The Cranville Gazette was on the fourth floor of a dilapidated building sandwiched between a large cut-rate emporium and a drugstore. The small, dark lobby was dirty and harboured the stale smell of bodies and tobacco smoke. The lift wasn’t working so I climbed the four flights of stairs.

I wandered around the fourth floor until I came to a door lettered in flaked black paint on pebbled glass: Cranville Gazette.

I turned the knob and went into a small, narrow room with two windows, a battered typewriter desk, a number of filing cases and a threadbare carpet.

A woman turned from the window and looked at me without much interest. She was forty, thin, frowzy and full of vinegar.

“The editor in?” I said, tipping my hat and trying to look more pleased to see her than she did to see me.

“Who is it?” she asked in a way that told me the editor didn’t have many visitors.

“The name’s Spewack,” I said. “And I’m not here to sell him anything or to waste his time.”

She opened a door which I hadn’t noticed before at the far end of the room. She shut the door behind her.

I leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. I decided for an editorial office this was pretty punk. The newspaper, I thought, was a worthy representative of the town.

The woman came back. “Mr. Dixon will spare you a few minutes.” I walked down the narrow room, smiled at her and entered the inner room.

If anything, it was more dreary than the outer office. In a swivel chair at the desk sat an elderly number in a blue serge suit which looked like it had been nickel-plated. A pale-grey bald patch loomed high up in the middle of stringy white hair. He had sharp blue-green eyes and his beaky nose looked as if it had hung over a lot of quick ones in his time.

“Mr. Spewack?” he said in a fruity baritone.

I nodded.

“Take a chair, Mr. Spewack.” He waved a fat hairy hand at the chair across the desk. “I’m always glad to meet a visitor to our little town.” He paused and stared at me with a calculating expression in his eyes. “You are a visitor, I suppose?”

I sat down. “More or less,” I said, hitching the chair a little nearer to his desk. “Before I tell you my business, I’d like to ask you a question.”

He dug his little finger in his ear and worked it around for a while. Then he pulled it out, examined his nail and wiped it on his trouser-leg. “Anything you like,” he said, smiling. His bridgework was ill fitting and yellow and the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Do you care who becomes mayor of this town?” I asked, shooting it out fast.

He hadn’t expected that. He closed his eyes quickly and huddled into his clothes like a startled tortoise. “Now I wonder why you should ask that,” he said, after a pause.

“Couldn’t you say yes or no in a nice straightforward manner?” I said, tapping ash on the threadbare carpet.

He looked at me sharply and considered this. “I suppose so,” he said cautiously. “But I don’t see why I should. I don’t discuss politics with strangers, Mr. Spewack.”

We eyed each other. “You don’t have to make me a stranger,” I said. “If you put your cards on the table, we might see a lot of each other.”

He considered this too, then he suddenly laughed. It was a harsh sound like the bark of a hyena. “You’re a character, sir,” he said, washing his hands over the blotter. “Why shouldn’t you know a little thing like that? Very well, then, let me, as you suggest, put my cards on the table. There is very little to choose between Mr. Wolf and Mr. Starkey as mayors. Mr. Esslinger, however, would be better. Taken by and large, it wouldn’t greatly matter to me who got in. I am able to regard the election as an unprejudiced spectator.”

“That’s fair enough,” I said, taking out my identity card. I handed it to him.

He examined it with genuine interest. After he had been over it long enough to learn the contents by heart, he handed it back. “A very interesting little document,” he said, and again dug his finger in his ear. “I guessed you were the detective from New York the moment I saw you.”

I was watching him closely to see if he was going to turn hostile, but his expression didn’t change.

“You might be able to help me,” I said, putting the identity card back in my pocket.

“I might,” Dixon returned, tapping on the dirty ink-stained blotter. “But I don’t see why I should. I’m not helping anyone else, Mr. Spewack.”

I smiled at him. “Maybe they don’t need your help,” I returned. “All want is a little inside information about Cranville. I’m authorized to pay for all information.”

He closed his eyes, but not before I saw interest and greed jump into them.

“Very interesting,” he muttered under his breath. “Now I wonder what kind of information you’d want.”

“I understand Chief of Police Macey wants Rube Starkey to become mayor. Can you tell me why?”

He pulled at his beaky nose and turned this over very thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t like to give you my personal opinion, but I don’t mind giving you the opinion of the town... if that’s any use to you.”

“Go ahead,” I said, knowing that it’d be his opinion anyway.

“The trouble with Cranville,” he began, folding his hands on the blotter and looking at me with shrewd, sly eyes, “is this. For the past twenty years all the mayors have been elected on a reform ticket.”

Cranville has been so reformed that there’re no real opportunities to circulate money.

The working man, Mr. Spencer has to be encouraged to spend his spare money if a town is to flourish. It is a lamentable fact that unless the methods of encouragement are of a questionable nature, big profits are limited.

“Twenty years ago, Cranville had four gambling-houses, a racetrack, two excellent nightclubs and even a little organised vice. People spent their money, enjoyed themselves, and the town flourished. All these places have been closed down. It makes a big difference”

He picked up a pencil and began to draw a cube on the blotting paper.

“Macey wants Starkey to become Mayor because he’ll promote the kinds of entertainment that will be lucrative to Macey. Macey wishes to reopen the gambling-houses, nightclubs and even the racetrack. Starkey has had a lot of experience and could easily do it”

He finished drawing his cube and began rolling the pencil under his hand across the blotter. “Macey isn’t a very good policeman, but he is an excellent business man.”

“If Starkey gains control, Cranville may be in for a life of crime, is that it?” I made a sound like I didn’t care one way or the other.

“Very likely, Mr. Spewack. I should say it was very likely.” He smiles at me. “Only don’t quote me. I would not like everyone to know my views... not just now anyway.”

“Suppose Esslinger got in?”

“Well, Esslinger’s a different proposition. I think things might improve. I don’t know, of course. He is a little too anti-capitalist to be really comfortable in Cranville, but he is a very sincere man.”

“Tell me about him,” I invited.

Dixon leaned back in his chair and placed his fingertips together. “Now let me see,” he said, frowning at the dirty ceiling, “He came to Cranville thirty years ago. He was assistant at Morley’s Funeral Parlor for some time, and when Mr. Morley died he took over the business. He was and still is a hard, painstaking worker and has done a lot of good for the town. He is liked and trusted. You will like him Mr. Spewack, although you may not like his wife.” He glanced out of the window and shook his head. “A very strong-minded woman. It has always puzzled me why Esslinger ever married her.” He lowered his voice.

“She drinks.”

I grunted.

“Then there’s his son,” Dixon went on. “An excellent fellow. Takes after his father in every way. Clever, full of brains. Studying medicine and, I imagine, has a brilliant career in front of him.” He dug his finger in his ear again. “His mother dotes on him. She has no other interest, except, of course, the bottle.” He shook his head at the tiny bit of wax he had levered out of his ear.

“Has he any money?” I asked.

Dixon pursed his lips. “Esslinger? Depends on what you call money. He has a very nice little business. People die. In fact a lot of people die in Cranville. It isn’t what you would call a healthy town.” He looked at me with a sly smirk. “At least not for everyone.”

“I’ve gathered that,” I said dryly. “But I don’t scare easily.”

We eyed each other and then I fished out a packet of Camels and tossed him one. “What do you think’s to those girls who’ve disappeared?” I asked lighting up.

“What I think and what I print in y paper are two different things,” he said cautiously. “I have a young man who works for me, covering the local news. He is a sensationalist. It was he who convinced me that the mass-killer theory would increase our circulation.” He showed his yellow teeth in a foxy smile. “He was right, Mr. Spewack; it has.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“What’s your theory?”

