Blondes' Requiem

IV

I was awakened around six o’clock by someone knocking on my door. I raised my head cautiously, decided I felt better, and went over to unlock the door. As I passed the mirror I took a quick look and winced. I still looked pretty terrible.

Marian French gazed at me with startled eyes as I let her in. “Whatever’s happened?” she asked, her hand going to her face with a gesture of shocked concern.

“I had an argument with a midget,” I said, smiling crookedly. “It’s surprising how strong the little guys are. But come in. I don’t feel as bad as I look.”

“Oh, your poor head!” She came in, took a quick look at the crumpled bed and went on: “I’ve disturbed you.”

“It’s all right,” I said, sitting on the bed and feeling my head gingerly. “I was getting up, anyway.”

There was a bump on the top of my head that felt no smaller than a doorknob and my ribs were still sore, but I could have been worse.

She sat beside me and with cool, gentle fingers explored the bruise and the bump.

“I’ll fix that for you,” she said. “Just you lie back on the bed and take it easy.”

“Don’t you bother,” I said, trying to appear brave about it. “A little bang like this doesn’t worry me.”

“Don’t be tough and obstinate,” she said firmly. “Lie down and leave this to me.” She pushed me back on the bed. That was all right with me. I considered I was due for a little fussing.

“Now I won’t be a minute,” she said. “Don’t move until I come back.”

When she had gone I lit a cigarette and related. The sun made pools on the shabby carpet and the room was hot, but I didn’t care. The telephone jangled and, frowning, I reached for it.

I recognized Wolf’s growling voice. “I’ve got the Gazette,” he told me. “Now what the hell am I going to do with it?”

“You’ve got it?” I repeated blankly. “That’s fast work, isn’t it?”

He gave the nearest thing he could to a laugh. “I told you when I want a thing it happens. And let me tell you, it cost plenty; not that I give a damn about that.”

“Swell,” I said. “We can’t do anything tonight, but we’ll get together at the office tomorrow morning. With the Gazette we can run Macey ragged.”

He grunted. “I don’t know a damn thing about handling a newspaper,” he said, “but I guess I can learn fast enough.”

I told him about Reg Phipps. “He’s young, but he’s got guts. Keep him on the job and you won’t go wrong,” I advised.

“He can stay,” he said. “But how about the woman?”

“I’ll get you someone,” I promised. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow.”

“Have you found anything yet?” he demanded.

That was something I didn’t want to talk about. “I’m working on it,” I said, and hurriedly hung up on him.

I was calling the Gazette office when Marian came back. She carried a bowl containing cracked ice and odds and ends that looked interesting.

I winked at her as Phipps came on the line. “It’s okay,” I told him. “Wolf’s got the Gazette and you’re in. We’ll be along tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t seem to believe it, but when I persuaded him I wasn’t kidding he sounded excited enough. I told him to take it easy and cut the connection.

“You shouldn’t be phoning,” Marian said severely.

I flopped back on the bed. “That’s my final rally before I croak,” I said feebly.

She made an ice bag with the cracked ice and a strip of flannel and put it on my head. It felt swell.

“Isn’t that better?” she asked, sitting on the bed beside me.

I took her hand. “Terrific. I wouldn’t mind having a tap like this every day if I had a nurse as nice as you.”

She took her hand away and tried to look severe. “You can’t be as bad as you make out,” she said, moving away a foot. “You’ll be making passes soon.”

“Give me a couple of hours and you’ll be surprised what I will do,” I kidded, then I went on: “How’s the uplift and pant business?”

Although her face clouded she forced a smile. “I’m getting discouraged,” she confided. “If something doesn’t happen soon I’ll be on the bread-line. Cranville isn’t any good for the stuff I’m peddling.”

I regarded her thoughtfully. She wasn’t as good as Betty Grable or Rita Hayworth or Ginger Rogers, but she wasn’t bad. I could imagine Reg Phipps going for her in a big way.

“Can you use a typewriter and do shorthand?” I asked.

She looked puzzled, but said she could.

“There’s a job going on the Cranville Gazette: If you want a change from selling, you can have it.”

“You mean that?” There was eagerness in her voice.

“Sure, if you want it.”

“Would it pay steady money? I’m getting tired of wondering when next I’m going to eat.”

I looked sharply at her. “As bad as that?”

She took the ice bag away and changed the ice. “As bad as that,” she repeated seriously.

“Well, you’re hired. Send your samples back and tell your boss to go bowl a hoop,” I said, patting her hand. “Report to the Gazette tomorrow and tell Reg Phipps — he’s the editor — that you’re his new secretary. Tell him I said so.”

She looked doubtful. “You’re sure it’s all right? Perhaps he won’t like me.”

“Phipps?” I laughed. “You ought to see who he’s got now. He’ll be all over you.”

“I can’t say how grateful—” she began, but I stopped her.

“The job isn’t all that good,” I said. “Maybe you won’t like it. Maybe we’ll curl up before we start, but if you want to take the chance, it’s yours.”

