Blondes' Requiem

V

I wasted two valuable days hunting Audrey Sheridan, but I didn’t find her. When I broke into her apartment I discovered her toilet things, some clothes and a fair-sized bag I’d noticed previously had disappeared. It looked as she had decided to duck out of sight.

While I was searching around for her, Wolf had taken over the Granville Gazette. I had to leave him to it, and Reg reported that he was reorganizing the place in a big way. There was nothing I could do with the Gazette until I had found the picture of Dixon’s body. And it didn’t look like I was going to find it.

I was sore as hell about the whole thing. The worst of it was Starkey thought I had the photograph. I knew he would go all out to stop me using it and I was walking around town like a trapeze artist using frayed ropes. Any minute I expected someone to shoot me.

Most of my time was spent either watching Audrey’s apartment or her office.

At the end of the second day I had come to the conclusion that she had either left town or else had hidden herself away in some foxhole only she knew about. For the past forty-eight hours I had kept in touch with Ted Esslinger, but he had no idea where she was or where she was likely to be hiding.

It did cross my mind that she might have been kidnapped, but the fact that she had packed a bag and also had the photograph, which in itself was dynamite, seemed to me to be sufficient reason for her to duck out of sight. She would know that I’d do everything to get the picture back and she wasn’t likely to take any chance of running into me.

Starkey showed his hand on the night of the second day after Reg and I had visited the morgue.

I had spent the previous night watching Audrey’s apartment and I was feeling pretty low. I returned to the Eastern Hotel, went immediately to my bedroom and flopped into a bath.

One of Starkey’s thugs tossed four inches of lead piping filled with T.N.T. through my bedroom window and wrecked the room. If I hadn’t been in the bath I would have been by now a nasty stain on the wall. As it was, I had half the bathroom ceiling on my head.

I staggered out of the bath, grabbed a towel that was half buried under plaster and went into my bedroom.

A large hole was blown in the outside wall, the ceiling was down and the door was hanging drunkenly on one hinge. The furnishing of the room was wrecked.

That was enough for me. As soon as I got rid of the police, and they in turn had got rid of the rubbernecks, I packed what was left of my clothes and demanded my hotel check.

While the night clerk was making it out, Nora came down the stairs. She looked at me with a cynical, amused look in her eyes.

“Hello, tough guy,” she said, draping herself over the banisters. “Pulling out?”

“You bet,” I said, acting like I was scared. “I’ve had all I can take from this burg.”

She sneered in an amused kind of way. “Don’t go far,” she said. “We haven’t yet got around to spending that dough of yours.”

“When guys start throwing pineapples at me,” I told her, “I know it’s time to quit. I’m going back to New York. I’m all for the quiet peaceful life in the backwaters of Broadway.”

She shook her head. “You don’t kid me,” she said. “You ain’t leaving town — not a big, tough guy like you.”

“I am,” I insisted. “You want to see what that bomb did to my room.”

She and the night clerk exchanged glances.

“When you’re this way again, look in,” she said. “Maybe they’ll aim better next time.”

“Yeah, that’s what scares me,” I said, paying my check. “So long, babe. Mind no one trips over your chest,” and I went cautiously across the lobby to the verandah.

There were two cops standing outside the hotel and a bunch of people across the way gaped at the hole in my bedroom wall. I gave one of the cops a buck to get me a taxi. I wasn’t showing myself on the street longer than necessary.

“Where to, boss?” the driver asked as he pulled in to the kerb.

“The station,” I said for the benefit of the cops and anyone else who might be interested, and I climbed into the cab.

The two cops were grinning broadly. The one I’d given the buck to stuck his head through the cab window. “Don’t you like this town no more?” he asked, showing his yellow teeth.

I said I didn’t and called to the driver to get going.

Halfway down Main Street I told him I’d changed my mind. “Make it the Granville Gazette,” I said.

A few minutes’ fast driving convinced me that he wasn’t taking me there. We were going away from the business centre of the town.

“What the hell are you playing at?” I yelled to him. “I said the Granville Gazette.”

“I heard you the first time, bud,” he returned soothingly. “They moved into new offices this morning.”

I grunted and sat back. As I hadn’t seen Reg since yesterday morning I didn’t know what Wolf had been doing. I thought it was a good idea to move the Gazette from its present down-at-the-heel district. If Wolf was going to make anything of the rag, smarter offices were essential.

The offices were smart all right. I found the Gazette on the eighth floor of a large modern block on the far side of Cranville, away from the smelting works and the dirt and smoke.

I pushed open the pebbled glass door on which was traced in chalk the name of the paper. I thought absently that by the time the gilt letters were put on it would look all right.

They were all there: Wolf, Marian and Reg. There was also a lean bird with a thin hatchet face and an eyebrow moustache who was sitting on the corner of one of the desks. I hadn’t seen him before.

“Where the hell have you been?” Wolf growled at me as soon as I walked in.

I put my bag down. “On the job,” I said, flopping into a chair and smiling at Marian. “Anyone got any liquor?”

They all ignored this.

“Did you find her?” Reg asked anxiously.

“Did I hell!” I said, setting fire to a cigarette. “She’s skipped or is hiding out somewhere. What a hell of a place this is! I seem to spend all my time hunting for missing dames.”

Wolf glared at me. “And you haven’t turned one up yet,” he said. “Now look here, young man—”

“Skip it,” I said, matching his glare. “I’m not in the mood to take anything from you nor anyone else tonight. I want some sleep. Ten minutes ago someone threw a bomb at me and I’m a little jittery.”

They all reacted to that.

Marian said anxiously: “A bomb? You’re not hurt?”

The lean bird on the desk suddenly woke out of his trance. “What do you mean — a bomb?” he demanded. “Where?”

I gave them the story.

Reg was on his feet before I had finished. He grabbed his camera. “Come on,” he said to the lean bird. “This is news.”

They nearly fell over each other getting out of the room.

I stared after them blankly and then turned to Marian. “Who’s the guy with the hard eye?”

“Ned Latimer,” she said, looking at me anxiously. “He’s working for the Gazette. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m all right,” I said, relaxing once more in the armchair. “But how long I’m remaining that way certainly worries me.”

Wolf was lighting a cigar. He still glared at me. “What I want to know—” he began, but again I cut in on him.

“It’s time you and I had a little talk,” I said. “Stick around for a minute.” I turned to Marian. “Look, sweetheart,” I said, “it’s getting late, hadn’t you better go home?”

“I’m going now,” she said. “But what are you doing? I mean where will you sleep?”

“This chair suits me,” I returned without enthusiasm. “I’ll find some place tomorrow.”

“There’s a bed in one of the other offices,” she said, getting up. “I’ll fix it for you.”

I said that would be swell, and picking up my bag I followed her out of the main office into a short passage which led to three other rooms.

“Setting up in style,” I said as she opened a door and turned on the light.

While we were fixing the cupboard bed I asked her how she liked her new job. “Wolf doesn’t worry you, does he?”

