eyes popped a little and she became more friendly.
“Maybe we could call on your bank one day,” she said.
“Sure, any day you like,” I returned, and feeling I had gained her interest, I went on: “Tell me, who’s the guy in 369?”
“369’s empty,” she returned. “Why?”
“Did I say 369?” I shook my head. “That’s the third mistake I’ve made today. I meant 365.”
Her eyes became calculating. “I can’t tell you things like that,” she said, resting her cheek on her hand. “This is a respectable hotel.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I took out my roll and pulled off a five-dollar note. I put my roll back and laid the five-spot on the desk. “Who did you say was in 365?”
Her hand whipped the note out of sight so fast I could scarcely follow the movement. “A guy called Jeff Gordan.”
“Jeff Gordan,” I repeated, smiling at her. “Isn’t he one of Starkey’s boys?”
Her face froze and her eyes became sulky again. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, and turned back to her magazine.
I said good night and went upstairs.
In my room, I hung my hat on a peg on the door and walked over to the bureau. I walked heavily so the guy next door would know I was back. I poured myself a large whisky and sat down.
For my first day I hadn’t done so badly. It looked like these three girls had been kidnapped. That was a tough break for them. It meant they were either dead by now or when the election was tied up they’d most certainly be knocked off. Starkey wouldn’t let them loose to talk. A kidnapping rap was hard to beat these days.
It looked like the whole set-up revolved around Starkey. Max Esslinger was just a third-rate politician trying to make the grade. He was like all third-rate politicians. As long as he was elected, he wouldn’t care who suffered. Wolf was different. He was making an effort to find the girls. But even then, he was doing it not because he cared a damn what happened to them, but because he had to put on an act to beat Starkey and Esslinger.
I drank some whisky and thought about Ted Esslinger. At least he was sincere, and I liked him for that. He was ready to throw his father down if it meant finding the girls.
The Street-Camera idea was interesting. I’d have to look into that. It was a neat, way of trapping a girl who’d been singled out for kidnapping. I wondered if the girls had been killed right away or whether they’d been hustled into a car at the back of the shop and taken away.
Then I remembered that a shoe belonging to one of the missing girls had been found in an empty house. It could have been a plant to switch the inquiry away from the Street-Camera shop. I decided that it had to be a plant. Otherwise it didn’t make sense.
I drank some more whisky and eyed the wall opposite. I was pretty sure this Jeff Gordan was the guy who’d been tailing Marian and me.
I got up, put the glass of whisky on the bureau and stared at the wall thoughtfully. It would be an idea, I reasoned, to find out what it was all about.
I left my room and knocked on the door of 365.
A man’s voice said: “Who is it?”
“The room clerk.” I kept my voice down.
The door opened a foot. I put my shoulder against it and shoved. A big, apish-looking man started back, off balance. He stared at me in startled surprise.
He wasn’t the kind of party you’d want to meet up a dark alley. He was bow-legged and the length and thickness of his arms and the flatness of his face reminded me of an orang-outang.
I wasn’t sure, now that I was face to face with him, if he was the guy who had followed us.
He eyed me narrowly.
“What’s the idea?”
“That’s what I came to see you about,” I said, closing the door and leaning against it.
“What do you want?”
“You’ve been tailing me,” I said. “Why?”
He shifted his eyes to the floor and then back to me. “I haven’t been following anyone,” he snarled.
“Nuts,” I said, smiling at him. “And you’ve been writing me notes.”
He shook his head woodenly. All the time I was speaking he was ready to start something if I made a move. I could tell that by the way he held his long arms loosely at his side. “If you don’t get out I’ll call the operator,” he threatened.
I pretended to be convinced. “Maybe I made a mistake,” I said, “but you look like the guy who’s been tailing me.”
He began to relax. “I can’t help that,” he said. “Why the hell should I want to tail you, anyway?”
“That’s what I wanted to find out,” I said. “Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” I turned to go. There was a phone book on the dresser, and as I passed I picked it up and slung it at him all in one movement.
The book caught him on the side of his head and he reeled back. Before he could recover his balance I jumped him.
My fist sank into the side of his neck and he went down. I let him sit up and then I kicked his face. The kick stunned him. He lay flat on his back, the whites of his eyes showing and breath bubbling out of his open mouth.