“I’ll take the chance,” she said.

“Then that’s settled.”

She glanced at her watch. “Now don’t think I’m ungrateful if I leave you, but I promised to go out with Ted Esslinger and I’ve got to change.”

“Esslinger?” I raised my eyebrows. “He’s a fast worker, isn’t he? He only met you last night.”

She blushed. “Well, you know how it is. I hadn’t anything to do and he phoned—”

“I was only kidding,” I said, not wanting to embarrass her. “And he’s a nice kid. Hope you have a good time.”

“Now don’t be doing anything you shouldn’t. With a head like that you might have concussion.” She moved to the door. “Sure there’s nothing I can get you before I go?”

I said, “No,” and added: “If Esslinger arrives before you’re dressed, shoo him in here. I’ll keep him company until you’re ready.”

She nodded, said she hoped I’d be better in the morning, and thanked me again for the job.

After she had gone I lit another cigarette and thought about her. She was a good kid and I was glad to give her a break. From her my thoughts drifted to Audrey Sheridan. Now, she was a surprise. I hadn’t expected to find quite such an independent, smart beauty in a dump like Cranville. I wondered where she got her money from. If what I’d heard was right her detective agency was a flop, but the appearance of the place and her apartment showed she must have money. I wondered if her old man had left her anything, and decided he must have.

The way she had stood up to Starkey showed she had plenty of guts. That’s one thing I liked in a woman. She was a beauty too. I almost regretted I was working in the opposite camp. It might be plenty of fun to work with her. I wondered how Colonel Forsberg would react if I suggested he hire her as an International Investigations operative. He’d probably have a stroke.

I was just beginning to think of the best way to get even with Starkey when Ted Esslinger put his head round the door.

“Come in,” I said, sitting up and balancing the ice bag skillfully on my head.

“Gee!” he exclaimed, staring at me. “What a wreck you look!”

“Sit down,” I said, jerking my thumb to a chair near the bed. “Never mind how I look. I want to talk to you.”

He sat down and continued to stare at me with a worried expression on his face. “What happened?”

“I fell over a heap of feathers,” I said shortly. “Any news of Mary Drake?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. There’s trouble in town. A mob went clown to police headquarters and there was some shooting.”

“Shooting?” It was my turn to stare at him. “Anyone hurt?”

“No... the police fired over their heads. It scared them and they ran away. You know, Mr. Spewack, if this goes on much longer there’ll be bad trouble in Cranville.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” I said grimly, “that’s what I hope will happen. With the town out of hand, Macey’ll have to do something.”

He looked at me curiously. “What can he do that you can’t?”

I grinned. “Plenty, but never mind that. Who’s burying Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

“Yeah. Is your father burying him?”

“No — the city authorities are handling the funeral. Father supplied the coffin, if that’s what you mean, but the authorities—”

“What I want to know is this,” I said patiently. “First, where is Dixon’s body? Second, who is putting him in the coffin?”

“He’s at the city morgue,” Ted said, looking bewildered. “The coffin was delivered there this morning. The morgue attendants will put the body in the coffin, and then it will be taken to father’s funeral parlour. The funeral will be on the following day.”

“So no one will see the body except the morgue attendants?”

“I suppose not,” he returned, his bewilderment growing. “But what’s the idea?”

“Never mind the idea,” I said. “I’m asking the questions. One more thing. What made you suspect the Street-Camera was connected with the kidnapping?”

“Why, I told you. Luce McArthur was photographed on the street and showed me the ticket—”

“I know that, but it isn’t enough to tic it to the kidnapping. It’s too good a guess.” I gave him a hard look. “You know something.”

He looked confused, started to say I was wrong, but petered out.

“Loosen up,” I said. It was a hard job to look tough with an ice bag on top of my head, but I must have succeeded, because he looked scared.

“I... I didn’t think it was important,” lie said, going red. “It was something Dixon told me—”

“Dixon? Did you know Dixon?”

“Why, of course... I’ve known him ever since I was a kid—”

“Never mind the autobiography,” I snapped. “What did Dixon say?”

“Just that the Street-Camera was mixed up in the kidnapping. He didn’t believe the girls were murdered. He thought—”

“I know what he thought,” I growled. “So it wasn’t your theory after all? It was something Dixon thought up?”

He gulped. “Yes. I... I wanted you to think...”

I grinned suddenly and lay back on the bed. “You wanted me to think you had ideas of your own — was that it?” I said. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Did Dixon say why he suspected the Street-Camera?”

Ted shook his head. “I did ask him, but he changed the subject.”

“Well, we can’t ask him now,” I said regretfully, “but I’d like to know just why he thought that.”

“He was right,” Ted said. “That picture of Mary Drake clinches it. What are you going to do about that?”

I didn’t want to answer questions just then, so I said I was working on it and I had a hell of a headache. I was telling him just how badly it ached when Marian came in. She was wearing a white linen dress and a large floppy hat trimmed in red. She looked swell.