Again he shook his head. “Never mind about my theories, Mr. Spewack. You don’t want to clutter up your mind with the theories of an old man.”

“Come on, loosen up,” I urged. “I want all the help I can get.”

But I could see he was going to be obstinate. “There is one thing worth considering,” he said. “If those girls have been murdered, where are the bodies?”

“I’ve thought of that,” I said. “Maybe you have an idea?”

“No ideas,” he returned promptly. “You must expect to do a little work on this case yourself. No doubt Mr. Wolf is paying you well.”

“So-so,” I said and decided to let his theories drift. “Esslinger’s engaged a woman investigator, hasn’t he?”

I went on after a pause.

“A most charming young woman,” Dixon said, and gave the nearest thing he could to a leer. “You’ll like her. Of course, she’s had no experience as an investigator.”

“She’s getting nowhere?”

Dixon shook his head and smiled. “I don’t think anyone expected her to,” he said, underlining the “anyone.”

“That go for Esslinger, too?” I said, watching him closely.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“And yet Esslinger has hired her.”

“And he doesn’t think she’ll break the case? That does not make sense.”

Dixon picked up his pencil and began another cube.

“I can only suggest an idea here and there,” he said apologetically. “You mustn’t expect me to do your work for you, Mr. Spewack.”

I leaned back in my chair and looked at him thoughtfully. We sat for a few minutes in silence. I knew he wasn’t going to elaborate, so I tried another angle.

“What do you know about the missing girls?”

He pulled open a drawer and took out three photographs, the kind that are taken by street cameramen. He gave them to me. “I assure you, Mr. Spewack, they are ordinary working-class girls with no secrets and with nothing extraordinary about them.”

Looking at the photographs, I believed him. They were the type you could see in any street, any day, in any town.

“Have they anything in common besides being all blondes?” I asked, handing the photographs back.

He opened his mouth to say something, when the telephone rang. He stared at the telephone with a blank, surprised look in his eyes. “Excuse me,” he said, picking up the receiver. He held it gingerly against his ear.

I sat back, watching him absently.

He said, “Are you there?” and listened.

Faintly I could hear a voice talking over the line. It was a sharp, high-pitched staccato voice, but I couldn’t understand what it was saying.

Dixon suddenly huddled into his clothes. “I understand,” he mumbled into the mouthpiece of the telephone. “Yes, of course. Yes... naturally.” He listened some more, then I heard a click as the caller hung up on him. He very slowly put the receiver hack on its cradle and stared down at his blotter. I saw a little cluster of sweat beads on his forehead which hadn’t been there before.

“Have they anything in common besides being all blondes?” I repeated after a long pause.

He started, then stared at me as if he’d forgotten was still there. “I’m afraid I can’t spare any more of my time, Mr. Spewack,” he said, looking hurriedly away. “It’s been very interesting to meet you.” He got up and offered me a damp, limp hand. His face was the colour of white mutton fat and high up near his right eye a nerve twitched. “I don’t think you’d better come here again, Mr. Spewack. Your time’s valuable and I wouldn’t like to waste it.”

“Don’t worry about my time,” I said. “I’ll take care of that.” I took out my pocket book and let him see the twenty-five dollar bills I had in it. “And I’ll buy your time, so you don’t have to worry about that either.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” he said. There was no interest in his voice or his eyes. “But I have nothing to sell. Do you understand, Mr. Spewack? Nothing to sell.”

I put the pocket book away and stared at him thoughtfully. “Who was that on the telephone?” I said.

“No one you’d know,” he returned, sitting limply in his chair. “Good day, Mr. Spewack, I’m sure you can find your own way out.”

I put my hands on the desk and leaned over him. “I bet it was Macey or maybe Starkey,” I said, watching him. “I bet you were told to keep your trap shut or else. Wasn’t that it?”

He huddled deeper into his clothes and shut his eyes. “Good day, Mr. Spewack,” he said softly.

“So long,” I said, and went out.

The vinegar-faced woman looked up as I passed.

“The old guy’s got cold feet,” I said. “You’d better light him a fire.”

I felt her eyes on my back, but I didn’t look round. I shut the outer office door behind me and walked slowly down the four flights of stairs. I found myself whistling in an absent-minded way Chopin’s “Funeral March.”

I awoke with a start. For a brief moment I had the fuddled idea I was in my New York apartment, but the white bureau I could see in the moonlight put me right. I was still in the Eastern Hotel, Cranville.

There was a continuous, gentle tapping on my door. It was a furtive sound. It could have been a rat gnawing on wood. But I knew it wasn’t. I groped for the lamp by my bed and turned it on. Then I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. I felt like hell.

The urgent tapping continued.

I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten minutes past two. My eyelids weighed a ton and the room was stifling, although I had drawn back the curtains and opened the windows wide before going to bed.

I slipped out of bed, grabbed my dressing gown and reached for the .38 which was under my pillow.

The tapping went on all the time I was shaking the sleep out of my brain and getting fixed. Whoever wanted me was making sure no one else would be disturbed.

I went to the door. “Who is it?” I said, speaking against the panel.

The tapping stopped. “It’s Esslinger.” I recognized his voice. I turned the key and opened up.

Ted Esslinger came in quickly and closed the door, His necktie was still under his right ear, and his face was white and pinched.

I gave him a hard look, went back to the bed and sat down. I shoved the gun under the pillow and massaged the back of my neck.

“For the love of Mike,” I said, “can’t you let me sleep?”

“Mary Drake hasn’t been home,” he said. His teeth chattered with nerves.

I yawned, stretched, and went on massaging the back of my neck. “Another of your pals?”

“Don’t you understand?” he said, speaking in a low, tense voice.

“She went to work this morning and she hasn’t come back. Drake’s over with my father now.”

“Aw, hell,” I said, leaning back on my elbows. “What can I do about it? I don’t work twenty-four hours a day.”

He began to pace up and down. “Something’s happened to her,” he said, driving his fist into the palm of his hand. “As soon as Drake came around, I slipped out to tell you. No one else knows but Drake and father. You must do something.”

I was beginning to feel better. “When was she last seen?” I asked, stifling a yawn.

“She left her office at five o’clock and she was going on to a dance. Roger Kirk, the boy she was meeting, says she didn’t show up. He thought she wasn’t well, so he went home. It was only when Drake phoned him at eleven o’clock that we began to think something was wrong.”

I fumbled in my coat pocket, found a packet of Lucky Strike and shook a couple onto the quilt. “Have a smoke and sit down,” I said, lighting up.

He sat down but he wouldn’t smoke.

I brooded for a minute or so while he watched me anxiously. Then I said: “Has Drake told the cops?”

“Not yet. He came to father because he thought—”

“I bet he did,” I broke in. “What’s your father done?”

“Nothing yet,” he said. “He won’t do anything until the morning. That’s why I came here. We’ve at least seven hours’ start over any of them.”

“Yeah,” I said without much enthusiasm, “but there isn’t much we can do.” I flicked ash on the floor, stifled another yawn and went on: “You know the girl?”

He nodded. “She was a friend of Luce McArthur,” he told me. “Roger Kirk and I went to the same school. We four used to go out together.”

I got up and wandered over to the chair where I had dumped my clothes. It took me three minutes to dress and then I went into the bathroom to sponge my face and fix my hair. I came back into the bedroom and poured myself a small Scotch.

“Drink?” I said, waving the bottle at him.

He shook his head. “What are you going to do?” His eyes were bright with speculation.

“I’m playing a hunch,” I said soberly. “I bet it’s a no-good hunch, but I’ll take a chance. How far is this Street-Camera joint?”

He drew in a sharp breath. “On Murray Street. About five minutes in the car.”

“Have you got the car?”

“It’s outside.”

