When they had gone I wrote another report to Colonel Forsberg. Every operative who worked for the Colonel had to turn in a daily report. The idea was sound, as it showed the operative what progress he was making and also it helped to clear up points he might have otherwise overlooked.
After I had read the report through, one particular thing struck me — the Street-Camera angle was a phoney.
I lit a cigarette and brooded about it. The more I brooded the more phoney it became. I had no idea how Starkey was selecting the girl to be kidnapped — always assuming that he was responsible for the kidnapping. If he was responsible, then in theory the idea of getting one of his gang to take the girl’s photograph and give her an address to collect it and then kidnap her when she arrived was a good one. But good only in theory. The girl might not bother to collect the photograph. That was one obvious point. If she did and she was kidnapped, how did they get her away from the building? Why was the picture of Mary Drake exhibited in the window on the day she was kidnapped? Something was wrong with this theory, but I couldn’t get at it.
I finally gave up in disgust and spent the rest of the morning lying on my bed, dozing and thinking. It was no use showing myself on the streets, I argued. If Macey and Starkey thought I had left town I might be able to spring a surprise on them. What kind of surprise it would be I had no idea, but it seemed to me as I dozed off that any kind of surprise was something.
I woke to find Reg bending dyer me, a look of irritation on his worldly-wise young face.
I blinked, yawned and sat up. “Don’t think I was asleep,” I said, swinging my legs off the bed and running my fingers through my hair. “That’s just the way I think. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you’ve been away.”
“I bet you have,” he said sarcastically. “And I’ve been tramping my feet down to my knees.”
I looked at my watch. It was just after three o’clock. “Hell!” I said, startled. “I didn’t know it was as late as this. I haven’t had any lunch.”
“Never mind about your lunch,” Reg returned. “I’ve got news.”
“Sit down and tell me,” I said, picking up the telephone. I called a drugstore across the street.
“Audrey Sheridan’s in town,” he said. “I’ve just seen her.”
“What are you doing here then?” I said, looking at him sharply. “Why didn’t you tail her?” Before he could reply the drugstore came on the line and I ordered sandwiches and a half pint of bourbon. “Go on,” I said, as I hung up.
“I didn’t have a chance,” he returned in disgust. “She was in a taxi. It was moving fast and she looked out of the window as it passed me. By the time I’d found a cab she was out of sight. I cruised around looking for her, but it was hopeless. She was going too fast.”
I lit a cigarette and went over to the desk. “Well, I guess it’s something to know she’s still around. If Starkey knows she has the photograph, her life won’t be worth a dime.”
“That goes for you too,” Reg said, sitting down in an armchair and resting his feet on the bed.
“Yeah, only my life’s worth a lot more than a dime to me,” I reminded him.
“What else did you find out? How about Dixon?”
“Can’t you guess?” Reg said. “The old story. Esslinger sent a hearse for it, the hearse caught fire and all that’s left of Dixon is a handful of ashes and a few charred bones. I’d have been in sooner only I had to go over to the printing shop and get the news on the front page. No one knows how the fire started. The hearse suddenly went up like a furnace. The driver was lucky enough to get out with a whole skin.”
I grunted. “Clever,” I said. “Yeah, that was smart. It makes the picture all the more important to me as well as Starkey. Once the picture’s destroyed it lets Starkey out.”
“We ain’t sure Starkey did kill Dixon, are we?” Reg asked.
“Near enough,” I returned. “Either he or Jeff must have killed him. There’s something I can’t figure out about the Street-Camera Studio. It might be someone was trying to frame the kidnappings on to Starkey. Dixon had those photographs, don’t forget. Suppose he was putting a squeeze on Starkey?”
Reg looked puzzled. “What sort of squeeze?”
“I don’t know. If I knew that I’d be getting somewhere. But suppose Dixon was blackmailing Starkey about the photographs, wouldn’t that be motive enough for Starkey or one of his mob to kill him?”
“Yeah, I suppose it would,” Reg said doubtfully. “I don’t think you’re on it yet. Maybe you’re nearly there, but I don’t think it’s right.”
“I know,” I said, scratching my head, “but I’ll get around to it. Suppose you go over to Esslinger’s and see if you can pick up Marian? Tell her you’ve seen Audrey. She might run into her.”
Reg said he’d do that and took himself off.
A few minutes later a boy came with the sandwiches and the bourbon and I settled down to eat.
Except for a few telephone calls from people I didn’t know the rest of the afternoon passed peacefully enough. I smoked, finished the bourbon and generally idled the time away. I had no idea what I was going to do when it got dark, but I knew I would have to do something. It depended on what the others brought in.
Just before seven o’clock Reg and Latimer arrived. I was sitting at the desk as they came into the office.
“Gee!” Reg said. “I thought I’d find you still asleep.”
“That’s only because I’m setting a good example,” I said, waving them to chairs. “Where’s Marian?”
“She’ll be along,” Latimer said, swinging his legs over the arm of the chair and lighting a cigarette. “Nice dame that. I could go for her in a big way if she thought along the same lines as I do.”
Reg scowled at him. “Lay off, you lug,” he said fiercely. “She’s my secretary, and I don’t stand for bums horning in.”
“Skip it, you two,” I said. “Let’s hear what Latimer’s got to report.”
He shook his head. “Not much. I saw Macey. He fed me the same old bull. The police expect to turn up the missing girls any minute now. I could tell by the way he said it he was lying. He now admits that there is a kidnapper at work and says that Wolf’s at the bottom of it trying to stir up trouble for his department.”
“He didn’t?”
Latimer nodded. “Yeah, but he thought I was his pal, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it.”
“Tomorrow we’ll spread that right across the front page. ‘Police Chief Says Industrial Magnate Faked Kidnapping’. ‘Missing girls expected to be found today’,” I said, looking at Reg. “Then we’ll quote Macey just as he said it to Latimer. If that doesn’t start something, I give up.”
Latimer scratched his head. “I don’t know what he’ll do to me,” he said mournfully, “but if that’s the way you want to play it, it’s okay with me.”
I turned to Reg. “Get something out along those lines and see what it looks like. Snap to it, brother.”
Reg went into the outer office and a moment or so later I could hear the whir of a typewriter.
“Anything on Jeff Gordan?” I asked Latimer.
“He was playing poker at Lefty’s until one o’clock,” he told me, “and then he went home. No one went with him and he would have to pass the old Cranville Gazette building on his way.”
“Looks like he hasn’t much of an alibi. Dixon was knocked off around two o’clock. You don’t know where Starkey was at that time?”
Latimer shook his head. “I could find out,” he said. “It might be worth checking.”
“You do that,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was now half past seven. “Where the devil has Marian got to?”