“Get off, you two,” I said, closing my eyes. “I want to get some more sleep. The ice-bag’s doing fine and I’ll be okay by tomorrow.”

Marian fussed round me for a minute or so and then they took themselves off. I thought they looked a pretty nice-looking couple. Maybe Marian was a little old for a kid like Esslinger, but she would keep him out of mischief and they looked right together.

When they had gone, I grabbed the telephone and called the Gazette again.

Phipps came on the line. He said I was lucky to catch him as he was just going home.

I grunted. “From now on, Reg,” I told him, “you haven’t got a home. Know where the city morgue is?”

He said he did, and what did I want with the city morgue?

“We won’t talk now,” I said. “Come here around midnight. I’ve got a job for you.”

“Okay.” His voice crawled with curiosity. “Is it something to do with the morgue?”

I didn’t enlighten him but asked him instead if he could handle a camera.

“Sure. Do you want me to bring my outfit?”

I said he must be clairvoyant, because that was just what I did want him to do. “Put on a dark suit, wear sneakers, and try to pretend you’re a burglar,” I told him. “And be here by midnight.”

Before he could ask any more questions I hung up.

Audrey Sheridan opened the door of her apartment, raised her eyebrows in mock surprise and stood to one side to let me in.

She looked very nice in a white housecoat relieved by a complicated pattern of red flowers, white silk pyjamas and red sandals. I thought how like a Varga picture she looked.

“This is a surprise,” she said, closing the door and leading the way into the red and cream sitting room. “So you made it — broken back and all. I imagined you’d be in bed with a pretty nurse fussing over you.”

“Not a bad guess,” I said, noting the apartment had been tidied up. “The trouble was the nurse got tired of it before I did.” I put my hat on a chair and went on: “How’s the arm?”

She wandered over to a trolley containing bottles, glasses and cracked ice.

“It’s all right, thank you,” she said, putting ice in one of the glasses. “I hope your head’s not as bad as it looks.”

I said it was all right. In spite of our concern for each other I was aware of a hostile and uneasy atmosphere in the room.

“That’s splendid.” She looked at me with a secretive, amused smile. “I’m sure you would like a drink. What will you have?”

“Do we have to be so polite?” I asked, joining her at the trolley. “After all, we’re just fellow dicks.”

“That’s very flattering,” she said, “but I’m only an amateur. Will you have whisky?”

I said I would, and added: “You’re not doing bad for an amateur.”

“Really? You’re just saying that. I know what men are.” She gave me the drink and went over to the settee and sat down.

“Do you usually have a bunch of thugs working you over when clients call?” I asked, sitting down in an armchair opposite her.

“Oh, that?” She shook her head. “Rube lost his temper. He isn’t usually as bad as that.”

“You mean you wouldn’t give him the handkerchief?”

She looked down at her sandals and then said: “I suppose you haven’t had time to see much of the town? It’s not very nice, of course, but there are parts that are better than others.”

“Never mind about the town,” I returned. “Tell me how you learned jiu-jitsu.”

“Let’s not talk about me,” she said quickly. “Tell me about yourself. Have you been a detective long?”

“I’d like to tell you the story of my life. It’s full of excitement, but right now I haven’t the time,” I said. “Maybe later we’ll get together and take our hair down. You can listen to me and I’ll listen to you. But you said you liked to keep pleasure apart from business, so that’s what we’ll do.”

She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

“Four girls have disappeared from this town. You and I’ve been hired to find them. So far everyone I’ve talked to doesn’t give a damn what’s happened to them. I’ve only been on the job for forty-eight hours, but that’s too long. All the time people are sorting out their differences these kids are either in danger or the trail’s getting cold. Wouldn’t it be an idea if we got together and pooled information?”

“It might be,” she said cautiously. “It depends whether you have any information to trade or whether you just want to find out what I know.”

“You’re set on breaking this case yourself, aren’t you?”

Her eyes darkened. “When my father died he left me the agency. It was all he had to leave me. He was proud of it and he’d done a good job with it considering he was sick and old. He expected me to carry on, and I’m going to carry on. No one’s taken me seriously yet in this town, but they will before I’m through. They’ve laughed at me and they think I’m crazy to try to make a success of it, but I’m going ahead and no one’s going to stop me.”

“In the meantime,” I said dryly, “four girls are missing and you haven’t found them. Don’t you think it’d be smart to throw in with me? Together we might get somewhere.”

Her mouth set in an obstinate line. “I wonder what makes you think you’re going to get somewhere?” she asked coldly.

“You pulled a fast one on me last night,” I reminded her. “With those three photographs and the handkerchief I would have had got the photographs. That’s what I mean by wasting time. We’re enough to nail Macey. You took the handkerchief and maybe you’re working against each other.”

“I didn’t get the photographs,” she said in a low voice. “Someone had beaten me to it.”

“See Dixon there?” I said casually.

She looked up sharply. “Dixon? What do you mean?”

“Dixon was in an armchair by the window. He was as dead as a pork chop. Didn’t you see him?”