“Okay, let’s go.” I picked up my hat, yawned some more and turned to the door. “This is a hell of a game for sleep,” I said, moving out into the passage “Don’t you ever take it up as a profession.”

As he followed me out of the room, Marian French’s door opened and she propped herself up against the doorpost. “Sleep-walking?” she asked, with reasonable curiosity.

I thong it she looked nice in the powder-blue silk wrap she was wearing. Her long, silky fair hair hung to her shoulders and her face was flushed and sleepy.

“Hullo, there,” I said in a whisper; “if you listen hard enough in a minute or so you’ll hear the day break. I’m the guy who breaks it.”

She glanced at Ted Esslinger and then back at me. “Is he your assistant?” she asked, trying not to gape.

“Miss French, meet Mr. Ted Esslinger,” I said, waving my hands. “Now will you be a nice girl and go back to bed? Mr. Esslinger and I are going on a practice run.”

“Has something happened?” she asked, first smiling at Esslinger and then turning back to me.

I shook my head. “I do this sort of thing every day of my life. It keeps me fit.” I tipped my bat at her and jerked my head at Esslinger. “Let’s go,” I said.

He gave Marian a quick, shy smile and followed me downstairs. I heard Marian heave an exasperated sigh and then her door closed.

“Nice, isn’t she?” I said, walking as quietly as I could.

“Yes,” he said, “but this isn’t the time—”

“Don’t kid yourself,” I returned, entering the lobby, “Any time’s right with me.”

The night clerk, a fat little man with a heavy moustache, stared at us blankly, but I didn’t stop. I crossed the lobby and the verandah and got into the Pontiac that was standing at the kerb.

Esslinger ran around and slid under the steering wheel.

“Make it snappy,” I said, huddling down into my seat. “I want some sleep sometime tonight.”

He drove fast. There was no traffic around and we had the streets to ourselves.

“What do you expect to find?” he asked, as he turned into Main Street.

“I don’t know,” I returned, lighting a cigarette. “It’s just an idea I’ve got at the back of my mind. I’m willing to bet there’s nothing to it.”

He gave me a quick glance, shrugged and drove on. We didn’t say anything until we reached Murray Street.

He slowed down and peered out or the window. “It’s somewhere along here,” he muttered.

I made no attempt to help him. It was his town and it was up to him to find the place. He swung into the kerb suddenly and stopped the car.

“This is it,” he said.

I got out of the car and looked at the small plate-glass window that was stacked with photographs. I stepped back to read the sign overhead. It was picked out in heavy chromium lettering that glittered in the moonlight: “The Street-Camera.” This was the joint all right.

I took a flashlight from my hip pocket and threw the beam on the window.

Ted was standing at my side. “What’s the idea?” he said, following the beam as I Worked it over the postcard-sized photographs pinned to the back of the window, the sides, and on a sloping board on the floor of the window.

“See anyone you know?” I said, keeping the light moving.

He got it then. “You don’t think he began,” but I shushed him.

Right bang in the middle of the sloping board was a photograph of a blonde girl who laughed up at me. The background of Main Street showed behind her head. The photograph was four times the size of any of the other photographs in the window. Underneath it was a small notice. Special enlargements $1.50 extra.

“That her?” I said to Esslinger.

“Yes.” He was holding onto my arm and shivering.

“When I get a hunch I play it right on the nose,” I said, snapping off the flashlight.

“You know what this means,” Esslinger said unsteadily. “They have been kidnapped, and kidnapped from here. Mary might even be hare still.”

I walked round him to the shop door. It was of plate glass and chromium. The only way to force an entrance would be to smash the window and I didn’t want to do that. It would make too much noise.

“Can we get in around the back?” I asked.

“Get in?” he repeated. His face told me he was scared. “You’re not going to...?”

“Sure, but you’re not in this,” I said. “You get off home.”

He hesitated, then said stubbornly: “If you’re going in, I’m coming with you.”

“Forget it,” I said sharply. “I’m paid to stick my neck out. If we get caught, your father’ll know you’re helping me. I don’t want it that way. You’re useful to me as long as no one knows what you’re doing. You’ve done enough already. Get off home and leave this to me.”

He hesitated, then nodded his head. “I guess you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “They don’t even know I’m out. Do you want the car?”

“I could use it,” I said, “but someone might recognize it. No, you take it and get off.”

“I don’t like leaving you...” he began, but I wasn’t going to spend the rest of the night arguing with him.

“Be a good guy and beat it,” I said, and leaving him by the car I walked off down the street. A hundred yards further on I came to an alley. As I peered into the darkness, wondering if it led to the back of the building, I heard his engine start up and then the Pontiac swept past at high speed. I watched the tail light disappear before I entered the alley.

I was relieved to see him go. An amateur at this game could easily step out of turn, and I wasn’t looking for trouble. I liked to work alone. If anything went wrong I had only myself to blame.

The alley was narrow and smelly. It brought me eventually to the back of the Street-Camera building. The place was in darkness. The back door didn’t seem particularly strong, so I put my shoulder against it and shoved. It creaked. I shoved again hard. There was a snapping sound and the door swung open. I stepped back and listened. The building and alley remained silent. Shielding my flashlight with my hand, I peered through the open doorway and then stepped into a narrow passage. Ahead of me was a door leading to the shop. Another door on my right was half-open.

I went down the passage and opened the door leading to the shop. There was no blind to the window, but the moon gave enough light for me to see. I had a quick look around, saw nothing to excite me and stepped back into the passage again. I didn’t want any passing cop to spot me through the window.

I retraced my steps and pushed open the other door. I entered a large room which obviously was used as a workshop. The floor was littered with strips of paper from trimmed photographs. Mounts and photographs were piled high on the two tables in the centre of the room. I let the beam of my flashlight crawl around the room and over the floor. I examined the fireplace, which was full of burnt paper, but I found nothing to connect the place with the missing girls.

I pushed my hat to the back of my head and scowled out of the window. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I had hoped for something better than this.

I went to the back door and glanced into the alley. It wouldn’t be possible to park a car out there. That puzzled me. I couldn’t make out how the girls were taken from the shop, if they had been kidnapped from this building.

As I stood brooding about this I heard a car coming at high speed. A moment later there was a squeal of brakes as the car slid to a standstill. I stepped quickly into the passage and closed the door. Moving fast, I reached the door that led into the shop and opened it a few inches.

I could see the street through the shop window. A big tourer stood outside the shop, and as I watched three men spilled from it. One stood by the car looking up and down the street. The other two crossed the sidewalk and one of them pushed a key into the shop door lock and snapped it back.

It happened so quickly had no chance to duck back along the passage. I pulled the door to and waited, my hand on my gun.

I heard the two men enter the shop.

“Snap into it,” one of them said. “The patrol’ll be around in five minutes.” His voice was harsh and I could hear him breathing heavily.

“Okay, keep your shirt on,” the other said hoarsely. “Give me that picture over there.”

I heard something heavy drop on the floor and I opened the door a few inches, but I couldn’t see what was going on.

“I can’t reach the damn thing,” the man with the hoarse voice said. “Watch what you’re doing, you dope,” the harsh-voiced man snarled. “You’ll wreck the whole display.”

There were more mutterings and then the harsh-voiced man said: “Okay. Let’s get outa here.”

I heard them cross the shop, open the door and lock it behind them. I peered cautiously into the shop. They were climbing into the tourer. I couldn’t see what they looked like, except they were all big and broad-shouldered. One of them might have been Jeff Gordan, but I couldn’t be sure.

The tourer drove away fast.

If the police patrol was due in five minutes, it was time for me to get out of here. I took a quick look round the shop, but there was nothing to show what the men had been doing. Then I went back down the passage towards the back door.