She said they were all sweet to her and she liked it very much. “I moved out of the Eastern Hotel this morning,” she told me. “I’ve got a room in an apartment house just across the way. It’s cheaper and more convenient and away from the smell of smoke.”

I said I betted Reg was tickled pink to have her work with him and she said he was.

“He’s only a kid,” she said, putting the finishing touches to the bed, “but he’s cute. There, you’ll sleep all right now. Perhaps I could get you fixed up at my apartment house. Would you like that?”

“Leave it for tonight,” I said. “It depends how badly Starkey wants to make trouble. It might be an idea for me to duck out of sight as Audrey’s done. I don’t want any more bombs thrown at me.”

We went back to the main office. Wolf still sat smoking his cigar and brooding. He said: “Don’t keep me here all night. I’ve got other things to do than waste my time hanging around for you.”

Marian put on her hat and picked up her handbag. “Good night,” she said to me, and, smiling at Wolf, she left the office.

Wolf rolled his cigar wetly between his lips and stared after her. “Nice girl,” he grunted. “Efficient too.”

I sat down and lit a cigarette. “You stick to Miss Wilson,” I returned coldly. “She’s more in your line.”

He eyed me balefully. “What do you want to talk about?” he said. “I’ve never met such a fellow for talking. Why the hell don’t you do something?”

“Maybe you don’t know what I have done,” I said, stretching out my legs and yawning. “Let me run over it with you.”

I gave him the whole works. It didn’t sound half as bad as it really was.

“Now you see what I’m up against,” I concluded. “Everyone’s working against each other and consequently we’re getting nowhere. Even if I did get the picture of Dixon’s body, I doubt if I could pin the killing on Starkey. All I could do would be to make trouble for Macey — not that that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Wolf tugged at his underlip. “So Starkey is at the bottom of it,” he said. “Pin Dixon’s killing on him and he would be out of the running. Yeah, that’s what you have to do. Never mind about these missing girls. Go after Starkey. Get the picture and dig up some evidence that’ll fix him. Esslinger and I can fight the election by ourselves. I’m not scared of Esslinger.”

“How about the girls?” I asked, watching him thoughtfully.

“When Starkey’s in jail,” Wolf snapped, “they’ll come out of hiding. It sticks out a mile that they’re working with him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He or someone else has either kidnapped them or killed them.”

“To hell with them, anyway!” Wolf said. “You go after Starkey. The best thing to hit him with is Dixon’s killing.”

“Maybe it is,” I returned, “but I wasn’t hired to start trouble for Starkey. I was hired to find the girls.”

His eyes snapped angrily. “You were hired to work for me!” he said. “And so long as I pay you, you’ll do what I tell you.”

I shook my head. “You’re on the wrong foot,” I told him. “If you want me to go after Starkey, you’ll have to hire me all over again.”

He sank deeper into his chair and his eyes narrowed. “So that’s it?” he said, his voice cold with rage. “You’re trying to hold me up?”

“Call it what you like,” I returned indifferently, “but I’m not taking on anything as tough as this unless you make it worth my while. I can go back to New York, work on a new case and know, when I get up in the morning, I won’t have a pair of wings to take to the shower with me. This job’s different. Any moment I may start playing a harp. And if I do go after Starkey it’s going to be just too bad if I slip up. Macey won’t do anything, you won’t do anything, and Esslinger will be only too pleased to sell me a shroud.”

He chewed on his cigar while he turned this over in his mind. “You can go to hell,” he said at last. “I’ll get Colonel Forsberg to send me someone else.”

I grinned at him. “Be your age,” I said. “Colonel Forsberg runs a detective agency. He doesn’t touch this kind of racket. If he knew what was going on he’d shoot your money back and call me off. If you don’t believe me, ask him and see.” I stubbed out my cigarette and pointed a finger at him. “If you want Starkey, you can have him but you’ll have to pay and you’ll have to give me a free hand. Do that and I’ll get him.”

“How?” Wolf asked, his eyes brooding.

“Never mind how,” I returned. “I can get him all right. If you want Starkey fixed, say so and I’ll do it.”

“There’s something about you I don’t like,” Wolf growled. “You’re too smooth, too much of a talker. What are you playing at?”

I grinned at him. “Maybe I do talk too much, but I don’t give much away.”

He tapped ash into a brass bowl on the desk. “What’ll it cost?”

“Five grand will take care of it,” I said. “For that amount of dough I’ll give you Starkey in a week.”

He shook his round, close-cropped head. “Too much,” he said. “Half would be too much.”

“Depends how you look at it,” I pointed out. “That’s the value I put on my life. If Starkey beats me to it I want something to decorate my will with.”

“Two thousand dollars and a free hand,” he offered, “and that’s final.”

I saw it was. “Okay,” I said. “You’re getting a bargain, but I was always a sucker for starting trouble. Give me a cheque and I’ll start tomorrow.”

“When you’ve fixed Starkey,” Wolf said curtly.

I shook ray head. “No, money now or I’ll throw my hand in. You can’t have it both ways.”

He eyed me and decided it would be a waste of time to argue. He took out his chequebook, slashed across it with fat ugly handwriting and tossed the slip of paper across the desk.

I picked it up, glanced at it and put it carefully in my pocket. “You said a free hand,” I reminded him.

“What of it?”

“That means you keep away from the Gazette,” I told him. “There’s only one way to drag Starkey off his saddle, and you can’t afford to be mixed up in it.”

He drummed on the desk. “What are you up to?” he asked, suspicion and doubt in his eyes.

“The less you know about this the better,” I said. “I want you to keep away from here. If at the end of seven days Starkey is still out of jail, then you’ll get your money back. That’s all you’ve got to worry about. Fixing Starkey’s my business, but I’ll need the Gazette to do it, and unless you want someone to throw a bomb at you you’d better keep clear of it.”

He got to his-feet. “Seven days,” he said. “If you haven’t done something in seven days, you’ll get the hell out of here and you’ll give me back my money. Understand?”

“Sure,” I said, yawning. “Now maybe you’ll let me go to bed.” He gave me a long thoughtful stare and went out, closing the door behind him.

At ten o’clock the next morning I was seated behind an impressive-looking desk in the office that Wolf had reserved for himself.

Marian, Reg and Latimer were with me. Marian sat on a chair by my desk. Reg sat near her and Latimer propped himself up against the wall by the window.

“I don’t know how you guys feel about this,” I said, pushing back my chair so I could rest my feet on the desk, “but I’ve got a free hand for seven days and in that time I’m going to bust this case or know the reason why. Maybe you don’t want to be mixed up in it. All you’ll get out of it is a front-row seat and a scoop that ought to put the Gazette in the gravy for the rest of its days. It may be tough going. It probably will be tough going, but you’ll be doing something that’ll benefit the town. It depends how you feel about it.”

They looked at me expectantly. “What have we got to do?” Reg asked. “You can count me in so long as I know what’s wanted.”