She stared at me. “He wasn’t there — you’re fooling, aren’t you?” She could easily have missed him if she had used a flashlight and had gone straight to the drawer and then out again.

“I’m not fooling. Don’t you see you’re sticking your neck out If someone had grabbed you, Macey could have pinned the killing onto you.”

“But Dixon died of heart failure—”

“Okay, okay, let’s skip that,” I said, not wanting to go over it again. “Maybe he did die of heart failure, but it wasn’t a smart move on your part to break into his office.”

“You’ve got a nerve!” she said indignantly. “Why, you were doing the very same thing!”

I grinned at her. “Maybe I was,” I said. “But this isn’t a job for a girl to handle. This is a political set-up with a big rake-off hanging to it. Do you think anyone is going to let you gum up their racket?”

She sat forward. “And do you think they’d stop for you?”

“It’s my job and I get paid for it,” I explained patiently. “Besides, I’m a man.”

She leaned back and surveyed me with a half angry, half amused expression. “I’m not convinced,” she said. “You’ll have to work harder than this.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s take it another way. Do you think these girls have been kidnapped or do you think it’s murder?”

She blew smoke in a thin cloud above my head. “What do you think?”

“It points to kidnapping. If it was murder — what’s the motive and where are the bodies?”

She nodded agreement. “What is it and where are they?” She said, her eyes mocking me.

I began to get annoyed. “Maybe you don’t think it’s either kidnapping or murder?”

“What’s left?” she asked, looking aimlessly out of the window.

“Suppose Starkey paid them to duck out of sight? That would discredit your client and mine, wouldn’t it?”

“Did you think that up all by yourself?” she said with exaggerated astonishment.

“Now look, sister,” I said, “this kind of cross-talk is getting us nowhere. You can help me and I can help you. You’ve got the background of this town at your fingertips. I’ve got the experience. Are you going to play or aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry to have to disappoint you,” she said quietly, “but I’m handling the case myself.”

“Then you’re a bigger dope than I thought you were,” I said, annoyed by her obstinacy. “Esslinger’s only hiring you because he wants a stooge. He doesn’t care whether these girls are found or not. All he’s worrying about is the election. That’s why he’s picked you to work on the case. Cranville looks on you as the pattern-plated, courageous little dick who’s keeping her father’s name going. They laugh at you, but they like you. Esslinger’s trading on that. Can’t you get that into your thick skull?”

She stiffened, her eyes angry and hurt. “I’m still going ahead,” she said, rising to her feet. “And no one’s going to stop me. And the last person who can stop me is a self-opinionated flatfoot from New York!”

I stood up too. “Is that so?” I said angrily. “Let me tell you something. You’re a stubborn little fool and you want some sense spanked into you. I’ve a mind to do it myself.”

“You and who else?” she said scornfully.

“Just me,” I said grimly, picking up my hat. “I’ve tamed better girls than you in the time it takes to wind my watch.”

She jerked open the door. “Tell that fairy-tale to someone who’ll believe it— if you can find anyone that simple,” she said with fine scorn.

“I’m warning you,” I said, wagging my finger in her face. “This job is too tough for you. You’ll only get your pretty little neck broken. Keep out of it and take up knitting.. I’ll even buy you the wool.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed furiously. “I hate you! Don’t you ever dare come here again!”

I stepped up to her, pulled her to me and kissed her. We stood for a moment like that, my arm round her shoulders and my lips on hers. Then I stepped back and stared at her.

“Now why in hell did I do that?” I said blankly.

She put her hand to her lips and stared back at me. The anger had gone out of her eyes. “Perhaps you wanted to,” she said in a meek, low voice, and closed the door gently in my face.

As I entered the lobby of the Eastern Hotel I spotted Reg Phipps talking to the dark, sulky-looking receptionist.

She was holding a movie magazine on her lap and chewing gum, an indifferent expression on her face. Reg leaned on the desk and seemed to be putting his personality over on a’ short wave.

He looked over his shoulder as he heard me come in and his eyes brightened. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said to the girl. “Try not to pine for me.”

She gave him a scathing look and returned to her magazine.

“Hello,” I said to him, and reached for my key. “What’s cooking, beautiful?” I went on to the girl. “Still keeping in good shape, I see.”

She eyed my bruises. “I look after what I’ve got,” she said coldly. “You’re not all that good you can afford to wear your face out as fast as you seem to be doing.”

“I got this in a fight,” I said, tapping my bruise and wishing I hadn’t. “That’s the kind of guy I am. Any time you say so you can have my chest for a rug. I’m tough — full of fight, liquor and—”

“Hot air,” she cut in. “I know. Toughs are ten a dime in this town.”

I patted her shoulder, smiled at her and promised to send her a stuffed snake if I found one.

“If it’s got to be a snake, come yourself,” she said acidly, and picked up her magazine again.

Reg and I went upstairs together.

“Didn’t I say twelve?” I said, glancing at my wristwatch. It was a few minutes past ten-thirty.