I knelt at his side and started to go through his pockets. I found nothing of interest in his trouser pockets, and I was beginning on his coat when he came to.
He swung at me, but I saw it coming and dropped flat on top of him. I socked him twice in the belly before he threw me off. He was strong all right, and I slammed against the wall. Before he had time to get to his feet I dived at him. He kicked my stomach with both feet. I hit hard on the floor, most of my breath knocked out of me.
He scrambled up, his flat face alight with vicious fury. I couldn’t move. My muscles had gone back on me and I wanted to vomit.
As he came at me I pulled my gun and showed it to him.
He stopped suddenly like he had run up against a brick wall.
I struggled to get my breath and fought down the sickness, but I didn’t lower the gun or take my eyes off him.
He stood watching me sullenly.
“Sit on the bed,” I managed to jerk out at last.
He sat on the bed, his hands on his knees, glaring at me.
I remained on the floor for three or four minutes until I got my wind back, then, still watching him, I climbed to my feet. My legs felt shaky and I had to lean against the wall.
“Now we’ll talk, you louse,” I said, keeping the gun pointed at his face.
He just snarled at me.
“You’re one of Starkey’s boys, aren’t you?”
He shifted his eyes and I knew I’d guessed right.
Keeping him covered, I took out the note that had been pushed under my door and let him see it.
I laughed. “You don’t think chat, kid’s stuff scared me, do you?”
He looked at his feet and shifted restlessly.
I gave him time to say something and then went on: “I don’t like guys following me around. It makes me nervous. When I get nervous my heater’s likely to go off. Tell Starkey that. While you’re at it, tell him I don’t think he’ll be mayor, and you might add I’ll be along to see him tomorrow.”
He stared at me, his small eyes blank with surprise.
I nodded to the door. “And now dust. Get the hell out of here and stay out. I’ll see you around here again, or tagging along behind me, I’ll slap you down so hard you’ll bounce for a week.”
He stood up, picked up a slouch hat that was lying on a chair nearby, and put it on his head I knew when I saw him in that hat, that he was the party who’d been tailing us.
“Beat it,” I said.
He went to the door, opened it and then turned to look at me. His eyes were glassy with hate.
“You small-town toughs are a dime a dozen,” I said. “Scram!”
He spat on the floor by my feet and went out. I followed him into the passage and watched him walk stiff-legged to the stairs. He didn’t look back.
I awoke with a start. For a brief moment I had the fuddled idea I was in my New York apartment, but the white bureau I could see in the moonlight put me right. I was still in the Eastern Hotel, Cranville.
There was a continuous, gentle tapping on my door. It was a furtive sound. It could have been a rat gnawing on wood. But I knew it wasn’t. I groped for the lamp by my bed and turned it on. Then I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. I felt like hell.
The urgent tapping continued.
I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten minutes past two. My eyelids weighed a ton and the room was stifling, although I had drawn back the curtains and opened the windows wide before going to bed.
I slipped out of bed, grabbed my dressing gown and reached for the .38 which was under my pillow.
The tapping went on all the time I was shaking the sleep out of my brain and getting fixed. Whoever wanted me was making sure no one else would be disturbed.
I went to the door. “Who is it?” I said, speaking against the panel.
The tapping stopped. “It’s Esslinger.” I recognized his voice. I turned the key and opened up.
Ted Esslinger came in quickly and closed the door, His necktie was still under his right ear, and his face was white and pinched.
I gave him a hard look, went back to the bed and sat down. I shoved the gun under the pillow and massaged the back of my neck.
“For the love of Mike,” I said, “can’t you let me sleep?”
“Mary Drake hasn’t been home,” he said. His teeth chattered with nerves.
I yawned, stretched, and went on massaging the back of my neck. “Another of your pals?”
“Don’t you understand?” he said, speaking in a low, tense voice.
“She went to work this morning and she hasn’t come back. Drake’s over with my father now.”
“Aw, hell,” I said, leaning back on my elbows. “What can I do about it? I don’t work twenty-four hours a day.”
He began to pace up and down. “Something’s happened to her,” he said, driving his fist into the palm of his hand. “As soon as Drake came around, I slipped out to tell you. No one else knows but Drake and father. You must do something.”
I was beginning to feel better. “When was she last seen?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
“She left her office at five o’clock and she was going on to a dance. Roger Kirk, the boy she was meeting, says she didn’t show up. He thought she wasn’t well, so he went home. It was only when Drake phoned him at eleven o’clock that we began to think something was wrong.”