“We’ve got to pry the lid off this town,” I said. “We can do it easily enough, but that’s only the beginning of it. We have to find Audrey Sheridan and get that photograph off her. With that we’ll try to pin Dixon’s murder on Starkey’s mob. By that time things ought to start popping, and it’s when things are popping I hope we’ll turn up these missing girls.

“I’m keeping out of sight for a day or so, but there are things you can do if you want to. For instance, I want to know if Dixon’s body has been removed from the morgue and whether it’s been taken to. Esslinger’s. Then I want to know what the police are doing about Mary Drake.” I looked across at Latimer. “You could do that. See Macey and interview him. Let him think you’re on his side, but get anything useful out of him.” I turned to Marian. “See Ted Esslinger. He ought to know if Audrey’s been in touch with his father. After all, she can’t ignore her client forever. I want to find her badly. I want a line on Edna Wilson. There’s something phoney about her.” I paused to light a cigarette. “And I want to know where Jeff Gordan was on the night Dixon was killed.”

Reg said: “Okay, we’ll handle it.” He looked at Latimer, who nodded.

“How about the Gazette?” I asked. “Can you fit all this in and run the Gazette at the same time?”

“The bulk of the copy is syndicated features and news,” Rex explained. “The stuff goes straight to the printing shop and the news editor handles it on the spot. We just cover the local news from here. We can do that all right.”

“Off you go then,” I said. “Marian covers Esslinger and Edna Wilson. Reg checks on Dixon’s funeral and Audrey. You,” to Latimer, “see Macey. Dig into it. I want action now and I’m going to get it. We’ll meet here at seven o’clock and see what you’ve got.”

They said they would do that.

“If anything breaks, get me on the telephone. I’ll be here all day. If any of you see Audrey, hang on to her and as soon as you’ve run her to ground give me a call. I want that dame more than anybody.”

When they had gone I wrote another report to Colonel Forsberg. Every operative who worked for the Colonel had to turn in a daily report. The idea was sound, as it showed the operative what progress he was making and also it helped to clear up points he might have otherwise overlooked.

After I had read the report through, one particular thing struck me — the Street-Camera angle was a phoney.

I lit a cigarette and brooded about it. The more I brooded the more phoney it became. I had no idea how Starkey was selecting the girl to be kidnapped — always assuming that he was responsible for the kidnapping. If he was responsible, then in theory the idea of getting one of his gang to take the girl’s photograph and give her an address to collect it and then kidnap her when she arrived was a good one. But good only in theory. The girl might not bother to collect the photograph. That was one obvious point. If she did and she was kidnapped, how did they get her away from the building? Why was the picture of Mary Drake exhibited in the window on the day she was kidnapped? Something was wrong with this theory, but I couldn’t get at it.

I finally gave up in disgust and spent the rest of the morning lying on my bed, dozing and thinking. It was no use showing myself on the streets, I argued. If Macey and Starkey thought I had left town I might be able to spring a surprise on them. What kind of surprise it would be I had no idea, but it seemed to me as I dozed off that any kind of surprise was something.

I woke to find Reg bending dyer me, a look of irritation on his worldly-wise young face.

I blinked, yawned and sat up. “Don’t think I was asleep,” I said, swinging my legs off the bed and running my fingers through my hair. “That’s just the way I think. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you’ve been away.”

“I bet you have,” he said sarcastically. “And I’ve been tramping my feet down to my knees.”

I looked at my watch. It was just after three o’clock. “Hell!” I said, startled. “I didn’t know it was as late as this. I haven’t had any lunch.”

“Never mind about your lunch,” Reg returned. “I’ve got news.”

“Sit down and tell me,” I said, picking up the telephone. I called a drugstore across the street.

“Audrey Sheridan’s in town,” he said. “I’ve just seen her.”

“What are you doing here then?” I said, looking at him sharply. “Why didn’t you tail her?” Before he could reply the drugstore came on the line and I ordered sandwiches and a half pint of bourbon. “Go on,” I said, as I hung up.

“I didn’t have a chance,” he returned in disgust. “She was in a taxi. It was moving fast and she looked out of the window as it passed me. By the time I’d found a cab she was out of sight. I cruised around looking for her, but it was hopeless. She was going too fast.”

I lit a cigarette and went over to the desk. “Well, I guess it’s something to know she’s still around. If Starkey knows she has the photograph, her life won’t be worth a dime.”

“That goes for you too,” Reg said, sitting down in an armchair and resting his feet on the bed.

“Yeah, only my life’s worth a lot more than a dime to me,” I reminded him.

“What else did you find out? How about Dixon?”

“Can’t you guess?” Reg said. “The old story. Esslinger sent a hearse for it, the hearse caught fire and all that’s left of Dixon is a handful of ashes and a few charred bones. I’d have been in sooner only I had to go over to the printing shop and get the news on the front page. No one knows how the fire started. The hearse suddenly went up like a furnace. The driver was lucky enough to get out with a whole skin.”

I grunted. “Clever,” I said. “Yeah, that was smart. It makes the picture all the more important to me as well as Starkey. Once the picture’s destroyed it lets Starkey out.”

“We ain’t sure Starkey did kill Dixon, are we?” Reg asked.

“Near enough,” I returned. “Either he or Jeff must have killed him. There’s something I can’t figure out about the Street-Camera Studio. It might be someone was trying to frame the kidnappings on to Starkey. Dixon had those photographs, don’t forget. Suppose he was putting a squeeze on Starkey?”

Reg looked puzzled. “What sort of squeeze?”

“I don’t know. If I knew that I’d be getting somewhere. But suppose Dixon was blackmailing Starkey about the photographs, wouldn’t that be motive enough for Starkey or one of his mob to kill him?”

“Yeah, I suppose it would,” Reg said doubtfully. “I don’t think you’re on it yet. Maybe you’re nearly there, but I don’t think it’s right.”

“I know,” I said, scratching my head, “but I’ll get around to it. Suppose you go over to Esslinger’s and see if you can pick up Marian? Tell her you’ve seen Audrey. She might run into her.”

Reg said he’d do that and took himself off.

A few minutes later a boy came with the sandwiches and the bourbon and I settled down to eat.

Except for a few telephone calls from people I didn’t know the rest of the afternoon passed peacefully enough. I smoked, finished the bourbon and generally idled the time away. I had no idea what I was going to do when it got dark, but I knew I would have to do something. It depended on what the others brought in.

Just before seven o’clock Reg and Latimer arrived. I was sitting at the desk as they came into the office.

“Gee!” Reg said. “I thought I’d find you still asleep.”

“That’s only because I’m setting a good example,” I said, waving them to chairs. “Where’s Marian?”

“She’ll be along,” Latimer said, swinging his legs over the arm of the chair and lighting a cigarette. “Nice dame that. I could go for her in a big way if she thought along the same lines as I do.”

Reg scowled at him. “Lay off, you lug,” he said fiercely. “She’s my secretary, and I don’t stand for bums horning in.”

“Skip it, you two,” I said. “Let’s hear what Latimer’s got to report.”