“It wasn’t worth it to go back home,” he explained. “So I looked in to talk to Nora. I’ll go back if you ain’t ready.”

“That Nora?” I said. “The dark, sulky one with the built-up area?”

His leer was too youthful to be impressive. “That’s her,” he said. “Her father runs this hotel. I’ve been trying to make that dame for the last six years.” Seeing my startled glance, he added: “We were at school together.”

I unlocked my door and we went in. “You be careful,” I warned him. “Something tells me that baby’s dynamite.”

“She is,” he said gravely. “Why do you think I’m working on her?”

I waved him to a chair. “Sit down and stop boasting,” I said, giving him a cigarette. “Got your camera?”

“It’s in the car,” he said, eyeing me with suppressed excitement. “What’s cooking?”

“We’ve got a nice little job to do tonight,” I said, sitting on the bed. “Dixon’s at the city morgue. We’re going to get a picture of his body. Then we’ll come out slap across the Gazette with picture and story of Dixon’s murder, and how Macey tried to cover it up.”

Reg’s eyes popped. “For the love of Mike!” he said. “You don’t think we’ll get away with that, do you?”

“Why not?”

He sat back, gaping at me. “It’ll blow the lid right off this town—” he began.

“That’s what I want,” I broke in. “It’s the only way to get something done. Listen, Reg, I’ll never find these girls until people cooperate. They won’t cooperate so long as they’re thinking only of the election. I want you to write a story along these lines.” I told him about the Street-Camera angle, and what had been happening since last I saw him. “Now you know the facts. The way to put it over is to ask questions. Do the people of Cranville know all four missing girls were photographed by the Street-Camera and that Dixon had copies of the photographs? The photos were stolen and Dixon was murdered. Who stole them and killed Dixon? Who owns the Street-Camera? Why did Chief of Police Macey say Dixon died of heart failure? Look at the picture printed below. Does that look like heart failure? Do you get it? That’s the way to put it over. Let Cranville make up its own mind.”

“It’s terrific,” he said, driving a small fist into the palm of his hand. “But, brother, what a stink there’ll be! If this ain’t asking for Starkey to put a slug into us, I don’t know what is.”

I looked at him thoughtfully. “Plenty of time to back out, Reg,” I reminded him.

“Don’t be funny,” he returned, his eyes sparkling. “This is just my meat. Was Wolf on the level when he said I could stick?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “It means a hundred bucks a week for you, Reg, and that includes danger-money.”

“Aw, you’re kidding,” he said. “I’d do it for half of that.”

“It’s just enough,” I said, feeling my bruised head. “If I can get this story on the streets we’ll be getting somewhere.” I stubbed out my cigarette and lit another. “I’ve found a dame to replace the old girl. I think she’ll be useful all right.”

Reg’s face fell. “Gee!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping I’d be able to pick my own secretary. What’s she like?”

“All right,” I said, “as long as you aren’t too fussy. Maybe she has bow legs and flat feet, but if she keeps them under a desk, why should you worry?”

He looked pretty miserable. “Well, I guess I’ll have to take it,” he said gloomily. “A hundred bucks a week ain’t to be sniffed at.”

“What do you know about Audrey Sheridan’?” I asked.

“More than most.” He brightened up. “What a pip of a dame! Seen her?”

I nodded. “Is it right the agency’s a flop?”

“That’s not her fault,” he said. “It’s just Cranville didn’t have any crime around until this business blew up. I don’t know how the old man kept things going.”

“Where does she get her money? She looks a million dollars to me and her joint’s better than a lobby in the Ritz-Plaza.”

“Her uncle out West passed in his pail and left her a slice of jack,” Reg explained. “She furnished the place and bought herself some clothes, hoping it’d be good for business. But business just isn’t here.”

I grunted. “She must be crazy,” I said. “It’s throwing money away. But she’s a nice looker, isn’t she?”

He eyed me kind of old-fashioned: “You’re a fast worker, ain’t you?” he said. “I’d take that lipstick off your mouth if I were you.”

I did so with a quick embarrassed wipe with my handkerchief. “I’m getting careless,” I muttered, not looking at him.

“I wouldn’t mind a taste of that,” he said, winking at me. “Yum-yum. Was it any good?”

A tap on the door interrupted an awkward moment.

Marian French put her head round the door. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

Reg Phipps stared at her with popping eyes. He sucked in his breath and gave a low whistle.

“Hello, Marian,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. There were things I had to do. Did you have a good time?”

She came further into the room. “You must be crazy to go around with a head like that,” she scolded.

“I’d be still more crazy to go around without it,” I returned with a grin. “I want you to meet Reg Phipps, editor of the Granville Gazette. Reg, this is Marian French, your new secretary.”

Reg got to his feet and turned as red as a beet. “You wouldn’t be kidding?” he said pleadingly.

I winked at Marian. “I told you he’d be all over you,” I said.