I fumbled in my coat pocket, found a packet of Lucky Strike and shook a couple onto the quilt. “Have a smoke and sit down,” I said, lighting up.
He sat down but he wouldn’t smoke.
I brooded for a minute or so while he watched me anxiously. Then I said: “Has Drake told the cops?”
“Not yet. He came to father because he thought—”
“I bet he did,” I broke in. “What’s your father done?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “He won’t do anything until the morning. That’s why I came here. We’ve at least seven hours’ start over any of them.”
“Yeah,” I said without much enthusiasm, “but there isn’t much we can do.” I flicked ash on the floor, stifled another yawn and went on: “You know the girl?”
He nodded. “She was a friend of Luce McArthur,” he told me. “Roger Kirk and I went to the same school. We four used to go out together.”
I got up and wandered over to the chair where I had dumped my clothes. It took me three minutes to dress and then I went into the bathroom to sponge my face and fix my hair. I came back into the bedroom and poured myself a small Scotch.
“Drink?” I said, waving the bottle at him.
He shook his head. “What are you going to do?” His eyes were bright with speculation.
“I’m playing a hunch,” I said soberly. “I bet it’s a no-good hunch, but I’ll take a chance. How far is this Street-Camera joint?”
He drew in a sharp breath. “On Murray Street. About five minutes in the car.”
“Have you got the car?”
“It’s outside.”
“Okay, let’s go.” I picked up my hat, yawned some more and turned to the door. “This is a hell of a game for sleep,” I said, moving out into the passage “Don’t you ever take it up as a profession.”
As he followed me out of the room, Marian French’s door opened and she propped herself up against the doorpost. “Sleep-walking?” she asked, with reasonable curiosity.
I thong it she looked nice in the powder-blue silk wrap she was wearing. Her long, silky fair hair hung to her shoulders and her face was flushed and sleepy.
“Hullo, there,” I said in a whisper; “if you listen hard enough in a minute or so you’ll hear the day break. I’m the guy who breaks it.”
She glanced at Ted Esslinger and then back at me. “Is he your assistant?” she asked, trying not to gape.
“Miss French, meet Mr. Ted Esslinger,” I said, waving my hands. “Now will you be a nice girl and go back to bed? Mr. Esslinger and I are going on a practice run.”
“Has something happened?” she asked, first smiling at Esslinger and then turning back to me.
I shook my head. “I do this sort of thing every day of my life. It keeps me fit.” I tipped my bat at her and jerked my head at Esslinger. “Let’s go,” I said.
He gave Marian a quick, shy smile and followed me downstairs. I heard Marian heave an exasperated sigh and then her door closed.
“Nice, isn’t she?” I said, walking as quietly as I could.
“Yes,” he said, “but this isn’t the time—”
“Don’t kid yourself,” I returned, entering the lobby, “Any time’s right with me.”
The night clerk, a fat little man with a heavy moustache, stared at us blankly, but I didn’t stop. I crossed the lobby and the verandah and got into the Pontiac that was standing at the kerb.
Esslinger ran around and slid under the steering wheel.
“Make it snappy,” I said, huddling down into my seat. “I want some sleep sometime tonight.”
He drove fast. There was no traffic around and we had the streets to ourselves.
“What do you expect to find?” he asked, as he turned into Main Street.
“I don’t know,” I returned, lighting a cigarette. “It’s just an idea I’ve got at the back of my mind. I’m willing to bet there’s nothing to it.”
He gave me a quick glance, shrugged and drove on. We didn’t say anything until we reached Murray Street.
He slowed down and peered out or the window. “It’s somewhere along here,” he muttered.
I made no attempt to help him. It was his town and it was up to him to find the place. He swung into the kerb suddenly and stopped the car.
“This is it,” he said.
I got out of the car and looked at the small plate-glass window that was stacked with photographs. I stepped back to read the sign overhead. It was picked out in heavy chromium lettering that glittered in the moonlight: “The Street-Camera.” This was the joint all right.
I took a flashlight from my hip pocket and threw the beam on the window.
Ted was standing at my side. “What’s the idea?” he said, following the beam as I Worked it over the postcard-sized photographs pinned to the back of the window, the sides, and on a sloping board on the floor of the window.