He shook his head. “Not much. I saw Macey. He fed me the same old bull. The police expect to turn up the missing girls any minute now. I could tell by the way he said it he was lying. He now admits that there is a kidnapper at work and says that Wolf’s at the bottom of it trying to stir up trouble for his department.”

“He didn’t?”

Latimer nodded. “Yeah, but he thought I was his pal, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it.”

“Tomorrow we’ll spread that right across the front page. ‘Police Chief Says Industrial Magnate Faked Kidnapping’. ‘Missing girls expected to be found today’,” I said, looking at Reg. “Then we’ll quote Macey just as he said it to Latimer. If that doesn’t start something, I give up.”

Latimer scratched his head. “I don’t know what he’ll do to me,” he said mournfully, “but if that’s the way you want to play it, it’s okay with me.”

I turned to Reg. “Get something out along those lines and see what it looks like. Snap to it, brother.”

Reg went into the outer office and a moment or so later I could hear the whir of a typewriter.

“Anything on Jeff Gordan?” I asked Latimer.

“He was playing poker at Lefty’s until one o’clock,” he told me, “and then he went home. No one went with him and he would have to pass the old Cranville Gazette building on his way.”

“Looks like he hasn’t much of an alibi. Dixon was knocked off around two o’clock. You don’t know where Starkey was at that time?”

Latimer shook his head. “I could find out,” he said. “It might be worth checking.”

“You do that,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was now half past seven. “Where the devil has Marian got to?”

“Maybe she’s found something,” Latimer said, getting to his feet. “Well, if you don’t want me anymore I’ll get off. I’ve got a dame to meet, and after I’ve fed her I’ll try Lefty’s again and see if I can pick up anything on Starkey.”

“Don’t tip your mitt,” I said. “I want to surprise that punk.”

“I’ll watch it,” Latimer returned, and went off.

I wandered into the outer office and checked through Reg’s story. We worked on it for a while and then I sat back with a satisfied grunt.

“I guess that’s about right,” I said. “This’ll give Macey a hell of a headache and maybe Wolf will sue him for libel.”

“Macey’ll deny it,” Reg said, shaking his head. “I don’t like this idea, pal. It’s a bad story. If Macey and Wolf both go for us, we’ll be closed down.”

I grinned. “Be your age,” I said. “Wolf owns the damn rag. He’s got a stack of dough. Suppose Macey does sue, it won’t hurt Wolf much but it’ll do a hell of a lot of good.”

Reg began to grin. “Yeah,” he said. “It might at that. Well, you’re handling this. If you think it’s okay, I’ll get down to the printer with it.”

“Sure it’s okay,” I said. “Take it down now.”

He suddenly looked up from putting the folded sheets into an envelope. “Where’s Marian?” he said. “Look at the time; it’s after eight o’clock.”

We looked at each other and we both saw we were thinking the same thing.

“She’ll be along,” I said uneasily. “Maybe she went home to change. You know what girls are.”

“Maybe she has,” he said, but neither of us felt any happier about it.

I looked at the telephone. “Know her number?”

Reg went over and dialled. We waited while the bell rang. Then he hung up. “No one there,” he said.

“Maybe she’s on her way over,” I said, crossing to the window and looking down the street. “That the apartment house on the corner, isn’t it?”

Reg joined me. “Yeah,” he said. “But I don’t see her.” He was looking scared. “You don’t think—?”

“No, I don’t,” I said shortly. “Now look, Reg, get that copy over to the printers. I’ll go over to the apartment house and find out if she’s been in. Come back here as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He hesitated and then picked up the envelope. “I’ll try not to be long,” he said. “I’d better see this through, though, and it’ll take an hour.”

“I’ll ring you then,” I said. “Put your number on a piece of paper, and as soon as I find her I’ll call you.”

I could see he hated going, but after writing the number down, he went.

The telephone began to ring as I was turning to the door. I went back and picked up the receiver.

It was Ted Esslinger. “Is Miss French there?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m waiting for her now. Why are you calling?”

“Is that Mr. Spewack?” He sounded surprised. “I heard you’d left town.”

“Don’t believe all you hear,” I said shortly. “Why are you wanting Marian?”

“She had a date with me at eight-fifteen,” he said. “I was wondering if she were held up or something.”

I began to feel uneasy. “Sorry, bud,” I snapped. “I haven’t seen her,” and I hung up.

It took me under four minutes to reach Marian’s apartment house. I rang the bell and a small, bird-like woman opened the door. She looked at me inquiringly.

“Miss French?” I said.

Her face brightened. “She’s not in,” she told me, “but she shouldn’t be long. Will you wait?”

I introduced myself. “Maybe she’s mentioned me,” I said, seeing Marian was popular with the woman.

“I’m Mrs. Sinclair,” the woman said, smiling at me. “Of course she’s mentioned you. Please come in.”

I followed her into a large, comfortably furnished room. “What a charming girl she is!” Mrs. Sinclair went on. “Such a nice, unspoilt, clever person, and so enthusiastic about her new work. Fancy Mr. Wolf taking over the Gazette. Do you think he’ll alter the paper in any way? I’ve grown so used to having it now, and sometimes changes—”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Sinclair,” I broke in, “I’m a little worried about Miss French. You see, we’d arranged to meet at seven o’clock and she hasn’t turned up. She didn’t leave a message, did she?”

Mrs. Sinclair looked at me sharply. “Why, no,” she said. “She came in about five o’clock. I heard her telephone ring a few minutes later and then she went out again. She didn’t say where she was going.”

“Do you mind if I go up to her room?” I asked. “I wouldn’t ask this, only it’s important.”

“I don’t think—” she began, looking bewildered and puzzled.

“Already four girls are missing in this town,” I said, surprised to hear how harsh my voice sounded. “I don’t want her to be the fifth.”

She went white. “You don’t mean that,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “You don’t really—”

“Take me to her room,” I said. “I don’t know what’s happened to her, but I’m going to find out.”

We went up the stairs. On the second floor, she took me along a passage and unlocked a door at the far end. I went into a large bright room with flowers on the table and gay-coloured rugs and curtains.

I stood looking around the room. Then I went over to the telephone. There was a pad of paper by the telephone and I picked it up. The sheet of paper was blank, but by holding it at an angle I could make out souse markings on it. Marian had written something and torn a sheet off, leaving the impression on the sheet I was looking at. I tore off the sheet and held it to the light. I could just make out: 37 Victoria Drive.

“Know where Victoria Drive is?” I asked Mrs. Sinclair, who stood anxiously watching me.

“It’s the other side of the town before you come to the smelting works. You go down Main Street and keep on to the last of the traffic lights, then you turn right and Victoria Drive is the last turning on the left.”

“Thanks,” I said, and put the sheet of paper in my pocket. “I guess that’s all.”

“I’m so worried,” she began. “Hadn’t’ we better tell the police?”

I said no, the police hadn’t done anything in the past and I couldn’t see them doing anything now. “Leave this to me,” I said. “I’ll find her.”