“Gee, Miss French,” Reg said, ignoring me. “This is terrific! This is the biggest moment in my life! We’ll get along fine.”

Marian said she hoped they would and looked a little embarrassed. “Don’t confuse the girl,” I said. “You don’t need to look as if you want to eat her.”

Reg scowled at me. “Lay off, can’t you?” he said. “Stop ribbing me.” He turned back to Marian. “You’ll be along tomorrow?”

She nodded. “I’m not so good at typing,” she confessed, “but I’ll get used to it if you’ll have patience.”

He drew in a deep breath. “You take your time,” he assured her. “I’m in no hurry. Anything you want to know, just ask me.”

“And be careful what you ask him,” I said. “Where’s Esslinger?”

“He dropped me and went on home,” she returned, moving to the door. “I won’t interrupt you now, but don’t you think you ought to be in bed?”

“I’m going,” I lied. “Glad you had a good time. See you tomorrow.”

Reg opened the door for her. “Good night, Miss French,” he said, making eyes at her. “You don’t know how I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

Marian threw an amused glance at me, thanked Reg and left us.

“Like her?” I asked casually.

Reg closed his eyes. “That’s the dame who haunts my dreams,” he said. “Where did you find her?”

I told him.

He suddenly looked suspicious. “What’s this stuff about Esslinger? Was she out with him?”

“She was.”

“Gee! It gives me a pain the way Esslinger finds ’em,” he growled. “That guy has every dame in Cranville running around with him.”

“Well, what of it?” I asked, smiling at his annoyance. “Esslinger’s a good-looking kid, bright, and he’s a free spender... why shouldn’t they run around with him?”

“I don’t like the guy,” Reg said. “He’s pinched too many dames from me. He’s only got to look at a dame and she flops for him.”

“I used to be like that when I was his age,” I grinned, going over to the bureau for the Scotch bottle. “All the other kids hated my guts too, but that didn’t bring me out in a rash.”

Reg sniffed and looked sour. “It doesn’t bring him out in a rash either,” he said.

I poured two fingers of Scotch into a glass. “You’re too young to drink, aren’t you?”

“Not when it’s free,” Reg returned with unnecessary eagerness.

“Maybe you’d better watch me,” I said, sitting down again and swirling the amber coloured liquor round in the bottom of the glass. “You want a steady hand tonight. A lot depends on this picture.” I took a long drink, sighed and closed my eyes.

Reg got to his feet with a snort of disgust. “When do we go?” he demanded.

I squinted at him. “Maybe we’d better slide off now. We’ll have to be careful Marian doesn’t spot us. Looks like she wants to keep me in cotton wool.” I finished the drink, lit another cigarette and stood up. “Okay?”

“Sure.” Reg opened the door and looked into the passage. “No one around,” he said, and together we went down the passage into the lobby.

Nora looked up from her magazine. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she said to me as I went past.

“I have my moments,” I said, waving to her. “Didn’t I tell you I’m tough?”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” she said, with a sneer. “I know plenty guys who’re tough, but where did it get them?”

“You tell me about it some other time,” I said, not stopping. I followed Reg out into the dark, sweltering night.

We got into a battered Ford coupe and Reg drove away from the hotel. “Put that dame alongside Marian French,” he said, “and what have you?”

“Get your mind off women for a moment,” I urged. “We’ve got a job to do. How far is the morgue?”

“Four blocks and first on the right,” he said, shouting to get above the roar of the car engine.

I looked at my watch in the light of a street lamp as we passed. It was eleven-thirty.

“Who’s in charge?”

“Johnson does the night shift. No one else’s likely to be there. Maybe we could bust in the back way unless you want to tell Johnson what you’re going to do. But photographing corpses ain’t permitted, so maybe we’d better go in the back way.”

“What sort of a guy is Johnson?”

“Little geezer. We could take him without getting in a lather,” Reg said, slowing down as the traffic light changed to red. He stopped the car and we both lit cigarettes. “Breaking into a morgue isn’t my idea of fun,” he went on as he flipped the match out of the window.

I wasn’t looking forward to the job either, but I didn’t say so. My shirt clung to my back and chest and my head throbbed.

As the light changed Reg started the car rolling again. “Anyway,” he said, “it’ll be cold in the morgue. We might even freeze to death.”

“I hope to God we can get in without making a noise,” I said. “I don’t want any trouble with this Johnson guy. Even if he is a little guy it’s too, hot for fighting.”

“He won’t fight,” Reg said with a laugh. “He’d fall over if you spit in his eye.”

We turned right at the next corner and Reg parked the car under a street lamp.

“It’s only a hundred yards or so down the street,” he said, taking out his camera outfit and tucking it under his arm. “Better walk, huh?”

I stood on the sidewalk, feeling the heat of the brick pavement through my shoes. “Jeese!” I said. “It’s hot!”

We went down the street together, not saying anything and not hurrying. Reg paused after we had walked a while and nodded to a narrow alley, wide enough to take a car. “This is it,” he said, lowering his voice.