“See anyone you know?” I said, keeping the light moving.
He got it then. “You don’t think he began,” but I shushed him.
Right bang in the middle of the sloping board was a photograph of a blonde girl who laughed up at me. The background of Main Street showed behind her head. The photograph was four times the size of any of the other photographs in the window. Underneath it was a small notice. Special enlargements $1.50 extra.
“That her?” I said to Esslinger.
“Yes.” He was holding onto my arm and shivering.
“When I get a hunch I play it right on the nose,” I said, snapping off the flashlight.
“You know what this means,” Esslinger said unsteadily. “They have been kidnapped, and kidnapped from here. Mary might even be hare still.”
I walked round him to the shop door. It was of plate glass and chromium. The only way to force an entrance would be to smash the window and I didn’t want to do that. It would make too much noise.
“Can we get in around the back?” I asked.
“Get in?” he repeated. His face told me he was scared. “You’re not going to...?”
“Sure, but you’re not in this,” I said. “You get off home.”
He hesitated, then said stubbornly: “If you’re going in, I’m coming with you.”
“Forget it,” I said sharply. “I’m paid to stick my neck out. If we get caught, your father’ll know you’re helping me. I don’t want it that way. You’re useful to me as long as no one knows what you’re doing. You’ve done enough already. Get off home and leave this to me.”
He hesitated, then nodded his head. “I guess you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “They don’t even know I’m out. Do you want the car?”
“I could use it,” I said, “but someone might recognize it. No, you take it and get off.”
“I don’t like leaving you...” he began, but I wasn’t going to spend the rest of the night arguing with him.
“Be a good guy and beat it,” I said, and leaving him by the car I walked off down the street. A hundred yards further on I came to an alley. As I peered into the darkness, wondering if it led to the back of the building, I heard his engine start up and then the Pontiac swept past at high speed. I watched the tail light disappear before I entered the alley.
I was relieved to see him go. An amateur at this game could easily step out of turn, and I wasn’t looking for trouble. I liked to work alone. If anything went wrong I had only myself to blame.
The alley was narrow and smelly. It brought me eventually to the back of the Street-Camera building. The place was in darkness. The back door didn’t seem particularly strong, so I put my shoulder against it and shoved. It creaked. I shoved again hard. There was a snapping sound and the door swung open. I stepped back and listened. The building and alley remained silent. Shielding my flashlight with my hand, I peered through the open doorway and then stepped into a narrow passage. Ahead of me was a door leading to the shop. Another door on my right was half-open.
I went down the passage and opened the door leading to the shop. There was no blind to the window, but the moon gave enough light for me to see. I had a quick look around, saw nothing to excite me and stepped back into the passage again. I didn’t want any passing cop to spot me through the window.
I retraced my steps and pushed open the other door. I entered a large room which obviously was used as a workshop. The floor was littered with strips of paper from trimmed photographs. Mounts and photographs were piled high on the two tables in the centre of the room. I let the beam of my flashlight crawl around the room and over the floor. I examined the fireplace, which was full of burnt paper, but I found nothing to connect the place with the missing girls.
I pushed my hat to the back of my head and scowled out of the window. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I had hoped for something better than this.
I went to the back door and glanced into the alley. It wouldn’t be possible to park a car out there. That puzzled me. I couldn’t make out how the girls were taken from the shop, if they had been kidnapped from this building.
As I stood brooding about this I heard a car coming at high speed. A moment later there was a squeal of brakes as the car slid to a standstill. I stepped quickly into the passage and closed the door. Moving fast, I reached the door that led into the shop and opened it a few inches.
I could see the street through the shop window. A big tourer stood outside the shop, and as I watched three men spilled from it. One stood by the car looking up and down the street. The other two crossed the sidewalk and one of them pushed a key into the shop door lock and snapped it back.
It happened so quickly had no chance to duck back along the passage. I pulled the door to and waited, my hand on my gun.
I heard the two men enter the shop.
“Snap into it,” one of them said. “The patrol’ll be around in five minutes.” His voice was harsh and I could hear him breathing heavily.
“Okay, keep your shirt on,” the other said hoarsely. “Give me that picture over there.”
I heard something heavy drop on the floor and I opened the door a few inches, but I couldn’t see what was going on.