As I turned to leave the room I took one more quick look around, and then I paused. “Isn’t that her bag?” I said, going over to an armchair and picking up a smart black and white handbag lying partly concealed by a cushion.

“I wonder why she didn’t take it with her?” Mrs. Sinclair was saying as I opened the bag.

I didn’t hear what else she said because the first thing I saw in the bag was a blue ticket. I knew what it was before I took it from the bag and examined it.

Printed on one side of it was the following message:

It was growing dark by the time I reached Victoria Drive. I paid off the taxi at the corner and walked casually down the street, noting the number of each house as I passed. Far ahead a lone streetlight burned. Warmer lights dotted the night on either side where houses were spaced half a dozen to a block.

I kept on counting the numbers... 29, 31, 33, 35... and then I stopped in front of a house which was half hidden by an overgrown hedge. On one of the gateposts a 3 and a 7 of pale metal caught what light there was. A square white card was nailed to one of the posts. Putting my face close to the card, I could see that it was a Sale or Rent sign.

I pushed open the gate and went up the cement walk to the house. I stood still on the walk at the foot of the porch steps for a long moment. My heart was thumping uneasily and I had the kind of sickish feeling one has when one is going to have a tooth drawn. No sound came from the house, which was dark except for another pale square card nailed on its door.

I moved silently to the door and listened. I could hear nothing. I went to a window and then to another. I tried both windows and the door. They were all locked.

I stood there wondering what to do. Had Marian come to this empty, lonely-looking house? Had she entered or had she gone away when she found no one was living in it? I wasn’t taking any chances. I had to get in and see for myself.

I fiddled with one of the windows and slipped back the catch. The window went up slowly with my push and didn’t make much noise doing it. I peered into the darkness and smelt the dank, musty smell of a room that hadn’t been occupied for a long time.

With my gun in my right fist I stepped over the sill, down into the room. The bare boards creaked under my weight and the air in the room stifled me.

A full minute of breathless listening got me nothing. Holding my gun ahead of my body, I began exploring the joint. Nothing but the floor came under my feet as I edged my way forward. My groping left hand felt nothing until it touched a wall from which hung strips of wallpaper which rustled under my fingers. I seemed to have crossed a room that was empty.

I moved along the wall, hunting for a door. Half a dozen of my undersized steps brought me to one. I leaned against it, listened and heard nothing.

I found the knob, turned it softly and eased the door back. As I stood peering into the darkness, trying to get my eyes used to the murk, I heard a car coming down the street. It was travelling slowly, and as it approached the house it slowed right down, finally stopping outside.

Four quick strides took me to the window. I could see the outline of the taxi, but it was now too dark to see anything more. I caught a glimpse of a figure getting out of the taxi and the cab door slammed. Then the figure came hurrying up the cement walk. A moment later a key turned in the lock and the front door opened.

I slid across the room to the door and stood behind it. I heard the front door close and footsteps sounded in the lobby. A light showed under the door and the doorknob rattled. Then the door opened and I smelt lilac.

I wasn’t surprised. I guessed it was Audrey Sheridan as she came up the cement walk. Keeping close to the wall, I shoved my gun into my hip pocket and waited for her to come in.

The beam of the flashlight crept around the peeling walls. A large spider with gigantic legs scurried away from the light, lost its hold on the wall and fell with a little plop to the floor.

I heard Audrey catch her breath in a shudder of horror. I grinned to myself. She was going to get a bigger scare than that.

Then she was in the room. I could see her clearly outlined against the beam of the flashlight. She was trousered and her hair was caught up in a silk handkerchief.

I didn’t give her a chance to get set, but launched myself at her knees. She gave a little scream as we went down together. For a minute we were a silent tangle of kicking legs and flailing arms. I was scared stiff she’d start some of her jiu-jitsu stuff, so every time she tried to free her arms I smothered her, by lying across her face and pinning her arms to the floor.

“Sister,” I said, “you’ll save yourself a lot of damage if you’ll relax.”

Instead, she bit my chest and I yelped, pulling away from her.

She got one hand free and it swished past my face with force; as it came back again, I grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her. Then pulling her up, I turned her over and slammed her face down on the floor. I jammed my knee between her shoulders and nailed her.

“Behave yourself,” I panted, “Or I’ll really get tough with you.”

I heard her catch her breath and she relaxed. “You’re hurting me,” she said in a small voice.

I didn’t ease up. “It’ll be a change,” I said, sitting across her knees, but still holding her arm screwed up behind her right shoulder blade. “The last time we had a romp, you tossed me against a brick wall.”

“And I’ll do it again,” she said, her voice suddenly furious. “Let me go, you big beast!”

“Start whenever you’re ready,” I said casually, and put on a little pressure.

She gave a cry. “Don’t!” she implored. “You’re hurting!”

“It’s about time you met someone your own weight,” I told her. “You’ve been having it all your own way. Now, you talk, or I’ll tear your arm off!”

“You and who else?” she asked, and giggled.

I also had to grin. “Are you going to behave?” I asked. “Will you sit up and be a good girl if I let you?”

“I’ll sit up when I like and I’ll behave as I like,” she said defiantly, “and it’ll take more than a big jerk like you to stop me!”

I put my hand on her head and pushed her nose on the floorboards. “Don’t talk so big,” I said, “or I’ll dust the whole of this joint with you.”

God knows what happened then. She suddenly heaved and next second I was lying on my back with my neck caught between her ankles and she was putting on a squeeze that pretty near throttled me.

I’d done a little all-in wrestling in my time and that was something I understood. I had her shoe off and was among her toes before she knew what I was at. She broke the lock and wriggled away from me and for a moment I lost her in the darkness.

I sat up panting, my ears pricked, waiting for her to jump me.

Then suddenly she laughed. “Pax,” she said. “Please, pax.”

“Sure,” I said. “These little bouts with you are shortening my life. It isn’t natural for a girl to be so rough. Come and sit down beside me. And if you don’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll call a cop.”

I heard her move towards me and then the flashlight went on. I turned and found her behind me. I also found I was sitting on a floor inches thick with dust and I hurriedly got to my feet.

We stared at each other in the beam of the flashlight. We were both covered in dust and Audrey’s face was smeared with long streaks of dirt.

“I guess we do look a couple of bums,” I said. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“I might ask you that,” she returned, “but I’m not inquisitive. Let’s say hello and good-bye without any further talk.”

“No,” I said. “This nonsense has been going on too long. You’re not leaving here until you promise to give me that picture of Dixon you pinched off me. It’s entirely due to you I’m getting nowhere in this case. If I had that picture I’d have found the girls by now.”

“Oh no, you wouldn’t,” she said, keeping just out of my reach. “You think you could have forced Starkey into the open with it, don’t you? Well, I’ve tried, and it didn’t work.”

“You tried?” I exclaimed. “You mean to say you were crazy enough to tell Starkey you’ve got it?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid so,” she said ruefully. “That’s why I’m lying low for a while. I didn’t think he’d dare to start anything with me.”

