I drank some whisky and thought about Ted Esslinger. At least he was sincere, and I liked him for that. He was ready to throw his father down if it meant finding the girls.
The Street-Camera idea was interesting. I’d have to look into that. It was a neat, way of trapping a girl who’d been singled out for kidnapping. I wondered if the girls had been killed right away or whether they’d been hustled into a car at the back of the shop and taken away.
Then I remembered that a shoe belonging to one of the missing girls had been found in an empty house. It could have been a plant to switch the inquiry away from the Street-Camera shop. I decided that it had to be a plant. Otherwise it didn’t make sense.
I drank some more whisky and eyed the wall opposite. I was pretty sure this Jeff Gordan was the guy who’d been tailing Marian and me.
I got up, put the glass of whisky on the bureau and stared at the wall thoughtfully. It would be an idea, I reasoned, to find out what it was all about.
I left my room and knocked on the door of 365.
A man’s voice said: “Who is it?”
“The room clerk.” I kept my voice down.
The door opened a foot. I put my shoulder against it and shoved. A big, apish-looking man started back, off balance. He stared at me in startled surprise.
He wasn’t the kind of party you’d want to meet up a dark alley. He was bow-legged and the length and thickness of his arms and the flatness of his face reminded me of an orang-outang.
I wasn’t sure, now that I was face to face with him, if he was the guy who had followed us.
He eyed me narrowly.
“What’s the idea?”
“That’s what I came to see you about,” I said, closing the door and leaning against it.
“What do you want?”
“You’ve been tailing me,” I said. “Why?”
He shifted his eyes to the floor and then back to me. “I haven’t been following anyone,” he snarled.
“Nuts,” I said, smiling at him. “And you’ve been writing me notes.”
He shook his head woodenly. All the time I was speaking he was ready to start something if I made a move. I could tell that by the way he held his long arms loosely at his side. “If you don’t get out I’ll call the operator,” he threatened.
I pretended to be convinced. “Maybe I made a mistake,” I said, “but you look like the guy who’s been tailing me.”
He began to relax. “I can’t help that,” he said. “Why the hell should I want to tail you, anyway?”
“That’s what I wanted to find out,” I said. “Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” I turned to go. There was a phone book on the dresser, and as I passed I picked it up and slung it at him all in one movement.
The book caught him on the side of his head and he reeled back. Before he could recover his balance I jumped him.
My fist sank into the side of his neck and he went down. I let him sit up and then I kicked his face. The kick stunned him. He lay flat on his back, the whites of his eyes showing and breath bubbling out of his open mouth.
I knelt at his side and started to go through his pockets. I found nothing of interest in his trouser pockets, and I was beginning on his coat when he came to.
He swung at me, but I saw it coming and dropped flat on top of him. I socked him twice in the belly before he threw me off. He was strong all right, and I slammed against the wall. Before he had time to get to his feet I dived at him. He kicked my stomach with both feet. I hit hard on the floor, most of my breath knocked out of me.
He scrambled up, his flat face alight with vicious fury. I couldn’t move. My muscles had gone back on me and I wanted to vomit.
As he came at me I pulled my gun and showed it to him.
He stopped suddenly like he had run up against a brick wall.
I struggled to get my breath and fought down the sickness, but I didn’t lower the gun or take my eyes off him.
He stood watching me sullenly.
“Sit on the bed,” I managed to jerk out at last.
He sat on the bed, his hands on his knees, glaring at me.
I remained on the floor for three or four minutes until I got my wind back, then, still watching him, I climbed to my feet. My legs felt shaky and I had to lean against the wall.
“Now we’ll talk, you louse,” I said, keeping the gun pointed at his face.
He just snarled at me.
“You’re one of Starkey’s boys, aren’t you?”
He shifted his eyes and I knew I’d guessed right.
Keeping him covered, I took out the note that had been pushed under my door and let him see it.
I laughed. “You don’t think chat, kid’s stuff scared me, do you?”
He looked at his feet and shifted restlessly.
I gave him time to say something and then went on: “I don’t like guys following me around. It makes me nervous. When I get nervous my heater’s likely to go off. Tell Starkey that. While you’re at it, tell him I don’t think he’ll be mayor, and you might add I’ll be along to see him tomorrow.”
He stared at me, his small eyes blank with surprise.
I nodded to the door. “And now dust. Get the hell out of here and stay out. I’ll see you around here again, or tagging along behind me, I’ll slap you down so hard you’ll bounce for a week.”
He stood up, picked up a slouch hat that was lying on a chair nearby, and put it on his head I knew when I saw him in that hat, that he was the party who’d been tailing us.
“Beat it,” I said.
He went to the door, opened it and then turned to look at me. His eyes were glassy with hate.
“You small-town toughs are a dime a dozen,” I said. “Scram!”
He spat on the floor by my feet and went out. I followed him into the passage and watched him walk stiff-legged to the stairs. He didn’t look back.
I awoke with a start. For a brief moment I had the fuddled idea I was in my New York apartment, but the white bureau I could see in the moonlight put me right. I was still in the Eastern Hotel, Cranville.
There was a continuous, gentle tapping on my door. It was a furtive sound. It could have been a rat gnawing on wood. But I knew it wasn’t. I groped for the lamp by my bed and turned it on. Then I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. I felt like hell.
The urgent tapping continued.
I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten minutes past two. My eyelids weighed a ton and the room was stifling, although I had drawn back the curtains and opened the windows wide before going to bed.
I slipped out of bed, grabbed my dressing gown and reached for the .38 which was under my pillow.
The tapping went on all the time I was shaking the sleep out of my brain and getting fixed. Whoever wanted me was making sure no one else would be disturbed.
I went to the door. “Who is it?” I said, speaking against the panel.
The tapping stopped. “It’s Esslinger.” I recognized his voice. I turned the key and opened up.
Ted Esslinger came in quickly and closed the door, His necktie was still under his right ear, and his face was white and pinched.
I gave him a hard look, went back to the bed and sat down. I shoved the gun under the pillow and massaged the back of my neck.
“For the love of Mike,” I said, “can’t you let me sleep?”
“Mary Drake hasn’t been home,” he said. His teeth chattered with nerves.
I yawned, stretched, and went on massaging the back of my neck. “Another of your pals?”
“Don’t you understand?” he said, speaking in a low, tense voice.
“She went to work this morning and she hasn’t come back. Drake’s over with my father now.”
“Aw, hell,” I said, leaning back on my elbows. “What can I do about it? I don’t work twenty-four hours a day.”