‘Well, I warned her,’ I said savagely, drew back and slammed my shoulder against the door. It wasn’t built for such treatment and flew open. We stood, side by side, in the dark little hall.
‘Mrs. Ferris!’ I shouted. ‘Mrs. Ferris!’
Silence.
‘Well, that’s that. These rats work fast. You’d better stay here, Paula, while I look the place over.’
‘You don’t think she changed her mind and bolted?’ I shook my head.
‘Not a chance. She wanted the money too badly. The boy must have tipped them off.’
Leaving her in the hall, I went from room to room. I didn’t find her.
I came back to the hall.
‘Not here. If they haven’t taken her away, they’ve frightened her away.’
I was thinking of the screwed-up figure in the blue nightdress, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. If Mrs. Ferris knew as much as she hinted she did, her life now wasn’t worth a dime.
‘Take a look in her bedroom and see if she’s taken any clothes,’ I said. ‘She can’t have many.’
While Paula went into the bedroom, I went into the back room where we had talked. I hunted around, but didn’t find anything that told me why she had disappeared.
Paula came in after a while.
‘As far as I can see, she hasn’t taken anything. There’re no gaps in the cupboards and the drawers aren’t disturbed.’
‘I wish I knew where that boy is. If I could get him to talk—’
‘Vic!’
Paula was looking out of the window. I joined her.
‘What’s that, by the shed? Isn’t it—?’
At the end of the strip of garden was a tool shed. The door was ajar. I could see something white lying on the floor.
‘Wait here. I’ll look.’
I went to the back door, opened it, and walked quickly down the garden. As I approached the shed, I pulled out my gun. I pushed open the door, looked into the dim darkness.
She was there, lying on her face, her hands covering her head as if to protect it.
I imagined her seeing them coming up the front way, losing her head and running wildly down the path to the shed. They had probably shot her from the back door, not even bothering to come down and see if she was dead.
I turned and walked quickly back to the bungalow.
V
They were several well-bred, well-dressed and overfed men aging in the lobby of the Beach Hotel. All of them stared fixedly at Paula’s ankles as we walked over to the reception desk. The reception clerk was a tall, willowy young man with blond, wavy hair, a pink-and-white complexion and a dis-illusioned expression in his pale blue eyes.
‘Good evening,’ he said, giving Paula a little bow. ‘Have you made reservations?’
‘No; it’s not that kind of a party,’ I said, and laid my busi- ness card on the counter. ‘I’m hoping you can give me some information.’
Blond eyebrows lifted. He peered at the card, read it, picked it up, and read it again.
‘Ah, yes, Mr. Malloy. What can I do for you?’ He glanced at Paula again, and unconsciously fingered his tie.
‘We’re trying to find a young woman who we think stayed here on the 12th or maybe the 11th.’
‘We don’t encourage inquiries about our visitors, Mr. Malloy.’
He was as stiff as a Dowager watching a bubble dance.
‘That I can understand. But she happens to be this young lady’s sister.’ I waved to Paula, who gave him a look from under her eyelashes that made his knees buckle. ‘She ran away from home and we’re anxious to trace her.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, perhaps, in that case I might… What is her name?’
‘We think she was staying here under an assumed name. You don’t get many unattached young women staying here, do you?’
He shook his head regretfully.
‘Actually, not. I think I know the one you mean. Miss Mary Henderson, if I remember rightly.’ He flicked the pages of the register, ran a well-manicured finger down a page, paused. ‘Yes; Miss Henderson. Tall, dark, distinctly pretty. Would that be the one?’
‘Sounds like her. She wore a wine-coloured evening gown and a black silk wrap on the evening of the 12th.’
He nodded, patted his lips with a snow-white handkerchief and gave Paula a dazzling smile.
‘That’s Miss Henderson.’
‘Fine. When did she book in?’
He consulted the register.
‘Six o’clock on the 12th.’
‘Any forwarding address?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘When did she leave?’
‘On the 13th. I remember now. I was rather surprised. She had booked the room for a week.’
‘Did she have a car?’
The clerk frowned, studied Paula’s lovely, intent face seemed to draw inspiration from it for he said, ‘Actually, not. At least, not when she arrived. But before she went up to her room, she arranged to hire a car. She said she wanted it that evening as she was going out.’
‘Did you hire the car for her?’
‘Oh, yes. We deal with the Acme Garage. You may know it?’
I said I knew it.
‘Ferris brought the car around at six-thirty or seven, and left it for Miss Henderson.’
‘Did he see her?’
The clerk lifted his eyebrows.
‘Why, no. That wasn’t necessary.’
‘You’re quite sure he didn’t see her?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened to the car?’
‘As a matter of fact, it’s still in our garage. I’m glad you reminded me. Ferris usually comes and takes it away. I must remind him.’
‘Mind if I look at it?’
‘Why, certainly.’
‘What is it?
‘A black Lincoln. The attendant will show it to you.’ He was looking puzzled.
‘Well, thanks. One more thing; did Miss Henderson have any visitors while she was here?’
He thought for a moment.
‘One gentleman. Yes, that’s right. He came to see her in the afternoon on the 13th. She cancelled her room after he had gone.’
I lit a cigarette before I asked, ‘Did you see him?’
‘Certainly. He came to the desk and asked for her.’ Again he patted his lips with his handkerchief and gave Paula a quick, admiring glance out of the corners of his eyes.
‘Can you describe him?’
‘He was an elderly gentleman. Well dressed; obviously well-to-do. He said his name was Franklin Marshland.’
I drew in a slow deep breath, asked, ‘Short, suntanned, beaky nose and very small feet?’
‘I didn’t notice his feet, Mr. Malloy, but the rest is right.’
‘And Miss Henderson left almost immediately after? Did she seem upset?’
‘I wouldn’t say upset, but perhaps a little flustered. She seemed very anxious to go. I was rather surprised. I think I told you. She had reserved the room for a week.’
‘Did she take a taxi?’
‘I believe she did. The porter will remember her.’
‘If we could find the taxi-driver, he might know where she went.’
The clerk was taking a lot of interest by now.
‘I’ll ask the porter. Just wait a moment.’
When he crossed the lobby to the porter’s desk, Paula and I exchanged glances.
‘Well, we are certainly making progress,’ I said. ‘I wonder what Marshland wanted with her. You know, I’m beginning to think my idea that Marshland has something to do with the kidnapping isn’t such a scatty one at that.’
‘Do we know where he was at the time of the kidnapping?’
‘I don’t think that matters. He wouldn’t have had anything to do with it himself. He would have hired someone to do it.’
The clerk came back.