“I bet you’ve found out different,” I said grimly. “It beats me you’re still alive.”

“I know he’s kidnapping these girls,” she said in a quick burst of confidence. “And I thought I’d make him produce them if I threatened him with the picture.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” I said. “Starkey hasn’t anything to do with the kidnapping. I’m sure of that. All you’ve done is to put yourself in a hell of a spot.”

“I tell you he must be at the bottom of it,” she said almost angrily. “It’s the kind of thing he’d do. I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“Okay, skip that for a minute,” I said impatiently. “Tell me what you’re doing here. I’m looking for Marian French.” I snapped my fingers impatiently. “But of course you wouldn’t know her.”

“Yes, I do,” Audrey returned quickly. “She’s a new member of the Gazette’s staff.”

I scowled at her. “Yeah; now you tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I saw her picture in the Street-Camera window this afternoon. So I thought I’d come out here just to prove to myself that Starkey is connected with the kidnapping.”

“But why here?” I asked, puzzled. “She did come here, because I found the address in her room, but how did you know?”

She looked at me uneasily. “This is the house where they found one of the girls’ shoes,” she told me. “I’ve been watching it off and on for days, and when I saw them put Marian French’s picture in the window I had a hunch to come out here. So I got the key from the agent and... and here I am.”

I felt suddenly spooked. “We’ve wasted enough time already,” I growled. “Come on, we’re going to take a look at this joint. Give me your flashlight.”

Together we went into the gloomy lobby. Ahead of us were stairs. Wallpaper hung in strips and great patches of damp stains showed on the walls.

I pulled my gun and began to walk softly up the stairs. They creaked under my weight. Audrey followed me and we reached the first landing. Three doors faced us. In the second room we found Marian French. She was sprawled on the dusty floor. Her hands still clawed at the cord wrapped and knotted about her throat, Her eyes stared, glassily. Her face was distorted with agony and congested with blood. Her simple blue and white check frock was covered in dust and torn from one white shoulder. She was dead. There was no possible doubt about that. There was nothing I could do for her. Marian French was dead.

I heard Audrey catch her breath and I put my hand on her arm, but couldn’t say anything. I was bewildered, stunned.

We stood looking down at the pathetic but dreadful-looking body for several minutes and then Audrey put her hands to her face and screamed, making a soft, far-away sound of shocked fear. I gripped her arm tightly.

“Steady,” I said softly. “Get a grip on yourself. There’s work to be done.”

She turned away from the body. “I’m all right,” she said through gritted teeth. “It... it just — this is dreadful, isn’t it?”

I grunted and walked over to where Marian lay. Not looking at her twisted, distorted face, I touched her shoulder. Her flesh was cold and wax-like to my touch and I stood away and cursed softly.

“Whoever did this’ll burn,” I said, half to myself. “I’ve fooled around long enough on this job, but now I’m going to start something.” I jerked around and grabbed Audrey by her arm. “You know what this means, don’t you?” I said viciously. “The technique’s the same. Those four other girls went the same way. You can bet your life on that. Are you going to help me find the swine who’s doing this or are you still sticking to your precious little Agency?”

She met my angry, challenging look. “I deserved that,” she said, quietly. “But I did think Starkey was at the back of it and I did think I could handle it. I’ll help you if you want me to.”

“Swell,” I said, pushing her to the door. “Come on, we have to get the cops.”

“Will that do any good?” she asked.

“Macey must see for himself. He can’t back out of this now. We’ll split the town wide open. Come on, let’s get to a telephone.”

Together we left the house, slammed the front door and ran across to a house opposite. I kept my thumb on the bell push until a fat little man in his shirtsleeves jerked open the front door and glared at me.

“Where’s the fire?” he demanded, thumbing a scrubby moustache and staring at Audrey’s dirty face with disapproval.

“There’s been a murder across at 37,” I told him. “I want to use your phone.”

His eyes popped. “Murder?” he repeated. “Who? At 37? Why, it’s empty.”

I elbowed my way into the house. “I want to get the police,” I said. “Where do I find the phone?”

He showed me, and as I was dialling a woman came out of the sitting room and stared at Audrey and then at me.

The fat little man said: “They say there’s been a murder at 37.” He was getting quite a bang out of it.

The woman — fiftyish, grey hair and stiff — eyed Audrey steadily and said, “Nonsense. Send them away,” and went back into the sitting room.

“You’ll have to go,” the little man said miserably. “She thinks you’re drunk. I know. I can tell by the way she looked at you.”

“Nuts,” I said, then as a voice growled ‘Police Headquarters’ in my ear, I asked for Beyfield.

He came on the line after a moment’s delay. “Grab the wagon and come over here fast,” I told him. “I’m reporting a murder at 37 Victoria Drive.”

“Who’s speaking?” he demanded in his rumbling voice.

“Deanna Durbin,” I said, and hung up.

The little man had the front door open and was waiting for us to go, but I took no notice of him. I dialled the number Reg Phipps had given me and when I heard him come on the line I broke the news as gently as I could. I could tell at once the kid was upset, but he was too much of a newspaperman to waste time with words.

“We’ll get that son of a bitch,” he said. “If you don’t, I will.”

I said we’d get him all right. “Come down here, Reg,” I said, “and bring Latimer if you can find him. He’s checking on Starkey, and you pick him up with any luck at Lefty’s. I want him to take Miss Sheridan, to a hotel and sit with her until we’re through with this.”

He said “Okay” and hung up.

Audrey looked at me kind of old-fashioned, but she didn’t say anything until we were on the street again.

“What’s this hotel stuff?” she said. “You’re not keeping me out of this.”

“I am,” I said firmly. “Macey and Starkey are working together. If Macey spots you, he’ll tip Starkey and then something you won’t like will happen. Don’t forget Starkey wants you badly. Until I’ve fixed him, you won’t be safe.”

“I’ll chance it,” she said. “Now things have started, I must be on the job. I can’t afford—”

But I stopped her. “You and I are working together,” I reminded her. “You must keep out of sight, so please don’t make things difficult.” I gave her the key to the Gazette offices. “Go to the Gazette and wait for Latimer to pick you up. I’ll tell him to get you into a hotel for the night, and as soon as I’m through with the police I’ll join you. There’s a lot we have to talk about. Without you I’m going to have a load of trouble sorting things out.”

As I was talking a yellow cab cruised past and I yelled at it. Still protesting, Audrey got into the cab.

“I’ll be along in a couple of hours,” I promised. “Don’t let anyone in unless they knock three times, two short and a long tap. That’ll be Latimer. You can trust him. Sorry about this, kid, but we can’t afford to take chances now.”

She was beginning to say something when we heard the distant wail of a siren.

“Save it,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you,” and I slammed the cab door and told the driver to step on it.

The cab and the police car passed each other at the end of the street. As the police car pulled up with a squeal of brakes outside No. 37 I crossed the street and joined the three men who had piled out of the car.

I recognized Beyfield, but the other two I hadn’t seen before. The driver, who was in uniform, climbed out of the car and eyed me suspiciously.

