He came out hatless, thinking that he didn’t have much time. Sooner or later someone would find that corpse. But what could he do?
Then he heard the tapping of high heels. They were coming closer very fast, and his heart picked up rhythm, beat in time to them. He was watching the shadows.
The tappings turned in at his walk, and he saw her face, a pale blur in the darkness. She came closer and he could see that she was tall, taller than he, and very beautiful. Her blonde hair fell in waves below her chic felt hat. The light from inside was Ml on her face now, and looking at it did strange things inside of him. He looked up at the feather in her hat to keep from looking at her face.
“Mr. Sneed?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I’m Hazel Winters. I work for Walter Padgett, the private detective.”
He looked at her face then. “Detective?”
“Yes. Your wife came to Mr. Padgett today. She was afraid of burglars, strange noises, in the house. She wants Mr. Padgett to find out...”
“That’s funny,” he said. “I didn’t know we had a private detective in Middleton.”
“You don’t have.” She smiled. “We were on our way to Florida for a vacation and stopped over for a couple of days. Here...” she fumbled at her bag, “here is a copy of one of Mr. Padgett’s old licenses.”
Sylvester Sneed had never seen such a license before. The one she handed him was dated five years back and a little tattered about the edges. It bore the name of Walter L. Padgett and had a very legal look. He gave it back to her. The knots were untying inside of him. He really had need of a private detective now. The flashing vision of dumping all his troubles, plus the corpse in the coal, on the experienced bosom of Walter Padgett greatly appealed to Sneed.
“Does Mr. Padgett want to see me?”
“Yes, he’d like to ask you in detail about the prowler.”
“I’ll tell him everything I know,” Sneed said. “Thank heaven, everything!”
Hazel Winters’ car was three houses down. She’d missed Sneed’s number in the dark. Little pincushions of excitement kept rolling up and down his spine as he walked beside the blonde vision and opened her car door for her.
She drove, handling the car nicely, and they went downtown to the Walton Hotel. It was Middleton’s best, and Sneed momentarily forgot his pressing troubles as the bell hops sprang to attention at Hazel Winters’ approach.
But in the elevator, the troubles all came back. What if the police found the corpse while he was gone? They’d say he ran away; and that caused an unpleasant thought of the electric chair to loom very large.
They went down a corridor, and Hazel tapped lightly on an ivory colored door. It swung open, and Sneed knew he was looking at Walter Padgett. The man had a detecting look about him. He was lean, with broad shoulders, narrow hips. His face was rather gaunt, harsh maybe, and his dark brown eyes pierced Sneed.
“This is Mr. Sylvester Sneed,” the girl said.
Padgett swung the door open, and Sneed followed the girl in. It was the living room of a suite, and it made Sneed uncomfortable. It probably cost as much in two days as he made in a week.
“Sit down, Mr. Sneed. Have a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
Walt Padgett took a cigarette from a silver case, snapped a light to it, and sat down opposite Sylvester. The girl strolled over to the window, stood looking down at the street.
“Mr. Sneed,” Padgett began solemnly, “I’m on a vacation. I do not ordinarily take cases without a... well, a rather nice fee. But your wife was so genuinely scared that I’d like to help you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Padgett.” At this very instant, was a cop going down those basement stairs?
“Now tell me,” Padgett said, flicking an ash from his imported tweed coat sleeve, “do you have any idea whom the intruder is?”
“I...” Then he clicked his teeth together. He suddenly distrusted this suave man. Probably k was his natural distrust of people, built inside of him over the rather lonely, friendless, timid years. Or maybe it was the faint gleam in Padgett’s eyes. Two thoughts flashed through his mind, jarring him. First, why, actually, was Padgett so interested in the noises in the basement? He really didn’t seem the type to help out just for the sake of generosity. And why hadn’t Maggie told Padgett that they suspected the noises being made by Bassett?
He said, “I’m awful sorry, sir, but I don’t know who made the noises.”
“I see. Your wife was rather reticent, also.” He stood up, his gaze flicking to the girl. A signal seemed to pass between them.
“Mr. Sneed,” Padgett said, “I’ll call on your wife again. We really must get together if we expect to crack this thing.”
Sneed half rose. “You’re going to my house?”
Padgett nodded.
A vision of Allenby’s corpse flashed through Sneed’s mind again, and he repressed a shudder with a hard effort. He felt trapped. What if Padgett found the corpse and called the police? Or what if Padgett was crooked and decided to try blackmail on Sneed? A cold knot gathered in Sylvester’s stomach. It was like being caught by an octopus. First the noises, danger enough for him. Then the brush with Todd Bassett, the finding of Allenby’s body, and now a slick customer like Padgett dipping his fingers in.
Padgett was slipping into a light camel’s hair topcoat. Sneed said, “Don’t you think I’d better go along?”
“No need endangering yourself.”
“But I...”
“Oh, run along, Walt,” the girl said. “We’ll be company enough, won’t we, Mr. Sneed?”
Hating himself, Sneed was thrilled by the girl’s voice right down to his toes. He gulped, his face crimson.
Padgett laughed easily. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
“I... uh...” Sneed began; then the door closed behind Padgett, and Sneed found himself looking at the girl, still in his awkward, half standing position.
She smiled, and he sat down weakly. She began to chatter, sitting on the couch beside him. Her perfume made his head whirl. He sat helplessly.
Finally, she ran out of talk and said, “Wouldn’t you like a drink?”
“No, honest, Miss Winters...”
“Call me Hazel, won’t you?”
“I... uh...” He licked his lips, gathered strength, and said, “I gotta get out of here!”
He sprang to his feet, intending to make a dash for the door. She rose with him, her hand on his arm, and as he broke away, she stumbled and fell, crying out sharply.
He looked at her, not knowing quite what to do, his hands feeling useless.
“I’m sorry, Miss Winters.”
“It’s nothing much. Help me to the couch, will you?”
He sprang to help her. Her teeth were set as he held her arms and eased her to the couch. “It’s my ankle.”
“Maybe... maybe a cold compress would help.”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “Would you? The bath is right there.”
He got a towel, wet it, and when he came back, she had her shoe and hose off. Gently, he put the towel about her ankle.
There was no swelling, but she continued to complain, and he was carrying the tenth or eleventh cold towel — he’d lost count — when the door opened and Padgett came in.
Sneed explained what had happened as hurriedly as he could. He forget to ask Padgett if he’d had any success. The gleam was sharper in Padgett’s eyes now, and Sneed could feel perspiration trickling down his back.