As I was opening the door, something caught my eye. I turned the beam of my flashlight on the floor. A once-white crumpled handkerchief was lying almost at my feet. I picked it up. It was a small, lace-edged handkerchief with the initials M.D. worked in one of its corners.

I stepped into the alley, closed the back door and walked swiftly to the street.

To me the initials M.D. could mean only one thing. The handkerchief belonged to Mary Drake! With that and the four pictures of the missing girls as evidence of kidnapping, I could start trouble for Macey if he wouldn’t cooperate with me. Kidnapping was a Federal offence and the F.B.I. would act on this kind of evidence.

I slipped the handkerchief in my pocket and stepped cautiously from the alley into the street. There was no one around and I went back to the shop window.

The moon was now immediately overhead. I could clearly see the details of every photograph in the window. But there was only one photograph that interested me, the one that carried the caption: Special enlargements $1.50 extra.

One look was enough. I knew then why the three men had driven up to the shop and had entered in such haste. The photograph had been changed. The blonde girl whom Esslinger had told me was Mary Drake no longer laughed up at me. A photograph of a sharp-featured girl wearing a white floppy hat had taken her place. As I stared blankly at the photograph, the girl seemed to sneer at me.

I turned the knob and went into the small, narrow room with the two windows, the battered typewriter desk, the filing cases and the threadbare carpet.

The thin, frowzy woman was sitting at the desk, her head in her hands. She looked at me out of red, swollen eyes.

I tipped my hat. “Who’s running the Gazette?” I asked.

She waved to the further office. “He is,” she said, and put her head back in her hands.

I walked to the door, tapped and went in.

Sitting behind Dixon’s desk was a youth who eyed me inquiringly. He was undersized, his features small, in keeping with his stature, and regular. His skin was very fair. His clothing was neither new nor of more than ordinary quality, but it, and his manner of wearing it, was marked by a hard masculine neatness.

“What do you want?” he said in a voice as composed as his young face.

I hooked a chair towards me with my foot, sat down and took out my identity card. I gave it to him.

While he was examining it I studied him. He seemed certainly less than twenty years old and he didn’t look like he had ever shaved. He got through examining the identity card and handed it back. He looked with large hazel eyes under long, curling lashes at my chest.

“I often wanted to be a private dick,” he said in a confiding sort of voice. “It must be fun.”

I took out the package of Lucky Strikes, tapped a couple on to the desk, rolled one to him and picked up the other.

“Thanks,” he said, putting it between his over-full lips.

I set fire to the cigarettes and relaxed in the chair. “The old girl seems knocked up,” I said, jerking my head to the outer office.

He nodded. “She’s worked with him for years,” he explained. “He wasn’t such a bad old geezer, not when you got to know him.” He looked round the office as if he’d lost something and then said: “Did you say what you wanted?”

“You the guy Dixon was telling me about? The guy who thought up the mass-murder idea?”

He nodded. “That’s me.” He spoke with quiet pride. “I told the old geezer it’d double our circulation. Did he tell you that?”

“Yeah.” I stretched out my legs. “It was only to build circulation?”

“That’s what I told him, but believe it myself.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Reg Phipps. I may look a kid but I’ve been on the Gazette three years now.”

“So you think these girls were murdered?”

He nodded. “Sure do. It’s exciting, isn’t it?” His eyes glowed. “Can’t think what he’s done with the bodies.”

“He? Who?”

Phipps frowned. “The murderer, of course.”

“You’re guessing, aren’t you? You don’t know it’s murder.”

“I don’t know it’s murder,” he repeated, “but I’ll bet it is.”

I changed the subject. “Never mind that. Who’s the new editor?”

His face clouded. “Not me,” he said bitterly. “Shanks doesn’t believe in giving youth a chance... He’ll dig out some old deadbeat.”

“Could you do it?”

“Run this rag?” He laughed. “I could do it with an abscess in my ear.”

I told him he might not have to wait for the abscess.

“That right?” His eyes brightened, then he shook his head. “Aw, you’re kidding.”

“I told Wolf to buy the rag,” I said. “If Wolf gets it, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t run it.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and put the butt carefully in a tin box full of butts. “I give ’em to an old guy I know,” he explained as he caught my eye. He put the box away and brooded for a moment. “It might be hell to work for Wolf,” he said finally.

I shook my head. “I’ll take care of him. What I want to be sure of is whether you can handle it or whether you’re just saying so.”

“I’m not kidding,” he said seriously. “I wrote all the stuff. Dixon handled the policy. I could do that or maybe Wolf could do it.”

I grunted. “What about her?” I nodded to the door.

“She won’t stay.” Phipps seemed sure of that. “I’d like a dame here like Ginger Rogers, or maybe Rita Hayworth.” He turned it over in his mind and added: “Betty Grable would be a snap, but I don’t suppose she’d come.”

I said I didn’t think any of them would.

He said he thought I was right.

“If Wolf got the paper, we’d bust this town wide open,” I said. “We’d go after Macey and Starkey and nail ’em to the cross. Would you like that?”

He got excited. “I wrote one leader about Starkey once. Dixon had a fit. It never got printed. I think Macey and Starkey are a couple of bums.”

“They wouldn’t take it lying down.”

He ran inky lingers through his thick, sandy hair. “What could they do? We don’t have to be scared of them.” He looked hard at me and added: “Or do we?”

“They knocked Dixon off,” I said gently.

His large hazel eyes popped. “The old geezer had a tired ticker,” he said. “That’s what the copper said.”

“But you don’t believe all you hear, do you?”

He sat forward, his arms on the desk. I noticed his cuffs were frayed. “You wouldn’t kid me?”

“Someone tied a cord around Dixon’s neck and forgot to take it off. He was murdered all right. Macey’s playing it as heart failure. I don’t know why, but that’s the way it is.”

The boy took a long, deep breath. His face had gone a little pale, but his eyes hadn’t lost their brightness. “You mean they might knock me off too?”

“And me or Wolf.” I gave him another cigarette.

He thought about this. “If you can stand it, I can,” he said at last.

I stood up. “That’s swell. The moment Wolf tells me he’s got the paper I’ll be down to talk to you again. In the meantime, stick around and say nothing. Don’t say anything about Dixon.”

He went with me to the door. “Do you really think Wolf will let me...?”

“I’ll talk him into it,” I promised, then asked: “Know where I can find Audrey Sheridan?”

“She’s got an office on Sinclair Street. I forget the number, but it’s a big building with a big theatre ad in lights crawling all over it. You can’t miss it.”

“Where does she live?”

“Laurel Street. It’s an apartment building. You’ll find it halfway down on your right. It’s got a roof garden.” He sighed. “I wouldn’t mind living in it myself.”

“Maybe you will one day,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“So long,” he said, and I went into the outer office. Then I remembered something and came back.

“Does the name Edna Wilson mean anything to you?”

Phipps scowled. “Sounds familiar,” then he gave me a quick look. “What’s the idea? She’s Wolf’s secretary, ain’t she?”

I nodded. “Who else does she run around with?”

“You’re not serious? I thought she was too homey to run around with anyone.”

“Wolf doesn’t think so.”

“At his age he can’t afford to choose.”

“So there’s no one else?”

“Blackley. I saw her with him once, but he’s as bad as Wolf. Bald, old, wrinkles and the rest.”

“Who’s Blackley?”

“The District Attorney. He’s no good. You don’t think there’s anything to it, do you?”

I was thinking hard. “To it? What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You’re talking in riddles. What’s Edna Wilson to you?”

“Listen, son,” I said, patting his shoulder, “the whole goddamn thing’s a riddle.”

Out in the street, I signalled a cab and told the driver to take me to Laurel Street. It took twelve minutes to get there and I told him to put me down at the corner.

