“No one saw her leave the cabin?” I asked as the elevator stopped at the second floor.
“No, but we’re still asking around.”
We walked down the corridor to room 247.
“That was a pretty good disguise she was wearing,” Rankin went on as he sank the key into the lock. “People in this town don’t look at faces, they look at shapes.” He turned the key and pushed the door open.
We stood looking around the room. It was a little larger than mine, but not much and it was just as hot and airless.
“Sweet suffering Pete!” Rankin said under his breath.
The room looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone. All the drawers of the chest hung open. Jack’s belongings lay scattered on the floor. His brief-case had been ripped open and papers lay everywhere. The bed had been stripped and the mattress cut open, the stuffing dragged out. The pillows had also been ripped and feathers were heaped on the floor.
“Pretty quick work,” Rankin said. “If there was anything to find, we won’t find it now. I’ll get the boys up here. Maybe there’re some prints although I’m ready to bet there won’t be.”
He closed the door and locked it.
Chapter II
I
I lay on my bed and listened to the heavy tramping feet plodding around in the room next door, and to the murmur of the voices as Rankin’s men hunted for clues.
I felt depressed and lonely. Although Jack had had his faults, he had been a good man to work with. We had met five years ago when I had been working as special investigator to the District Attorney’s office. Jack had been the crime reporter on the San Francisco Tribune. We had got friendly, and one night, over a bottle of Scotch, we both had decided we were tired of taking orders and being pushed around by two fat slugs who sat behind desks and who seemed to take pleasure in running us ragged.
Even though we were a little drunk, we were both uneasy about leaving the security of a regular salary for the risk of setting up on our own. We hadn’t much capitaclass="underline" I had five hundred more than Jack, but we had a lot of experience and we thought we could make a go of it.
There were a number of inquiry agencies in town. We knew most of them and they were no great shakes. After we had worked through half the bottle of Scotch we had decided to burn our boats and go into the business.
We clicked lucky right from the start. After a year we were making a reasonable living, and we hadn’t looked back since.
I wondered what it was going to be like working without a partner. I wondered if I should look around for someone to team up with. There was enough money now in the bank to buy out Jack’s wife. She was a dumb redhead who had driven Jack nuts at times and I was pretty sure she would jump at the chance of getting the money back she had lent Jack to put in the business.
Switching my mind from that problem, I considered Jack’s end. I didn’t think his death was hooked up to the case he had been working on. It was more likely he had made some racketeer’s girl, and the racketeer had killed him. A rat-tail ice pick, as Rankin had said, was a professional weapon, and it had been used professionally. But I would have to find out who Jack’s client had been. Jack had said the job was larded with money. It must have been, otherwise Jack wouldn’t have come all this way from his home ground. That meant the client was a man of substance. Not that that helped me. Most men, so far as I could see, who lived in St. Raphael, had to be of considerable substance.
I had to be certain that the client was in no way connected with the murder before I gave his name to Rankin. Nothing can damage the reputation of an inquiry agent more than to land the law in the lap of his client: that’s a brick that gets talked about quicker than anything.
As soon as Rankin’s men had gone, I would put a call through to Ella, but not through the hotel switchboard. I didn’t know how smart Rankin was, but if he was as smart as I suspected he was, he would have a man standing by the switchboard waiting for me to put through just such a call.
I looked at my watch. The time was now twelve forty-five. I was feeling hungry. I hadn’t had any solid food since the previous night. I thought it would save time if I ate now while the boys next door were busy enough not to bother about what I was doing. I swung my legs off the bed and stood up.
The door opened as I was fastening my collar-button and Rankin looked in.
“Phew! Like an oven in here.”
“Yeah. I was just on my way to eat. Do you want me?”
He leaned against the doorpost, rolling a dead cigar between his teeth.
“Nothing in there.” He jerked his thumb to the other room. “Hundreds of prints that probably don’t mean a thing. They don’t clean these rooms with any enthusiasm. I’d say we have prints of at least thirty old customers. Couldn’t find a progress report: didn’t expect to. Nothing to tell us who Sheppey was working for.”
“I bet the guy who searched the room didn’t find anything either. Jack didn’t make reports.”
“You still don’t know who the client is?” Rankin said, his stare searching.
“No idea.”
“This crap about protecting a client’s name, Brandon, doesn’t mean a thing when it comes to a murder case. You’d better hustle up the name: don’t kid me you can’t find it.”
“I wouldn’t kid you, Lieutenant. If Jack hasn’t left a report, then I’m foxed.”
“Let’s have your office address. You’ve got a secretary or someone there, haven’t you?”
I gave him the address.
“We have a typist. She’s just turned seventeen and she’s as dumb a moron as ever drew a salary. We don’t tell her anything.”
Rankin didn’t look as if he believed me.
“When you find out who the client is, come and see me. If I don’t hear from you within twenty-four hours, I’ll come and see you.”
He went away, closing the door behind him; leaving the threat hanging in the air like a cloud of poison gas.
I decided to skip the meal. I had an idea Rankin was going to call police headquarters in San Francisco and get a man to talk to Ella before I could contact her.
I took the elevator to the lobby, walked a block before I found a drug store, shut myself in a pay booth and called my office number.
I had been telling Rankin only half the truth about Ella. She was only just seventeen, but she was no moron. She was as smart as they come and as sharp as a razor.
It was good to hear her young crisp voice say, “This is the Star Agency. Good afternoon.”
“This is Lew,” I said, speaking fast. “I’m calling from St. Raphael City. Jack came down here on a job and wired me to join him. I have bad news, Ella. He’s dead. Someone knifed him.”
I heard her draw in a quick, sharp breath. She had liked Jack. From force of habit he had given her the treatment when she had first come to the office, but I had persuaded him that at her age she should be left alone. He had seen reason and had transferred his personality to maturer pastures. All the same he had made an impact on her, and I knew she was more than half in love with him.
“Jack — dead?” she said, and there was a shake in her voice.
“Yes. Now listen, Ella, this is important. The police want to know what the job was and who the client was. Jack didn’t tell me. Did he tell you?”
“No. He just said something had come in and he was going to St. Raphael City. He said he would wire you to join him, but he didn’t say what the job was.”
I could hear her fighting her tears. I felt sorry for the kid, but this was no time for sentiment.