“Maybe she’s found something,” Latimer said, getting to his feet. “Well, if you don’t want me anymore I’ll get off. I’ve got a dame to meet, and after I’ve fed her I’ll try Lefty’s again and see if I can pick up anything on Starkey.”
“Don’t tip your mitt,” I said. “I want to surprise that punk.”
“I’ll watch it,” Latimer returned, and went off.
I wandered into the outer office and checked through Reg’s story. We worked on it for a while and then I sat back with a satisfied grunt.
“I guess that’s about right,” I said. “This’ll give Macey a hell of a headache and maybe Wolf will sue him for libel.”
“Macey’ll deny it,” Reg said, shaking his head. “I don’t like this idea, pal. It’s a bad story. If Macey and Wolf both go for us, we’ll be closed down.”
I grinned. “Be your age,” I said. “Wolf owns the damn rag. He’s got a stack of dough. Suppose Macey does sue, it won’t hurt Wolf much but it’ll do a hell of a lot of good.”
Reg began to grin. “Yeah,” he said. “It might at that. Well, you’re handling this. If you think it’s okay, I’ll get down to the printer with it.”
“Sure it’s okay,” I said. “Take it down now.”
He suddenly looked up from putting the folded sheets into an envelope. “Where’s Marian?” he said. “Look at the time; it’s after eight o’clock.”
We looked at each other and we both saw we were thinking the same thing.
“She’ll be along,” I said uneasily. “Maybe she went home to change. You know what girls are.”
“Maybe she has,” he said, but neither of us felt any happier about it.
I looked at the telephone. “Know her number?”
Reg went over and dialled. We waited while the bell rang. Then he hung up. “No one there,” he said.
“Maybe she’s on her way over,” I said, crossing to the window and looking down the street. “That the apartment house on the corner, isn’t it?”
Reg joined me. “Yeah,” he said. “But I don’t see her.” He was looking scared. “You don’t think—?”
“No, I don’t,” I said shortly. “Now look, Reg, get that copy over to the printers. I’ll go over to the apartment house and find out if she’s been in. Come back here as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting for you.”
He hesitated and then picked up the envelope. “I’ll try not to be long,” he said. “I’d better see this through, though, and it’ll take an hour.”
“I’ll ring you then,” I said. “Put your number on a piece of paper, and as soon as I find her I’ll call you.”
I could see he hated going, but after writing the number down, he went.
The telephone began to ring as I was turning to the door. I went back and picked up the receiver.
It was Ted Esslinger. “Is Miss French there?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m waiting for her now. Why are you calling?”
“Is that Mr. Spewack?” He sounded surprised. “I heard you’d left town.”
“Don’t believe all you hear,” I said shortly. “Why are you wanting Marian?”
“She had a date with me at eight-fifteen,” he said. “I was wondering if she were held up or something.”
I began to feel uneasy. “Sorry, bud,” I snapped. “I haven’t seen her,” and I hung up.
It took me under four minutes to reach Marian’s apartment house. I rang the bell and a small, bird-like woman opened the door. She looked at me inquiringly.
“Miss French?” I said.
Her face brightened. “She’s not in,” she told me, “but she shouldn’t be long. Will you wait?”
I introduced myself. “Maybe she’s mentioned me,” I said, seeing Marian was popular with the woman.
“I’m Mrs. Sinclair,” the woman said, smiling at me. “Of course she’s mentioned you. Please come in.”
I followed her into a large, comfortably furnished room. “What a charming girl she is!” Mrs. Sinclair went on. “Such a nice, unspoilt, clever person, and so enthusiastic about her new work. Fancy Mr. Wolf taking over the Gazette. Do you think he’ll alter the paper in any way? I’ve grown so used to having it now, and sometimes changes—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Sinclair,” I broke in, “I’m a little worried about Miss French. You see, we’d arranged to meet at seven o’clock and she hasn’t turned up. She didn’t leave a message, did she?”
Mrs. Sinclair looked at me sharply. “Why, no,” she said. “She came in about five o’clock. I heard her telephone ring a few minutes later and then she went out again. She didn’t say where she was going.”
“Do you mind if I go up to her room?” I asked. “I wouldn’t ask this, only it’s important.”
“I don’t think—” she began, looking bewildered and puzzled.
“Already four girls are missing in this town,” I said, surprised to hear how harsh my voice sounded. “I don’t want her to be the fifth.”
She went white. “You don’t mean that,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “You don’t really—”
“Take me to her room,” I said. “I don’t know what’s happened to her, but I’m going to find out.”
We went up the stairs. On the second floor, she took me along a passage and unlocked a door at the far end. I went into a large bright room with flowers on the table and gay-coloured rugs and curtains.
I stood looking around the room. Then I went over to the telephone. There was a pad of paper by the telephone and I picked it up. The sheet of paper was blank, but by holding it at an angle I could make out souse markings on it. Marian had written something and torn a sheet off, leaving the impression on the sheet I was looking at. I tore off the sheet and held it to the light. I could just make out: 37 Victoria Drive.
“Know where Victoria Drive is?” I asked Mrs. Sinclair, who stood anxiously watching me.
“It’s the other side of the town before you come to the smelting works. You go down Main Street and keep on to the last of the traffic lights, then you turn right and Victoria Drive is the last turning on the left.”
“Thanks,” I said, and put the sheet of paper in my pocket. “I guess that’s all.”
“I’m so worried,” she began. “Hadn’t’ we better tell the police?”
I said no, the police hadn’t done anything in the past and I couldn’t see them doing anything now. “Leave this to me,” I said. “I’ll find her.”
As I turned to leave the room I took one more quick look around, and then I paused. “Isn’t that her bag?” I said, going over to an armchair and picking up a smart black and white handbag lying partly concealed by a cushion.
“I wonder why she didn’t take it with her?” Mrs. Sinclair was saying as I opened the bag.
I didn’t hear what else she said because the first thing I saw in the bag was a blue ticket. I knew what it was before I took it from the bag and examined it.
Printed on one side of it was the following message:
You have just been photographed.
Call this afternoon for a free specimen photograph. Six photographs — 50 cents.
Beautiful Enlargements mounted and ready to maiclass="underline" $1.50 each.
THE STREET-CAMERA STUDIO
1655 Sinclair Street West, Cranville.
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.