The sound of movement came from the other side of the door, then a noise as though something were being dragged a short distance across the floor.
The door opened. The woman who stood on the threshold drew back at sight of the businesslike group.
“What... what is this?”
Mason, assuming a hard-boiled manner, pushed past her into the apartment.
Everywhere there were signs of packing. Folded clothes were laid on a davenport. An open suitcase on the floor was about half-filled. Another suitcase, closed and strapped, had evidently been dragged aside in order to enable her to open the door.
She was slightly taller than average, a smooth-skinned redhead in the late twenties. She was wearing a skirt and blouse, but had not as yet put on make-up, and there was a slightly swollen look about her eyes which might have been due either to crying or to a hangover.
Della Street promptly went to a chair by the table, unostentatiously opened her notebook, and held a pencil poised over the page.
Frank Holt, walking over to stand by the window, pulled a cigar from his pocket, thrust it into his jaw at an upturned angle, and pulled back his vest, pushing his thumbs through the armholes.
“Well, Carlotta,” Mason said, “looks rather bad, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve lost a meal ticket.”
“It isn’t... it isn’t that. I’ve... I’ve lost a friend.”
“Suppose you tell us about it?”
“He was killed — that’s all I know.”
“Sweet on him?”
“He was a friend.”
“Did he pay the rent?”
“No.”
“I know,” Mason said. “The reason you’re moving out is just that you want a change of scene every so often.”
She said nothing.
“Now let’s get the sketch,” Mason said. “Hines would take those telephone calls down here. Then what would he do?”
There was a bewildered expression in her eyes. “I never knew very much about Bob’s business,” Carlotta said.
“But you knew he’d get telephone calls at this number and then call someone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know who it was?”
“Not then.”
“And he’d tell her to call a certain number right away?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose you tell me about what happened yesterday. What do you know about the shooting?”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Mason.”
“Bob was a very dear friend,” she said. “He and I were going to be married. I thought a great deal of him. Then I found out he was keeping that woman.”
“What woman?”
“Why, that Helen Reedley.”
Mason flashed Drake a quick glance. “You mean that Robert Hines was keeping Helen Reedley?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen the papers this morning?”
“No. I was going to go out and get one — I don’t have any delivered. I usually get my news over the radio.”
“I see. Now how did you find out he was keeping Helen Reedley?”
“Well, he was acting strange for one thing, and then I found out about what was going on.”
“How?”
“I found he had another apartment key — the key to another apartment right here in this house.”
“Did you know the number of the apartment?”
“Yes, the number was stamped on it — Apartment 326.”
“And you knew who lived there?”
“I found out by looking on the apartment directory-downstairs.”
“And learned that 326 was in the name of Helen Reedley?”
“Yes.”
“And she was this mysterious person that Hines had been telephoning to?”
“Well, I thought there was some connection — yes.”
“What happened when Hines went out? Were you supposed to transmit telephone messages to Helen?”
“No, he always left me a telephone number where I could get in touch with him at any time, and if I couldn’t reach him he’d call me back every half-hour. He was very particular about that.”
“And you didn’t know any of the details of his business?”
“No.”
“When did you find out about this key?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“And what did you do?”
“Looked up the apartment and found it was in the name of Helen Reedley.”
“And then asked him about it?”
“No. What good does it do to ask a man about the woman he’s two-timing you with? Don’t be silly!”
“What did you do?”
“Followed him when he went out yesterday afternoon. I listened to see if he rang for the elevator. He didn’t. He went down the stairs to the third floor.”
“And you trailed him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Went into that woman’s apartment.”
“Did he knock?”
“Yes, he knocked and waited for a while. That gave me a chance to catch up with him. I could peek down the hall through the crack when I’d opened the stairway door an inch or two.”
“He got no answer?”
“No — but he went in. He took that key from his pocket, opened the door, and went in.”
“What did you do then?”
She looked at him, her expression suddenly hostile. “Say,” she demanded, “what business is all this of yours, anyway?”
Mason came back at her promptly. “You want to get tough, do you?”
“No— I just wondered... ” Just as suddenly, she seemed deflated.
“Well, what did you do? Please answer my question!”
“Oh— I waited a while, and then I went along and knocked on the apartment door.”
“And then what?”
“There was no answer.”
“Did you say anything?”
“No. I just knocked three or four times. Then when no one came to the door, I knew the answer: he was in there with that woman.”
“What did you do?”
“I came back down to this apartment and started to pack. I wish now I’d made a scene, instead — I might have saved his life!”
“What time was it that he went to that apartment?”
“Just a little before two o’clock — perhaps five minutes of two.”
“And then what did you do?”
“There was no reason for me to stay here. I have a friend in Denver who is very fond of me, and he has been asking me to come to Denver. I suppose we would have gotten married. I like him a lot — but I liked Bob too.”
“And when did you hear of the murder?”
“Not until late last night. I heard some people talking about it in the lobby downstairs.”
“And you didn’t buy a paper?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t in the evening papers.”
“You haven’t been out to get one this morning?”
“No.”
“You’ve had breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“About an hour.”
“But didn’t go out to buy a paper?”
“No.”
“Your friend,” Mason said, “was murdered in this very apartment house, yet you didn’t even go out and get a paper so as to find out any details? You didn’t try to learn who murdered him?”
“Helen Reedley killed him! The police know that.”
“Have you ever seen Helen Reedley?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I met them the other day in the elevator, rode down with them. I got on here at the fourth floor, and just as I was closing the door someone tried to take the elevator away from me. It was those people on the third floor, Helen Reedley and the older woman — her aunt or something.”
“And by that time you knew that Helen Reedley had beaten your time with Bob Hines?”
“Well... yes.”
“You didn’t say anything to her?”