“I can’t reach the damn thing,” the man with the hoarse voice said. “Watch what you’re doing, you dope,” the harsh-voiced man snarled. “You’ll wreck the whole display.”
There were more mutterings and then the harsh-voiced man said: “Okay. Let’s get outa here.”
I heard them cross the shop, open the door and lock it behind them. I peered cautiously into the shop. They were climbing into the tourer. I couldn’t see what they looked like, except they were all big and broad-shouldered. One of them might have been Jeff Gordan, but I couldn’t be sure.
The tourer drove away fast.
If the police patrol was due in five minutes, it was time for me to get out of here. I took a quick look round the shop, but there was nothing to show what the men had been doing. Then I went back down the passage towards the back door.
As I was opening the door, something caught my eye. I turned the beam of my flashlight on the floor. A once-white crumpled handkerchief was lying almost at my feet. I picked it up. It was a small, lace-edged handkerchief with the initials M.D. worked in one of its corners.
I stepped into the alley, closed the back door and walked swiftly to the street.
To me the initials M.D. could mean only one thing. The handkerchief belonged to Mary Drake! With that and the four pictures of the missing girls as evidence of kidnapping, I could start trouble for Macey if he wouldn’t cooperate with me. Kidnapping was a Federal offence and the F.B.I. would act on this kind of evidence.
I slipped the handkerchief in my pocket and stepped cautiously from the alley into the street. There was no one around and I went back to the shop window.
The moon was now immediately overhead. I could clearly see the details of every photograph in the window. But there was only one photograph that interested me, the one that carried the caption: Special enlargements $1.50 extra.
One look was enough. I knew then why the three men had driven up to the shop and had entered in such haste. The photograph had been changed. The blonde girl whom Esslinger had told me was Mary Drake no longer laughed up at me. A photograph of a sharp-featured girl wearing a white floppy hat had taken her place. As I stared blankly at the photograph, the girl seemed to sneer at me.
I reached the Granville Gazette building as a street clock struck three.
As I walked along the sidewalk in the brilliant moonlight I felt as exposed as a nudist let loose in a subway. The air was still stifling and I was sweating and jumpy.
I wandered past the dilapidated building, glanced casually at the double doors and noticed they were closed. I didn’t stop, but went on for twenty yards before ducking into a doorway.
It was going to be a sweet job to force that lock in a street that was almost as light as day. It only needed one conscientious cop to poke his head round the corner while I was doing it and I’d be in a nice jam. From what I had seen of the Cranville cops he’d shoot first and ask questions after.
I stood in the doorway and listened. It was quiet, and I was just making up my mind to get to work when I heard someone coming. I dodged back into the doorway and told myself what a smart guy I was not to have been caught in the open.
A woman came down the street. I could tell it was a woman by the click of her wooden heels on the brick pavement. She was walking quickly, then she slowed down, and a moment later the clicking of her heels stopped altogether.
I took off my hat and peered round the doorway. I caught a glimpse of her. She was standing outside the Cranville Gazette building. I couldn’t see much of her except she was slim, medium height, and seemed to be wearing a dark tailored suit. She looked suddenly up and down the street. The movement was nervous and furtive. I ducked back out of sight, hoping she hadn’t seen me.
She didn’t run away, so after a few seconds I took another look. She was now standing close to the double doors. As I watched her, wondering what she was doing, I heard a faint sound of a lock turning. A moment later she pushed open the doors and disappeared into the building.
Automatically I fumbled for a cigarette, changed my mind and massaged the back of my neck instead. This had foxed me.
I gave her a couple of minutes and then walked to the building and tried the double doors. They were locked.
My brain was still a little fuddled with sleep and I felt as fresh as a ten-day corpse. I didn’t know what to do. I was still gaping at the doors when I heard more footsteps. I had sense enough to move away from the Cranville Gazette building as a patrolman appeared from nowhere and stood staring at me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said, swinging his nightstick and sticking out a jaw that looked like it had been hewn from rock.
I put on a drunk act and stumbled against him. “My pal,” I said, patting his shoulder. “Stick around a li’l longer an’ a beautiful big copper’ll come along. Tha’s what I said. Just stick around a little longer—”
“I heard you the first time,” he said, shoving me off. “On your way, bud, or I’ll bend this club over your skull.”