I glanced up and down the deserted street and then together we ducked down the alley. It was dark. There was a curious smell about the air: sweet, musty, sickish; a smell of slow decay.

“You could use this air as a bed,” I whispered to Reg. “I’ll come here for my next vacation.”

He giggled a little hysterically. “If you mean your last vacation,” he said, “you’ll come here whether you like it or not.”

We walked softly, keeping to the middle of the alley. The blackness around us was like an enveloping blanket and we couldn’t see anything, not even the sky.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” I said, feeling spooked. “It only wants someone to spring out on me and I’ll cry like a child.”

“Yeah? I’ll run,” Reg said with conviction. “Can’t you stop talking? You’re giving me the heebies.”

Then without warning a sudden high-pitched scream came to us out of the darkness. It swelled, cut through the thick stifling air like the sweep of a sickle, and died away in a horrible, slobbering gurgle.

We stood still and clutched each other.

“What in hell’s that?” I said, feeling the hair stiffen on the nape of my neck.

I heard Reg breathing like a badly winded horse. My own heart was going thump, thump, thump.

“There’s a psychopathic hospital over that way,” he said in a breathless, uneven voice. “Maybe it’s one of the nuts letting off a little steam.”

I took off my hat and wiped my face and the back of my neck with a damp handkerchief. “I hope to God she doesn’t let off another like that,” I said fervently. “That nearly ruined me.”

We stood listening and then, hearing nothing except the faint roar of distant traffic, we walked on. The alley curved to our right and turning the bend we saw ahead a red light burning faintly over a double door.

“That’s where we go in,” Reg whispered, pointing. “Inside is the receiving room.”

“Maybe I’d better go first and take a look around,” I said. “Then I’ll come back for you.”

“Leave me alone?” Reg said. “Not damn likely! My legs wouldn’t let me stay here a second after you’ve gone.”

I considered this. “Okay,” I said, understanding how he was feeling, “but for the love of Mike don’t make a noise.”

We went forward together until we reached the double door. There was a cement runway, instead of step, leading up to the door for the wheeled hospital tables to run up.

“Take it easy,” I said, and turned the doorknob. The door was locked.

I took out my flashlight and examined the lock. “It’s easy,” I said. “Hold the light while I fix it.”

I took out my penknife, inserted one of the hickies and levered. The lock snicked back and I pushed the door open.

“I’ll get you to open my kid sister’s money-box,” Reg said. “You’re good.”

I waved him to silence and stood in the half-open doorway, listening. There was no sound of activity, so I put on the flashlight and let the beam run around. The room was chill and very clean. Hospital tables stood in a line against the wall and two white cupboards completed the furnishing.

We entered the room, closed the double door softly and went on to another door opposite us. Again we listened and heard nothing. The silence was oppressive, but the room was refreshingly cool after the stifling alley.

I opened the door and again looked into a darkened room, which smelt strongly of antiseptics. I put on my flashlight.

Reg said, “This is the post-mortem room,” and peered curiously over my shoulder.

The room was bare. An operating table under a battery of lights stood in the centre of the room and two cases filled with stainless steel instruments were near the table.

“Where do we go now?” I asked, switching on the lights.

Reg blinked around. “There’s a passage somewhere that leads to the morgue,” he said. “It’s some time since I’ve been here.” He crossed the room to another door and peeped round it. Then he jerked his head. “Here we are,” he said.

I followed him into a passage lit by dim blue lights. It was much colder in the passage and my teeth began to chatter with nerves.

At the end of the passage was a flight of stairs leading down to the basement and leading up to the next floor.

Keeping his voice to a murmur, Reg said, “Johnson’s got an office up there,” and jerked his thumb to the stairs.

“We go down?”

He nodded. “Spooky, ain’t it?”

We descended the stairs. The air became moist as we neared the bottom and there was a musty smell of decomposition.

“Like the breath of a crocodile,” Reg whispered.

I pressed against a heavy steel door which swung open. A sharp, sweet antiseptic smell of formaldehyde stung the back of my throat and icy air turned my shirt into a clammy cold plaster. I pushed a row of electric-light buttons on the cement wall and the steel door shut with a muffled thud.

“We’re in,” I said, staring round at the two long rows of black metal cabinets where the bodies were stored.

Reg stood looking around too. His face was the colour of a fish’s underbelly and his knees were visibly trembling.

“The sooner we get out of this, the better I’ll like it,” he said, setting his camera down on a nearby bench. “Suppose you dig around for Stonewall Dixon?”

I looked at the row of cabinets. “I can’t think of anything nicer than wading through a pile of stiffs on a night like this,” I said, with a grimace.

“Call him,” Reg said sarcastically, sitting on the bench and pressing his trembling knees together. “Maybe he’ll push open his box and wave to you.”

“You’re getting hysterical,” I said, feeling in my hip pocket for my flask.

His eyes brightened. “I am hysterical,” he said, reaching out an eager hand as I took out a half-pint flask of whisky.

