The glass-panelled door opened softly under my hand. The air of the purple-carpeted reception room smelt of embalming fluid, aromatic, sweet and sickening. I closed the door and glanced uneasily around. The imitation ebony coffin with ornate silver handles that stood against the opposite wall and the smell of death in the place gave me a spooky feeling.
At the back of the room was a black velvet curtain hanging from a brass rail. It obviously hid a door. As I stood waiting, the curtain was drawn aside and a man appeared. He looked like something that had escaped from a freak show. His face was bloodless and his frame was as bony as a skeleton’s. Thin straw-coloured hair was oiled flat to his skull and his black, sunken eyes burned like hot coal.
He eyed me suspiciously and asked in a soft, timbreless voice if he could help me.
He looked so much like a ghoul that for a moment I could only stare at him. “Mr. Esslinger in?” I asked at last, pulling myself together with an effort.
“Who shall I say wants him?” the man returned, motionless and forbidding.
“Tell him an operative of the International Investigations would welcome a word with him,” I said, taking out a packet of Lucky Strike, but watching him closely.
He looked away from me, but not before I saw fear in his eyes. “I’ll tell him,” he said, “but he’s busy right now.”
“I’m in no hurry.” I flipped a match across the room. “Just tell him who wants him arid I’ll stick around.”
He gave me a long, hard stare and then went away. I dragged down a lungful of smoke and waited. After a while I wandered over to the imitation ebony coffin and examined it. It was a nice job and I wondered vaguely if it would fit me. It seemed a little too narrow, although the length would take me all right. After I’d been over it for a few minutes and exhausted its interests I went over to a framed notice hanging on the wall giving prices of coffins and their various styles. I was surprised to find how cheaply you could be put underground.
“You wanted to see me?” a voice asked softly behind me.
I didn’t jump more than a foot.
Max Esslinger was an older edition of his son. His face was more lined and his eyes more thoughtful than Ted’s but the likeness was remarkable.
“Maybe you’ve heard of me,” I said. “I’ve been working for Wolf up to this morning.”
He smiled and put out his hand. “Why, of course,” he said, in a pleasing baritone voice. “You’re the detective from New York, aren’t you? I’m glad to know you. Aren’t you working for Mr. Wolf anymore?”
I shook hands, feeling a little blank. “We had a difference of opinion,” I said, with a grin, “and I quit.”
Esslinger shook his head. “I’m afraid Wolf’s a difficult man to get along with. I’ve known him for a long time. Come into my office. We can talk there without being disturbed.”
I followed him through the door which was hidden by the black velvet curtain, down a passage, past a couple of doors and into a pleasant, well-furnished room.
He waved me to an armchair and sat down behind a large flat-topped desk.
“Now, Mr. Spewack, what can I do for you?” he asked, pulling open a drawer and taking out a box of cigars.
I shook my head. “Not for me,” I said, setting fire to my cigarette. “As I was saying, I quit working for Wolf this morning. I’m interested in this case, Mr. Esslinger, and I wonder if you’ve any objection if I worked with Miss Sheridan. It wouldn’t cost you anything. Wolf’s taken care of the financial angle and he’s not getting his money back. I’d like to clear up this business before I returned to New York.”
I was surprised to see his face brighten. “That would be generous of you, Mr. Spewack. I must confess I am very worried that nothing so far has been done. I am more than anxious to get the matter cleared up myself.”
There was no doubt of his sincerity, and I remembered what Audrey had said about it not being possible for him to have had anything to do with the missing girls. There was something about Esslinger that more or less convinced me that she was right.
“That’s fine,” I said. “Frankly, I was expecting some opposition from you. I heard you wanted Miss Sheridan to have a free hand.”
He stared at me, puzzled. “Why, no,” he said. “Of course, when heard Wolf had engaged an expert and was hoping to make political capital out of this dreadful affair, I had to take similar steps. But I assure you, Mr. Spewack, I won’t rest until these girls have been found or their murder has been brought to justice.”
I eyed him thoughtfully. “It’s murder,” I said slowly. “There can be no mistake about that.” I went on to tell him about Marian French.
He laid down his cigar when I had finished and I could see he was obviously shaken. “Who can be responsible for such a horrible crime?” he asked. “I can’t believe anyone in Cranville could deliberately murder innocent girls without any motive whatsoever. It’s unbelievable.”
“Maybe there is a motive,” I said, flicking ash on his nice pile carpet. “That’s something I’m going to work on. Either there’s a motive or the killer’s a homicidal lunatic — a sex killer.”
“You say this poor girl’s body has disappeared?” Esslinger asked. “But how could it? Where was it taken?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said, “but that’s another thing I’m going to find out.” I paused, then shot out: “Why did you engage Audrey Sheridan in the first place? I understand no one in Cranville ever thought she’d crack this case?”
Just for a moment I caught a look of caution in his eyes, but it had gone almost before I could register the fact. “I don’t think I quite understand what you mean,” he said; there was a cold note in his voice.
“I think you do, Mr. Esslinger” I said. “Audrey Sheridan’s a nice kid. I like her. I like her a lot, but she hasn’t any experience in this game. I don’t mind telling you she gummed up a number of leads I was working on because she was so keen to crack this case by herself. But this kind of a case can’t be cracked by a woman. It’s too tough. Why did you hire her?”
A faint flush had spread over his face. He picked up his cigar, examined it, found it had gone out, and lit it. “I was confident Miss Sheridan was capable of finding the missing girls,” he said at last. “You must remember, Mr. Spewack, that there was no question at that time that the girls had been murdered.”
I eyed him and he looked away. “Baloney!” I said, curtly. “But if you don’t want to come clean, I can’t make you—”
“But I assure you—” he began.
I raised my hand. “Forget it,” I said. “When I first saw you I thought you were a straight guy. But now I’m not so sure. You had a reason for putting Audrey Sheridan on this case, and it wasn’t because you thought she could find the missing girls. There was some other reason. Maybe you didn’t want them found, and by hiring Audrey you knew damn well they wouldn’t be found!”
He sat up. “How dare you say a thing like that!” he snapped angrily. “Audrey Sheridan’s the owner of the only detective agency in Cranville. It was only natural that I’d go to her.”
“Yeah?” I said, shaking my head. “There are plenty of agencies with big reputations not so far away who’d have been glad to handle this case. They wouldn’t have cost you much more than Audrey Sheridan and they’d have got a hell of a lot more results. I’m not satisfied, Mr. Esslinger.”
He controlled himself with an effort and leaned back in his chair. “I think you’re exaggerating the position,” he said, with forced calm. “My conscience is clear that I’ve done the best with the means I had at my disposal. I’m more than willing that you should continue with the case, and if necessary I should be prepared to finance you.”