Beyfield looked at me. “I might have known it was you,” he said in disgust. “If you’re being funny, you’ll be sorrier than hell.”

“I’m not being funny,” I said coldly. “You’ll find a girl in there — she’s been strangled.”

“Yeah?” he said, looking at the house doubtfully, “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen her,” I said, pushing open the gate. “Suppose you look at her first and then we’ll talk.”

“You two guys stay here,” he said to the driver and one of the plain-clothes dicks. “Harris, you watch this bird and see he keeps with us.”

Harris, a short fat man with a red shiny face, anchored himself alongside me.

“I’ve heard about you,” he said, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do anything your ma wouldn’t like or I’ll slap you down.”

I was feeling too sick to trade wisecracks with him and I led the way up the cement walk. As Audrey and I had left the house we had slammed the front door, so I went along to the window, pushed it up and stepped inside.

“I’ll be interested to hear how you got on to this,” Beyfield said as he followed me over the window-sill.

I grunted, but didn’t say anything.

Harris crawled into the room behind us and turned on a powerful flashlight. “Ain’t this the house where we found that Kunz dame’s shoe?” he wheezed to Beyfield.

Beyfield said it was. “If a body’s here,” he said, “maybe this lug planted it.”

We went up the stairs, reached the landing, and I threw open the door of the room where I had found Marian.

“Take a look at that,” I said grimly.

The beam of the flashlight bounced on the opposite wall and then crawled down towards the floor.

“I’m looking,” Beyfield said, his voice suddenly hard.

But for the dust, the hanging strips of wallpaper, the pile of soot in the fireplace, the room was empty.

“Sit down,” Macey said, pointing to a chair opposite him. He was behind a big desk in his office on the third floor of police headquarters. I sat down.

Beyfield leaned against the door, took out a package of gum, peeled the paper from it and slid the strip into his mouth. He then hooked his thumbs in his belt and eyed me with blank, stony eyes.

Macey lit a cigar. He took his time about it and didn’t say anything until he was satisfied that it was burning properly, then he put his elbows-on the desk and glared at me.

“I don’t like private dicks,” he began, the jowls of his fat face red, “but when a private dick starts being funny, I know what to do with him. Don’t I, Beyfield?”

Beyfield grunted.

I took out a cigarette and set fire to it. “I can imagine how scared some dicks would be,” I said mildly, “but you don’t scare me, Macey. I’ve got too much on you to worry much about your threats.”

Macey showed his yellow teeth in a mirthless smile. “You think you’ve got something on me,” he said, pointing at me with the wet end of his cigar, “but you haven’t. We’ve got you, and unless you talk fast we’ll keep you.” He sat hack and regarded me for a long moment, then added: “No one knows you’re here.”

I thought maybe he had something. If these guys decided to knock me off— and if they wanted to there was nothing that would stop them — no one would know what had happened to me. I decided I’d have to play my hand carefully.

“So you found a body in 37, did you,” Macey said, “but it wasn’t there when my boys called? What’s the idea?”

“No idea,” I said. “The body was there, but while I was calling you someone took it away.”

Macey and Beyfield exchanged glances. “All right, someone took it away,” Macey said. “How did you find the body in the first place?”

I told him about the date with Marian French, how, after she hadn’t shown up, I went to her room and found the address of the house.

“She was on the floor with a cord around her neck,” I said. “I’d say she had been dead about four hours. The woman who rents her room said Marian received a phone call at five o’clock and went out right away. She went to meet her murderer.”

“You don’t think we believe this yarn, do you?” Macey asked, tapping ash into his wastebasket.

“I don’t give a damn if you believe it or not,” I returned. “I don’t expect you’ll turn the killer up — I’m going to do that — but I wanted to show you what’s happened to the other four girls who are missing.”

There was a long heavy silence, then Macey said: “What’s the connection between these four girls and French?”

“Suppose we put the cards on the table face up,” I said, shifting a little closer to the desk. “All you’re worrying about is the election. You want Starkey in office so you can feather your own nest.”

Beyfield pushed himself away from the wall, took a quick step towards me and swung at my head. By falling on my hands and knees as the swing started I made him miss. While he was off balance I skidded away from him, stood up and grabbed a chair. I held it so I could crown him if he came in. We looked murder at each other.

Macey exploded with a “Cut it out!” and stood up to thump his desk. “Sit down and shut up!” he bawled at Beyfield, who was breathing heavily, his face white with rage.

I put the chair down. “If you want a fight,” I said to Beyfield, “you can have it, but it’ll mean a long vacation in hospital for you.”

Macey bawled: “Didn’t you hear me? I said cut it out!”

Beyfield went back to the door and stood chewing and glaring at me. I shrugged, and went back to my chair. “Let’s be reasonable,” I urged. “I said cards on the table, but if you’re scared, then we’ll forget it.”

Macey settled down in his chair again. He rescued his cigar that had fallen on the floor, scowled at it and then at me. “Go on,” he said. “Shoot your mouth off if you want to.”

“You’re not trying to find the missing girls because you’re scared it’ll lead to Starkey. You think Starkey has knocked them off, and if you dig you’ll have to pinch him. As you want him as boss of Cranville you’re too scared to do anything about the case.”

His small eyes shifted away from me, but he didn’t say anything.

“Starkey didn’t kill Marian French nor did he have anything to do with the missing girls,” I went on. “It points to him, but someone’s framing him for it.”

There was an expression of cautious interest on Macey’s face now. “Go on,” he said. “What makes you think that?”

“Maybe you haven’t any more brains than a leg of mutton,” I said, “but you know about the Street-Camera business. You know that every girl who’s disappeared has had her photograph in the window of that Studio and you know Starkey owns the joint. You think the photos were a bait to get the girls to come to the shop, but it wasn’t. There’s someone in this town who is’ out to frame Starkey. Whoever he is works like this. For some reason I haven’t got around to yet, he decided to kidnap and murder a number of girls in this town. Maybe he reckoned that it would be one way to get rid of Starkey, maybe there’s some other angle to it. I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Anyway, this guy starts indiscriminate kidnapping. First he goes along to the Street-Camera Studio and finds out who’s photograph is on show in the window. The photograph is changed every four days, and he may have to go there a number of times before he recognizes a girl he knows. When that happens, he contacts the girl, kidnaps her, murders her and hides her body. He does that three times, then he sends pictures of the girls to Dixon, tipping Dixon off that Starkey is using the shop as a bait to kidnap the girls. He hopes Dixon will come out with the story in the Gazette and upset Starkey’s applecart. That’s what I mean when I say someone is framing Starkey.”

Macey brooded. He was interested all right. He had even let his cigar go out. “How did this guy get the photographs to give Dixon?” he asked, rather to say something than to pick holes in what I’d told him.

“That’s easy. Each girl he kidnapped had the Street-Camera ticket with her. That ticket entitled the holder to go to the Studio and buy the photographs. All he had to do was to hand over the ticket and collect the photographs. The joint must do a big trade, and whoever handed the photos over would not be likely to remember who had bought them.”