I found the building with the roof garden halfway up the street on my right. It was a nice-looking joint and I agreed with Phipps that it would be all Tight to live in.

I walked into the lobby and went to the desk. “Mr. Selby,” I said.

The girl frowned. “No Mr. Selby here, sir.”

I said Mr. Selby was an old friend of mine and I had come two hundred miles to see him and this is where he lived. I said if she didn’t know the names of her clients she’d better call the manager.

She produced the register to prove I was wrong. Audrey Sheridan’s room was number 853. I said I must have made a mistake, that I was sorry and could I use the phone? She showed me where the phones were and I thanked her.

I put a call through to room 853 but there was no answer. The phone was out of sight of the girl at the desk and the elevator was right by me. I rode up to the eighth floor, walked down a long deserted corridor until I came to 853. I rapped, waited and then took out my pocketknife. I was inside in thirty seconds.

The red and cream sitting room was pleasant and livened by flowers in squat pottery vases. A faint smell of lilac gave the right feminine touch.

I put my hat on the walnut settee and searched the room from wall to wall. I opened every drawer, cupboard, box, trunk and subjected its contents to examination by eyes and fingers. I tested every piece of clothing for telltale bulges or for the sound of crinkling paper. I looked under rugs and furniture. I pulled down blinds to see that nothing had been rolled up in them for concealment. I examined dishes and pans and food and food-containers. I opened the flush-box in the bathroom and looked out of windows to see that nothing was hung below them on the outside. I took the apartment to pieces systematically, but I didn’t find the three photographs nor Mary Drake’s handkerchief.

I hadn’t made more mess than necessary, but I had made a mess. I stood looking around the room, a little tired and depressed. Although I hadn’t found what I had come for I had managed to create a picture of Audrey Sheridan by her possessions. Her clothes for one thing. A woman’s clothes can be an indication of her character — especially her underwear. Audrey Sheridan’s underwear was spartan in its severity — no lace, no colours, no fancy cut. Her clothes were-ultra smart. Tailored suits, three or four pairs of flannel trousers in various shades, high-neck jumpers, bright-coloured shirts. All smart and all carefully chosen.

Her cosmetics comprised cold cream, lipsticks and lilac scent. The apartment was full of books. Even books in the kitchen and bathroom. There was a radio on the table by the window and a big library of gramophone records in a cabinet by the door.

One look at the titles of the books and the records convinced me that Audrey Sheridan had a serious mind. I have always distrusted serious-minded women; but a serious-minded woman who took the trouble to learn jiu-jitsu and who didn’t hesitate to steal evidence from a fellow dick looked like poison to me.

I set fire to a cigarette, tossed the match into the fireplace and dragged down a lungful of smoke.

I decided it was time for Audrey Sheridan and me to have a little talk.

With one last glance around the disordered room, I went out, closing the door behind me.

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.

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.

A police car was pulling away from Wolf’s house when I got there. I gave it a few minutes to get well away and then once more I walked across the lawn and stabbed the bell push.

Although it was just after one o’clock in the morning, the house was a blaze of light and the door opened almost immediately.

I shouldered the manservant aside and walked into the lobby. “Where’s Wolf?” I said.

The manservant stared at me with sleepy, bewildered eyes. From his expression I could see I was the last person he expected to call. “I wouldn’t advise you to see Mr. Wolf tonight,” he said, keeping his voice low. “He is very... er... irritable and—”

“Skip it,” I said shortly. “Where is he?”

A voice sounded from the head of the stairs — Wolf’s voice. “Who is it? Jackson, who are you talking to?”

I went to the foot of the stairs so he could see me. “Good evening,” I said, and began walking up the stairs towards him.

“You get out of my house,” he thundered. “Jackson, call the police. Do you hear? Call the police.”

I swung around, drawing my gun. I pointed it at the manservant, who went white and almost fell down.

“Come on,” I said, threatening him with the gun. “Upstairs, you.”

As soon as he passed me I covered Wolf, who stood gaping in surprised fear and rage.

“We’ll call on little Edna,” I said, coldly. “Go on, both of you.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Wolf snarled, but he went into Edna’s room, followed by the manservant and myself.

Edna was in bed. She sat up with a stifled scream when she saw me.

“Take it easy, toots,” I said, thinking the bruise on her chin put some character in her face. “Just relax and I won’t hurt you again.”

I jerked open the bathroom door and shoved the manservant into the bathroom. “Stay there until I call you out,” I said, and closed the door.

“If you think you can get away with this—” Wolf began, his face a dusty purple.

I pointed my gun at a chair. “Sit down,” I said. “We three are going to have a little talk.”

Edna suddenly threw off the bedclothes and jumped out of bed. She was wearing a pair of salmon-pink pyjamas which made her look like an overgrown kid who had raided a lingerie shop.

“I’m calling the police,” she said, in a voice shrill with fury. “This cheap dick can’t bluff me. If you had any guts you’d throw him out.”

Wolf’s face sagged a little, but he didn’t move. The gun pointing at his stomach seemed real enough to him.

I let her reach the telephone and then I took two quick steps, caught her wrist, ducked a savage blow she aimed at my face and tossed her across the bed. As she scrambled up I handed her a smack on her tail. It sounded like a paper bag bursting, and with a thin wail of pain, fury and fright, she wriggled hurriedly under the bedclothes again.

“Anything more from you,” I said quietly, “and I’ll skin you alive.”

She glared at me with wide, furious eyes, but she didn’t make any move.

I sat down so I could cover them both and lit a cigarette. “Now we’ll talk,” I said, looking over at Wolf. “It’s time you and I had a showdown.”

“You’re sacked,” he said, between his teeth. “You’re not working for me anymore. I’ll sue your boss and I’ll sue you. I’ll get you a stretch in jail!”

I laughed at him. “Okay,” I said, “I’m sacked. That suits me. But I’m telling you something before I go. Starkey’s dead. He was killed half an hour ago. How do you like that?”

His eyes showed interest, but he didn’t say anything. Edna gave a low cry and her face seemed to fall to pieces. She turned over in bed and began to cry, muffling her sobs in the pillow.

Wolf looked at her uneasily.

“She’s his daughter,” I told him. “He planted her on you so he could know all your moves.”

There was a long silence broken only by Edna’s crying. Wolf looked down at his feet, his face haggard. “You’re lying,” he said at last.

“Ask her,” I suggested. “You wouldn’t have stood a chance of becoming mayor with her watching every move. Between the two them they could have cooked up a tale that’d have discredited you and maybe run you out of the town. You’ve been playing with dynamite with this little bird.”

He pointed to the door. “Get out,” he said, his voice shaking with rage.

“I’m going,” I said, “but you’re phoning Macey and you’re telling him to lay off me. You’re telling him you’re withdrawing the kidnapping charge or I’ll spread the story of your love nest all over Cranville.”

“I want you out of this town,” he said. “I’ve had enough of you. I’ll withdraw the charge if you’ll get out and stay out.”

I grinned at him. “You’ll withdraw the charge without any conditions. I’m the guy who holds the whip hand. I’ve got the story set for the front page of the Gazette and you can’t stop it. I’ll stay here until the paper is on the streets. When Cranville hears that Edna is the daughter of a small-time gambler as well as your mistress, you’ll be in a sweet jam.”

He still hesitated; so I reached for the phone and put a call through to police headquarters. When Beyfield came on the line I gave the phone to Wolf. “Tell him it was all a mistake. Say the kid was hysterical and wanted to frame me. Go on.”

He had a long mumbling conversation with Beyfield and finally he went all over it again with Macey. He withdrew the charge and from the way he had to argue I guessed Macey was wild. Anyway, he made it stick in the end. He slammed down the receiver and glared at me.