“You wait a second,” I said, unscrewing the cap. I was surprised to see that my own hand was unsteady. “Maybe I need this more than you.” As I put the flask to my lips the gurgling scream came again. It sounded even more spooky in this room than it did in the alley. I spluttered, losing some of the whisky.

“Don’t give it all to your shirt,” Reg said, his face now blue-white and his eyes popping.

I steadied myself, belted the whisky again and then gave it to him. The way he anchored his mouth to the flask was something to see.

While he was working on the whisky I examined the cabinets. Each had a small label attached to it bearing a name. After a while I located Dixon’s cabinet.

“Here he is,” I said, turning back to Reg.

“Well, well,” he said, waving the now empty flask. “How is the old stiff? Let’s give him a drink.”

I snatched the flask from him. “If I could get tight as fast as you I’d save myself some money.”

Reg rose unsteadily to his feet. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said with a giggle.

I pulled open the cabinet and looked down at Dixon. He still looked pretty horrible. “Take a look at him,” I said. “He’ll sober you up.”

Reg looked and it did. “The poor old geezer,” he said, closing his eyes. “The poor, lonely old geezer.”

“Never mind the obituary notice. Get started.”

Reg reached for his camera, pulled it from its case and screwed in a flash bulb. Then he suddenly caught his breath and his eyes popped. He was looking at something behind me and I turned, my flesh creeping.

The steel door was slowly opening.

We both jumped different ways. Reg towards Dixon and I towards the door.

I had started a shade too late. Jeff Gordan snaked into the room, a gun in his hand and a frightened, vicious look on his face. My jump was still taking me towards him and I couldn’t stop myself, so I kicked out blindly. It was a lucky kick. It caught his right wrist and the gun fell from his hand. I cannoned into him and we sprawled on ground.

“Get that picture!” I yelled to Reg. “I’ll hold this swine.”

In actual fact, Jeff was holding me. His great arms encircled my ribs and he was putting on a hell of a squeeze.

“Get onto him!” Reg shouted excitedly. “Beat his brains out!”

I was hanging on all right, but it wasn’t doing me any good. I had only one free arm. My right was pinned to my side by Jeff’s bear-like hug. I slammed at his apish face with my left and then he rolled on top of me, nearly crushing me flat. I grabbed hold of his ear and began screwing it round while he tried to butt my chin with the top of his head.

I knew from a sudden blinding flash that Reg had taken the picture. A moment later he came rushing across to where we were wrestling and jammed the camera-case over Jeff’s head.

As Jeff was roaring and striking blindly at me I managed to wriggle clear. But he caught my leg and pinned me as I was getting to my feet. I went over and landed near the gun.

“Get the hell outa here,” I panted to Reg. “I can fix him, but get that camera away.”

Reg bolted out of the door. He knew how important that picture was and he was smart enough not to worry about me.

I belted Jeff over the head with the gun. I remembered how he had handled Audrey Sheridan and how he had roughed me around, so I put a lot of steam into the wallop. He went limp.

I dragged the camera-case off his head, rolled him on his back and made sure that he was out, then I legged it down the passage. There was no sign of anyone and no sound of activity. It looked like Starkey had considered Jeff big enough to handle the morgue on his own.

I shot through the post-mortem room and the receiving-room and stumbled out into the dark alley. The hot air and the musty smell hit me like a slap in the face after the cold of the morgue. There was another smell that hadn’t been there before. The faint smell of lilac.

I stopped short and sniffed again. It was lilac all right. I called to Reg.

He made an odd growling noise that came from almost at my feet and I turned on my flashlight. He was sitting against the wall, a dazed, blank look on his face.

“She’s got the camera,” he said, struggling to sit up.

Then I did get mad. “What do you mean?” I snarled at him. “Who got what?”

“Some dame... as I came out, she grabbed me—”

“You let some dame take that camera?” I said, hardly believing my ears.

“She stuck her hip into me and I hit the wall—” he began, but that was enough for me.

“The little smarty!” I said violently. “That’s the redhead... Audrey Sheridan, Cranville’s pet dick! She’s pinched every damn clue I’ve found up to now and I’ve had enough of it. Come on, don’t sit there like a stuffed duck, let’s go.”

He crawled to his feet. “It could be her,” he said miserably, as he tagged along behind me. “That jiu-jitsu stuff got me on the wrong foot.”

“It got me on the wrong foot too,” I said grimly, “but this is the last time she pulls a fast one on me. After I’m through with her she’ll be taking her meals off the mantelpiece.”

We reached the Ford coupe and bundled in.

“Where now?” Reg asked, starting the engine.

“Where do you think? We’re going to call on Miss Strangler Lewis and I’m getting that camera back!”

As he pulled away from the kerb the crazy woman let off another gurgling scream.

“If you think that’s anything like a noise, you wait until I’ve got my mitts on that little smarty-pants,” I said savagely. “Get moving, can’t you.”

“I think I’m going to enjoy this,” Reg said, and shoved his foot on the accelerator.