Macey brooded some more, and then as he was going to say something the telephone rang. He scooped up the receiver and growled into it.

I watched him as he listened and saw his eyes light up. He glanced at me and looked away. Then he said, “Okay, that’s fine,” and hung up.

“Maybe you’ve got something,” he said, but I could see he wasn’t concentrating. He was thinking of something else. “Suppose that did happen, who’s the fellow behind it?”

I shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” I returned, “but as long as I know it isn’t Starkey and as long as you know it isn’t, then we can pry the lid off without worrying what’ll come out of the tin.”

He pulled a slip of paper towards him and scribbled on “Yeah,” he said, “but suppose it’s Wolf? You’re acting for him and it wouldn’t suit you to turn up Wolf, would it?”

“It isn’t Wolf,” I said, “and if it is, I wouldn’t care.”

“Give this to Joe,” he said, offering the paper to Beyfield. “Tell him to get a move on.”

Something at the back of my mind told me that what was happening right under my nose wasn’t going to do me any good. But unless I snatched the paper from Macey I couldn’t know what it was all about. I watched Beyfield take the paper and leave the room.

“One of my men’s found a guy we’ve been looking for,” Macey explained, without looking at me. “Excuse me interrupting you, but I want to get after him.”

“Sure,” I said. I knew he was lying, but I couldn’t imagine what his game was.

“So you wouldn’t care if Wolf was at the bottom of this?”

I shook my head. “I liked Marian French,” I said. “She was a stranger to the town and I was looking after her. Whoever killed her is going to burn. I don’t give a damn who it is.”

“Suppose you’re right and it is murder,” Macey said, folding his arms and resting them on his desk. “Where are the bodies?”

“Where have you looked?” I said, lighting another cigarette.

That held him for a moment. I knew damn well he hadn’t looked anywhere, and he, knew I knew it.

“Where do you suggest I look?” he said at last.

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I returned. “Anywhere is a likely bet. Suppose you get a crowd of men organized and take the whole town to pieces? Get a map and mark it off in squares. Have ten men to each square and let ’em hunt. A body isn’t easy to conceal. It’s the hard way, but I can’t suggest a better one.”

He grunted. “How do you suppose this French girl’s body was taken out of the house?”

“The back way. Easy enough if the guy who did it was strong. All he had to do was to carry the body downstairs into the back garden and heave it over the fence into the lane that runs along at the back of the gardens. If he had a car there, it would be easy. It was dark and no one would see him if he didn’t make a noise.”

“I’ll have the lane checked for wheel-marks,” Macey returned. “Okay, Spewack, I’ll get working on this. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“So you’re sure Starkey’s in the clear?”

“Never mind that,” he said shortly. “I’ll look for the bodies on your say-so, but I’m not expecting to find them.”

“Depends how hard you look,” I said, and stood up. “Maybe it would be an idea to let Starkey know I’m not after him anymore. Somehow I don’t think that guy likes me.”

“I’ll let him know,” Macey promised, and smiled again. It was a cold, foxy smile, and I didn’t like it.

I went downstairs and found Reg Phipps waiting for me.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked as we went down the yellow-walled passage to the street.

“When I reached the house and found you weren’t around, I guessed you’d been taken to headquarters,” he said. “What happened?”

I gave him a brief outline of the set-up. “Did you locate Latimer?”

“Yeah, he’s waiting in the car at the next parking lot. We didn’t know where to get in touch with Audrey Sheridan so we thought we’d better hang around for you.”

I quickened my pace. “I want that kid out of the way,” I said. “If Starkey knows where she is, there’ll be trouble.”

“You’ve cleared him of the kidnapping rap, but he’s still in it on the Dixon murder, is that it?”

“Yeah, and Macey knows it. We didn’t touch that angle of it, and if Starkey gets that picture you took of Dixon, then he’s clear of everything.”

We found Latimer in the car and we scrambled in.

“Gazette,” I said to Latimer. “And tread on it.”

As the car shot away from the kerb, Reg said: “So it’s murder and not kidnapping?”

“It’s murder all right,” I said, thinking of Marian and feeling bad about the whole business. “We’ll drop you off at the printer’s. You’ll have to cut out that stuff I gave you on Macey and get the story of the murder on the front page instead. We’ll lay off Macey for a while and see if he plays. If he doesn’t, then we’ll use the stuff.”

Reg groaned. “You make a hell of a newspaper man,” he complained. “You don’t seem to know your own mind.”

I grinned savagely in the darkness. “I do now,” I said. “It only wanted this to happen. I’m going all out to get that killer, and I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do.”

There was silence for a while, then Reg said: “You know, I can’t believe she’s dead. She was swell.”

“She was,” I said, “and that’s what gets me. This is a personal matter now.”

Latimer pulled up outside the printer’s shop and Reg got out of the car.

“Give all the facts,” I told him, “and when you’re through, grab some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I changed seats and got in the front with Latimer.

“I want a quiet hotel,” I told him. “Where do I go?”

He said the Palace wasn’t bad and it was not far from the Gazette offices.

We passed the hotel on our way and it looked all right to me. When we reached the Gazette offices I told him to get off home.

“Sure you don’t want me?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll pick up Audrey and then we’ll go to the hotel. We can’t do much tonight. Be at the office early tomorrow.”

As I was walking across the sidewalk to the entrance of the building he called me back.

“All this excitement made me forget,” he said. “I’ve checked up on Starkey. He has a cast-iron alibi for two o’clock that night. You can’t nail him for Dixon’s killing.”

“I didn’t think I could, but I can nail one of his mob, and that’ll finish him in Cranville,” I returned. “Anyway, thanks for finding out.”

“And another thing,” he went on. “I don’t know if it’s any use to you, but Edna Wilson’s his daughter.”

I stood still. “His what?”

“Yeah. I happened to run into a guy I know and he told me. Starkey married about eighteen years ago. His wife got tired of his ways and left him. She died last year and her kid — Starkey’s daughter — came back to Cranville hoping he’d look after her. He planted her on Wolf, and she’s been feeding Starkey information ever since. The guy who told me used to live in the same town as Starkey’s wife and recognized Edna.”

“I knew she was a phoney,” I returned. “I wonder what Starkey would say if he knew of her relations with Wolf? She must be a nice type of kid to sleep with a guy and betray him at the same time.”

Latimer shrugged. “Women are all the same,” he returned cynically. “They’ll cut your throat while they’re loving you. Anyway, that’s the dope for what it’s worth.”

I said I was glad to have it and went on into the building.

There was no light showing through the pebbled glass door of the Gazette offices. I wondered uneasily if Audrey had gone to sleep. I tried the door and found it wasn’t locked.

One look, around the room, after I had turned on the light, confirmed my worst fears. It looked like a cyclone had hit it. Chairs were overturned, the desk was shoved against the wall, and rugs were crumpled in corners.

Audrey had put up a pretty good fight. The silent and dishevelled office told its own story. Starkey had got her.