I stood up. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll leave you to sort out the mess.” I glanced at Edna, who was still out of sight under the bedclothes. “Maybe you’d better send her away. From now on I’m working on my own. I came to Cranville to find three missing girls. Well, I’m finding them. Anyone who gets in my way is going to get hurt. You keep out of this and you may grab yourself the mayorship or you may not. I don’t give a damn who becomes mayor. With Starkey out of the way, the fight’s between you and Esslinger. That’s something you have to thank me for. I fixed Starkey and I’ll fix a lot of other guys in this town if they don’t play. That goes for you too.”

I got up and walked out of the room before he could say anything. I went downstairs, opened the front door, crossed the lawn and climbed into my car.

The clock on the dashboard showed that it was one-thirty. I was tired but I wasn’t discouraged. I could now concentrate on finding Marian French’s killer. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy. But I was going to find him. Cranville wasn’t a big town. Someone in Cranville was responsible for the killing, and if I got the right kind of lead it shouldn’t be difficult to run him to ground.

I returned to the Palace Hotel, went upstairs and found Audrey and Reg fast asleep. They were lying on the twin beds, still dressed, and I had to shake them before they knew I was in the room.

Audrey sat up and groaned faintly. “I’m so tired,” she said. “What happened? Did you see Wolf?”

“I saw him,” I said grimly. “You turn in now. We’ll meet tomorrow. There’re things I want to talk to you about. Come on, Reg, we’ll get a room here and get ourselves some sleep. We’re out of a job. Wolf’s sacked me, and that goes for you too. How would you like to become a detective?”

Reg looked at me sleepily as he rolled off the bed. “Sure,” he said; “that’s been my life’s ambition. I never did think I’d be editor of the Gazette for long.”

I grinned at him. “Come on,” I said. “You weren’t cut out to be an editor, but you’ll make a swell detective. Let’s go get a room.”

He ambled over to the door. “Do you want me to see the desk clerk while you tuck her in?” he asked, eyeing Audrey with his youthful leer.

“Get a double room,” I said, pushing him into the passage. “We’ll need to watch our expenses.”

“Don’t take too long saying good night to that blonde,” he returned. “I want some sleep even if you don’t.”

When he had gone, I stood over Audrey as she lay on the bed and we smiled at each other. “All right now?” I said. “Anything else you want?”

“I’m fine — just tired, that’s all. Is it all right about the kidnapping?”

I sat on the bed by her side and took her hand. “I fixed Wolf. In his position he can’t afford to get tough with me.”

She looked down at our hands. “I suppose he can’t,” she said, “but you will be careful?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve knocked around too long to let a fat old guy like Wolf upset me.” I stroked her hand absently, thinking how nice she looked. “We’re partners now,” I went on; “only the senior partner. What I say goes.”

“I suppose I’ll have to let you have your own way,” she said lazily. “All right, I’ll admit I’ve made a mess of things. I’m in no position to get tough with you either.”

“Now you are being smart,” I said. “In fact you’re not in the position to refuse me anything.”

“Not anything?” she said, in mock alarm.

“Not anything,” I repeated, slipping my arm under her head and half raising her. Her head rested in the crook of my arm and our faces were close. “Does that worry you?”

She looked at me seriously. “No, I don’t think it does.”

I kissed her. “Sure?”

She pulled my head down. “I like it,” she said softly. “Let’s do it again.”

Esslinger’s house was a modest, two-storey building on the outer limits of the town. It stood on its own small plot of land and was hidden from the other houses by a tall box-hedge.

In the rapidly falling darkness Audrey brought us to the back of the house along a narrow, deserted road. It was after ten o’clock by the time we had reached the house, and although the upper floor was in darkness, lights blazed from a room on the ground floor.

Audrey stopped the car and we all got out.

“That’s his room, there,” she whispered, pointing to a small window that projected from the sloping roof. “All you have to do is to walk tip the garden path, climb the pipe-stack and you’ll be on the roof. It’s easy to walk up to the window from there.”

“Who do you think he is — Tarzan of the Apes?” Reg muttered.

“Okay,” I said. “You wait here. If you see anything moving, sound the horn.”

Audrey slipped her hand in mine. “You will be careful, won’t you? I mean I don’t want you to break your neck.”

I looked down at her, wishing Reg was out of the way. “Don’t worry about me,” I said, “I’ll be all right.”

“If you two want to be more intimate, don’t worry about me,” Reg said sarcastically. “I can stand it if you can.”

I put my hand over his face and gave him a shove, then with a quick smile at Audrey I swung myself over the fence and dropped onto the soft ground of the flower-bed.

Keeping in the shadows, I moved silently up the garden. The light from the sitting room blazed on to the lawn and I could see, before I reached the house, I would have to pass right through this patch of light. As I drew nearer, I slowed my pace, and finally, just outside the edge of light, I stopped and peered into the silting-room.

Mrs. Esslinger sat facing me. She was sitting in a large armchair and she was knitting. Although her fingers guided the needles with what seemed to me an incredible speed, her eyes stared out of the window. She seemed to be staring right at me and the fixed, cold expression in her eyes gave me a spooky feeling. I instinctively ducked back into the darkness. I waited for a moment, wondering if she had seen me, and then as nothing happened I peered into the room again.

She still stared out of the window, but I was sure now that she couldn’t see me out there in the darkness. But I would have to be careful how I crossed the patch of light.

I went down on my hands and knees and, moving slowly, crawled into the patch of light. I felt naked for those few seconds it took me to reach the cover of the shadows.

I stood up as I neared the house and listened. Nothing happened. Except for a car that roared past the front of the house, there was no sound. But I made no move. I leaned against the wooden rails of the verandah and waited.

Nothing happened for a long minute, then I saw a shadow on the lawn, near me. Mrs. Esslinger was standing at the window. The light from the room threw her shadow in a long, distorted shape on the close-clipped grass. My heart began to thump steadily and suddenly my mouth went dry.

I pressed myself further against the verandah, knowing it was dark enough where I stood, but I was scared. There was no time to analyse this feeling of fear. Somewhere in my subconscious I was astonished at being so scared. Mrs. Esslinger was certainly bad for my nerves.

I waited there, hardly breathing and in a chill of a cold sweat. The shadow moved suddenly and then I saw Mrs. Esslinger’s head. She was peering into the garden, silently and intently. I knew she was listening.

She was so close to me that if I had taken three steps towards I could have touched her. If she turned her head and looked in my direction, I felt sure she would see me. It was the worse few seconds I’ve ever experienced.

She suddenly seemed satisfied that no one was in the garden, for she disappeared from the window and abruptly drew the curtains. The garden was plunged into complete darkness, and for a few seconds I could see nothing. Then gradually my eyes became used to the darkness and the house took shape again.

I hesitated about entering the house, wondering where Hench was, wondering if Mrs. Esslinger had gone upstairs. That was something I had to find out.

Moving cautiously, I approached the window. The curtains were tightly closed across the window, but the window itself was open. I leaned forward, my heart banging against my ribs, and listened. At the back of my mind I wondered if Mrs. Esslinger was standing behind the curtains waiting to spring out on me. Just the thought of that made my knees knock together. Very faintly, I heard the clicking of knitting needles and I quietly stepped away from the window.

If I was going to get into the house, I must do so quickly. There were no other lights showing, and I hoped both Esslinger and Hench were out.

I found the stack-pipe Audrey had told me about. It was at the far end of the house away from the room where Mrs. Esslinger was sitting. I tested it and found it strong enough to take my weight. Before making the climb I took off my shoes and then, gripping the pipe in both hands, I edged my way up the side of the house.