“Sure,” I said, staggering back a couple of paces. “But I’ve gotta let the women and chil’n go first. I’ve gotta get the boat launched. I’ve gotta do something or other... now what the hell was it?” By that time I’d faded away and was zigzagging down the street.
I had to cover a lot of ground before I came to a side street. I reeled round the corner and then straightened up. I gave the cop a few minutes and then took a quick look. He was already on his way, and a moment later he turned off into Main Street.
Cursing softly, I ran back to the Granville Gazette building. I had wasted a good eight minutes, and if that cop ran into me again it would be highly inconvenient — for me.
I took out my pocketknife and with one of the hickies attached to it I tried to slip the lock back. My third attempt succeeded.
I looked quickly up and down the street, made sure no one had seen me, and pushed open the door. I moved into the small lobby, which smelt like a chicken run. I closed the door softly behind me.
I listened, but I didn’t hear any sound of activity. I groped my way to the stairs and started up. It took me a long time to reach the fourth floor. I made no sound on the way up and I didn’t like the absolute silence in the building. The woman couldn’t have had time to leave. Maybe she was on the fifth or sixth floor, but I ought to have heard her moving about by now.
The Granville Gazette offices were at the end of the long passage. I didn’t want to show a light and I knew my way, so I went forward in inky darkness.
Halfway down the passage I stopped. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw something. I edged against the wall and looked hard into the darkness. The hairs moved on the back of my neck. There was something right ahead of me. My hand slid back and reached for my flashlight. My other hand went for my gun.
Then things happened so fast I was caught on the wrong foot. There was a quick movement, then someone brushed passed me.
My hand shot out and I caught an arm — a woman’s arm. God knows what happened then. I felt her twist, come up violently against me and my arm was jerked forward. A hard little hip was rammed into my side and then my feet left the ground. I sailed through the air and came down with my head against the wall. Nothing mattered for a while after that.
I came out of a red haze, my head expanding and contracting, and I up and cursed. The building was silent and I had no idea how long I had been lying there. I fumbled for my flashlight and looked at my watch. It was three-forty. I must have been out for almost a quarter of an hour. The light hurt my eyes and I snapped it off. I didn’t get up, as any movement sent pain stabbing through my head. I cursed some more. If I’d known I was going to run into a female jiu-jitsu expert I’d have stayed in bed. It set me back a long way to think a girl could have tossed me around like that. I thought I knew most of the Jap stuff, but that throw was the work of an expert.
I sat up slowly, wincing as pain throbbed in my head; but after a while it got better and I stood up. I felt like I’d been fed through a mangle. Limping over to the head of the stairs, I listened, but I heard nothing. She was halfway home by now.
Then I walked hack to the Granville Gazette offices. The door was unlocked. Somehow that didn’t surprise me. I pushed the door open and snapped on my flashlight. The outer office looked as dreary as ever. I walked over to Dixon’s office, listened, and then pushed the door open.
The beam of my flashlight fell on the battered deserted desk. I went over to it. The centre drawer was open. I expected that too. A quick look told me the three photographs of the missing girls Dixon had shown me only a few hours before were gone.
I stood staring down at the drawer, thinking. Of course the woman had got them. It wasn’t going to be so easy now. With the photographs I could have called in the Federal Agents. I could have had Chief of Police Macey eating out of my hand. I wondered if she knew that.
My head began to ache and I wanted my bed. It was nu use sticking around ‘this joint any longer. I wondered what Wolf would say if he knew I’d been tossed against a wall by a woman and had let her walk off with the only evidence I had as yet found in this case. I decided I wouldn’t tell him.
As I turned to the door, I stopped short. Someone was sitting in the armchair by the window. All right, I jumped a foot, but who wouldn’t? I even dropped the flashlight, and as I stooped to pick it up I felt sweat run from my face like a squeezed sponge.
“Who is it?” I said, putting my hand on my gun. My mouth was dry and I was as steady as tissue paper in a wind.
Silence hung in the room like a sodden blanket. I turned the beam of my flashlight on to the chair. Dixon looked at me with blank glassy eyes. His livid violet-coloured face was set in a grimace of terror. Blood had oozed from his mouth and his tongue protruded like a strip of black leather.
I moved forward a pace and peered at him. Around his neck was a thin cord. It bit into his neck and the folds of flesh half hid it.
Sitting in a huddled heap in the chair, his hands clenched in his last agony, he looked very lonely and very dead.