It took me only a few moments to reach the sloping roof, and hooking my fingers in the gutter I drew myself up on to the tiles. I was sweating with the exertion, and it was only then that I realized the night had become hot and oppressive. Although the moon rode high, a black cloud-bank was moving slowly on the horizon and it looked to me as if a storm were blowing up.

I stood on the roof and looked across the garden into the road. I could see the car parked not far away and the dim outlines of Audrey and Reg watching me. I raised my hand and they waved back. Then I turned and walked carefully up the gentle slope of the roof towards Ted’s bedroom window.

The window was uncurtained and the room was in darkness. I got my fingers under the window-frame and pushed it up. It opened noiselessly and I peered into the room. The light from the moon was sufficient for me to see the room was empty. It was a hard, bare masculine room with a polished wood floor, a couple of small rugs in an Indian design, two straight chairs, a bureau in dark-grained wood with a man’s toilet set and black candles in foot-high brass candlesticks.

The bed was narrow and looked hard and had a dark-green cover. The room felt cold.

I across the windowsill and walked to the door. I opened it a few inches and listened. No sound came to me. Then I shut the door, took a small wooden wedge from my pocket and forced it into the chink between the door and the floor. I wasn’t taking chances of anyone coming in and catching me off-guard.

I went immediately to the bureau and began going through the drawers. The last drawer gave me what I wanted. In a corner, under a pile of silk shirts, I found a packet of photographs. I took them to the window and in the light of the moon I saw they were the photographs of the missing girls. I felt blood hammering against my temples as I looked down at the calm, attractive face of Marian French.

I shoved the photographs into my pocket and turned back to the bureau. As I did so I paused, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stiffening.

The moonlight was now shining directly on the white painted door and I distinctly saw the handle slowly turn. Then the door moved, but immediately stopped as the wedge held it.

That was enough for me. Silently I stepped to the window, swung my leg over the sill and got on to the roof. I waved once to Reg, who waved back, and then I half slid, half slithered to the gutter. My legs went over the edge of the roof and hung in space while I got a grip on the gutter. I hung for a moment, my heart pounding and fear catching at my belly. Then I dropped silently into the garden, staggered, recovered my balance and stood up. A moment later I had wedged my feet into my shoes and, not pausing to tie the laces, I turned to run down the garden path.

Without warning a sudden swishing sound made me duck. I felt something hit against my shoulder. I had one horrified glimpse of a noosed cord falling to the ground and then I spun on my heel and ran.

I blundered across the garden, fell over the fence and landed almost at Reg’s feet.

“Come on!” I panted. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Audrey had started the engine and I scrambled into the seat beside her. Reg tumbled in behind us.

“Scram!” I said to Audrey. “They’ve spotted us.”

Nothing was said for the next few minutes. Audrey drove fast, concentrating on the road, while I sat limply beside her, trying to get over my fright.

“Okay,” I said at last. “Pull up here. We’re far enough away now.”

She slowed down and stopped under a street light. “You seemed in a hurry to leave,” she said, looking at me intently. “Why, good gracious, the poor man looks actually scared.”

I drew a deep breath. “Scared?” I said. “That’s an understatement. I nearly had a heart attack.”

Reg leaned forward and breathed heavily down my neck. “Dicks don’t get scared,” he said dryly. “Not New York dicks.”

“Shut up, you two,” I snapped. “This is serious. Someone was waiting for me in the garden and damn near strangled me.”

“You were dreaming,” Reg said with a snigger. “Why don’t you admit the shadows scared you and you ran away.”

“Don’t rib him, Reg,” Audrey said softly. “I believe he has had a fright.”

I took the photographs out of my pocket and dropped them in Audrey’s lap. “Take a look at this little lot,” I said grimly. “Maybe they’ll hold you two dopes for a moment.”

“Where did you get them?” Audrey asked as soon as she saw what they were.

“They were hidden under a pile of shirts in Ted’s bureau,” I said grimly. “This is the first real evidence I’ve got. They’re all there, even Marian. He’ll have to be smart to talk himself out of this.”

“You weren’t kidding about being strangled?” Audrey asked, looking at me with wide, anxious eyes.

“You bet I wasn’t,” I said, fumbling for a cigarette and offering her one. “Someone tried to lasso me. If I hadn’t ducked they’d have had me around the neck. It was quite a circus trick.” I turned to Reg. “Do you know if rope-spinning’s one of Ted’s accomplishments?”

He shook his head. “That’s a new one oh me,” he said, looking blank.

“Well, that’s the way these girls were killed,” I went on. “I’m glad it happened to me. We now know what to watch out for.”

“You didn’t see anyone, I suppose?” Audrey asked.

I shook my head. “Did Ted say where he was going tonight? If he’s the killer, then it was he who was waiting for me with the rope.”

“He told me he was spending the evening at the Ciro Club. Shall we check up?”

“You bet we’ll checkup,” I returned. “Let’s get to a drugstore where we can phone and then we’ll go on to the cemetery. You know, I’ve a feeling this case is coming to an end.”

“You really think Ted’s the killer?” Audrey asked, engaging gears and driving slowly down the dimly lit street.

“It looks like it. The photographs should be enough evidence to fry him if the case is handled right. Then this attempt to knock me off points to him again. If we can find the bodies, we ought to have a cast-iron case against him.”

A few minutes’ driving brought us to a drugstore. I told Reg to call the Ciro Club and find out if Ted was there.

While we waited in the car, I said to Audrey: “When this business is over, have you thought what you’re going to do?”

She looked away. “Not really,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll be a detective anymore. I don’t seem to be good at it.”

I put my hand over hers. “With me,” I said, “you could be very good. Why don’t you and me become partners?”

“I might consider it,” she said cautiously. “But you’re awfully domineering.”

“Not if I were your husband,” I said airily. “You’d be surprised how nice I could be. Didn’t you know I am one of the world’s great lovers?”

“I had an idea you thought you were,” she said, with a little giggle. “Although you’re the only one who does think so.”

I put my arm around her and pulled her to me. “Come on, honey,” I said. “You know you can’t get on without me — say yes.”

Reg stuck his head through the window. “For God’s sake!” he exploded. “Can’t you two keep your minds on business? The moment I leave you, you start canoodling.”

“One of these days someone’s going to take a dislike to you,” I said fiercely, hastily taking my arm away. “I didn’t think you’d be so quick.”

He opened the car door and scrambled in. “I made a rush job of it,” he said with a leer. “Why should you be the only one to have fun and games?”

“Well, come on, you lug,” I said. “Is he still there?”

“No, and what’s more, he hasn’t been there all evening. What do you make of that?”

Audrey and I exchanged glances.

“Okay,” I said. “It looks like we’re on the right track. Let’s go — Cranville cemetery first stop.”

Just after six o’clock I entered Audrey’s room with a square box under my arm.

She was sitting in front of her dressing table in a flame wrap, doing her hair.

“Where have you been?” she asked, swinging round and holding out her arms.

I set down the box, kissed her and sat down in the nearby armchair. “I’ve been busy,” I said. “Heard from Ted?”

She nodded. “He telephoned an hour ago and asked me to meet him at Ciro’s Club at eight.”

“So it’s on,” I said, controlling my excitement. “Did he say anything?”

“Nothing that’d help,” she said. “He was friendly and seemed excited about seeing me. He kidded me a lot, but nothing more. You know, I still can’t believe—”

“We’ll soon see,” I said. “What are you wearing?”

“I thought a dress.” She looked puzzled. “Why? Do you want me to wear something special?”

“I do,” I said. “I want you to wear a white suit and a high-neck shirt or even a light sweater with a roll collar.”

“It’s too hot for that,” she protested, but seeing the look in my eye, she paused. “You mean it’s important?”

“You bet I do,” I said. “I want you in white so I can see you in the dark and I want you to wear a polo neck sweater to hide this.” I picked up the box and opened it.

“What on earth is it?” Audrey exclaimed.

“Just a little idea I had,” I said, taking out a plaster cast of her neck and shoulders. It was well made, strong, and in two pieces. “Now sit still a moment and let me try it on.”

“But why? What do you want me to wear that ghastly thing for?”

“With that around your neck,” I said quietly, “no one, try as he may, could strangle you. You don’t think I’m going to take any chances, do you?”

She gave me a quick, startled look, but said nothing. She opened her wrap and I fitted the cast on one shoulder. It fitted well. Then I put the other half on her other shoulder and fixed the straps. Her throat was completely protected from an inch or so below her ears. The cast did not touch her neck and did not restrict movement. I was pretty proud of it.

“But I can’t spend the whole evening in this!” she gasped. “Ted would notice it.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “I wanted to see if it fitted. Before you leave the club, go to the ladies’ room and put this on. I’ll have it ready and I’ll give it to you at the right time. He won’t notice it in the dark.”

“How sweet you are!” she said. “Did you really think of this yourself?”

“Don’t kid me,” I said, grinning. “You’re going into danger, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. With that you’ll be all right. They can hang you from the roof and you’ll just laugh at them.”

“I hope they won’t do any such thing,” Audrey returned. “Now, you run off, because I want to change. Take my neck with you.”

I unstrapped the cast, kissed her and went to my room, where Reg was lying on the bed, smoking.

“I’m getting the jitters,” he said, sitting up. “Where’ve you been and what have you got there?”

I told him about the cast.

“Holy mackerel!” he exclaimed. “That’s an idea. But you don’t honestly think they’ll try to strangle her, do you?”

I lit a cigarette. “If they don’t, then I’m on the wrong tack,” I said. “But I’m taking no chances.”

“You’ve got something more up your sleeve,” he said, regarding me suspiciously. “What else have you been up to?”

I grinned at him. “Plenty of time for that,” I said. “I promised Beyfield I’d have this case sewn up, and with luck I will. But it’s too early yet to tell you what’s cooking.”

He scowled. “All right, if you want to be mysterious,” he said, “but think of my nerves...”

“I’ll think of them,” I said, and glanced at my watch. It was a quarter to seven. Time was moving slowly. I sat down to wait. While I was waiting I checked through my plans and found them sound. There was nothing more I could do.

At seven o’clock Beyfield arrived. He looked animated and he actually grinned at both of us as he entered the room.

“We’re getting somewhere,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen Latimer and we’re going to fix Wolf.”

“What did it cost you?” I asked, knowing Latimer.

He winked. “I’ve got friends,” he said. “There’s a guy in this town who wants the Cranville Gazette. By this time tomorrow Wolf will be glad to sell out.”

“Maybe you’ve even found another mayor?” I said, watching him closely.

“Maybe I have,” he returned, “but it depends on you. If you don’t pull this stunt of yours off tonight I’ll be in a hell of a jam.”

“I’ll pull it off,” I said. “How about a drink?”

He nodded. “I was going to suggest it,” he said. “What’s happening?”

I ’phoned down to the desk clerk and ordered drinks before I answered and then I told him that Audrey was meeting Ted Esslinger at Ciro’s club and the rest depended on Esslinger.

“So it is Ted Esslinger?” he said, shaking his head. “It’ll be a shock to his old man. I like Esslinger, but I don’t care much for the boy. He’s too fond of running around with the girls. At one time we had complaints, did you know that?”

I shook my head. “I heard he was wild, but I didn’t know he was vicious,” I said. “This boy Roger Kirk he goes around with might make a witness for the State.”

Beyfield grunted. “He’s as bad. Both of ’em have been heading for trouble for some time. In a small town like Cranville it’s difficult to hide things up, but they’ve been smart up to now. I guess they’ve picked the kind of girl who’s too scared to talk. One or two of ’em did complain, but Esslinger fixed it with Macey.” His face showed his disgust. “You can fix anything with Macey if you have enough dough.”

The drinks came and I made three highballs. As we were finishing them Audrey came in. She looked swell in her white linen coat and skirt and her cashmere white and blue sweater.

Beyfield eyed her with open admiration.

“Well, I like that!” she exclaimed. “You three guzzling whisky and nothing for me! After all, I’m the one who’s going to be strangled.”

“Don’t talk that way,” I retorted. “And I don’t like my wife to drink whisky. I’ll buy you a gin at the club.”

She shook her head sadly. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m being wise marrying you,” she said, pouring a small whisky into my glass and adding soda. “Until I’m married, I’m doing what I like. When I’m married I might do what you like — if it’s reasonable.”

“I bet you look after your wife better than that,” I said to Beyfield.

“My wife?” he said with a snort. “I haven’t seen her for six years and I don’t care if I never see her again.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Beyfield feels exactly the same,” Audrey said, smiling at him.

“So you’re both bound to be happy.”

I looked at my watch, “I think we’ll go,” I said. “Take a taxi to the club,” I went on to Audrey. “We’ll be right behind the whole time. If Ted wants to take you some place, go with him. Before you leave the club, don’t forget this.” I tapped the box containing the plaster cast.

“I won’t,” she promised, and turning to the other two, she said: “I’m sure you won’t mind leaving me with my future husband for a moment. He might have other important but confidential things to say to me.”

Beyfield moved to the door with an embarrassed smirk. Reg followed him.

Five minutes later we joined them in the hotel lobby and Audrey left in a taxi. We called another taxi and followed on behind.

“That dame’s got guts,” Beyfield said suddenly as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer. “You’re a lucky guy to get a dame like that.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said soberly, meaning every word.

Ciro’s club was the only bright spot in Cranville. When we arrived, just after eight, we were in time to see Audrey walking up the broad stairs to the bar.

“Reg,” I said, “I want you to stick around outside. It’s just possible, if there’s a crowd in there, we’ll miss her. You keep the taxi waiting and watch out. Understand?”

He nodded and we left him.

The bar was crowded and Beyfield and I pushed our way with difficulty to the front. I ordered two large whiskies, and while waiting I glanced over the heads of the crowd.

Audrey was sitting at a table near the door. She was alone.

“He hasn’t turned up yet,” I said to Beyfield in a low voice. “I wonder if he’s got cold feet.”

The barman served us the whiskies, nodded to Beyfield, whom he knew, and went away to serve other drinks.

We left the bar and sat down at the far end of the room where we could see Audrey without being seen ourselves.

We waited five minutes and then I saw a bellhop go up to Audrey and speak to her.

“Something’s up,” I said to Beyfield. “You wait here. I’ll go over and see her.”

As I approached, the bellhop went away.

Audrey stood up. “He’s left a message,” she said, her eyes a little scared.

“He wants me to go to 49 Maddox Avenue, right away. Friends of his are having a party there.”

“Now we know,” I said. “That’s how he got the other girls to go to the house in Victoria Drive.” I waved to Beyfield, who quickly joined us.

“Where’s Maddox Avenue?” I asked.

“It lies at the back of Victoria Drive,” he said, staring at me. “Why?”

“Ted’s left a message for Audrey to join him there. He says friends of his are staging a party. The number of the house is forty-nine.”

“Wait here a moment,” Beyfield said, and lumbered off to a telephone.

He was back within five minutes and his beefy face showed his excitement.

“It’s an empty house,” he said. “I’ve ordered a bunch of boys to be ready to surround it as soon as we go in. It certainly looks like you’re on to something.”

I gave Audrey the box I had been carrying. “Get that on, kid, and let’s go.”

She drew a sharp breath. “It’s worse than having a tooth out,” she said, with a bad attempt to smile. “And won’t I be glad when it is over!”

We watched her go into the ladies’ room and then we went downstairs to wait in the taxi.