I left my car down a side street, took from the boot a tyre lever and a screw driver and, concealing them in the pccket of my raincoat, I walked quickly to the block of offices where the agency was housed.
The front entrance was shut and locked. I went around to the back of the building to the janitor's entrance and found the door open. I walked into a lobby full of dustbins and empty milk bottles, paused to listen, then, hearing nothing, I made my way quietly up the stairs to the first floor.
I found the International Investigation Agency at the far end of a corridor. It consisted of six rooms, and no light showed through the frosted panels of the doors. I went from door to door, rapping each and waiting, but no one answered my knock.
With a heavily beating heart I took out my tyre lever, inserted it in between one of the doors and the doorpost and put a little pressure on it. The lock broke without any alarming noise and the door swung open. I entered an empty office, closed the door and looked around.
This office belonged to one of the executives. I went through the communicating door into the second office. It wasn't until I reached the fourth office that I found what I was looking for. Along the wail was a row of filing cabinets. I selected the file marked "C", and with the aid of my screw driver and tyre lever I managed to force the lock and get the file open.
I spent ten minutes going through the mass of folders in the file, but I didn't find one with Helen's name on it. I stood back foxed. There were so many files in the drawers that it would have been impossible to have gone through them all. It then occurred to me that there was a chance that Sarti had kept Helen's file away from the rest. I went into the fifth office.
There were three desks in this room: one of them was Sarti's. I knew that by the notes in the In-tray addressed to him.
I sat down at the desk and went through the drawers. The third one down on the right was locked. I made short work of it with my tyre lever, pulled it open and felt a surge of relief run through me. The only thing in the drawer was the file I was looking for.
I took it from the drawer and laid it on the desk and opened it. For about a minute I examined it then I shoved back the chair, reached for a cigarette and lit it. I knew now who had instructed Sarti to watch Helen, and I was completely taken out of my stride.
Sarti's file began:
Acting on the instructions of la Signorina June Chalmers, I have to-day arranged with Finetti and Molinari to keep a twenty-four hour watch on la Signorina Helen Chalmers ...
June Chalmers!
So she was at the back of this! I flicked through the reports until I came to one headed with my name. There were ten pages given up to my association with Helen. At the top of the page was the following:
Copy of report sent to la Signorina Chalmers, Ritz Hotel, Paris, August 24th.
The report contained all the details of Helen's plan to rent a villa in Sorrento, of her suggestion to me that we should go there as Mr. and Mrs. Sherrard, that she should arrive at Sorrento on the 28th and I would join her on the 29th.
I sat back, feeling sweat on my forehead. It was obvious that at some time Sarti had planted a microphone in Helen's apartment to have learned all these details. It was obvious too that June Chalmers had known I had gone to Sorrento to be Helen's lover when I first met her at the Naples airport. Then why hadn't she told Chalmers?
I hurriedly folded the file and put it away in my pocket. I couldn't remain here any longer. There was always the chance that the janitor might take a walk around the office block and catch me here.
I put my tools in my pocket, then after peering cautiously down the long corridor I made my
way quickly down the stairs and out into the street.
I drove back to my apartment. Stripping off my raincoat, I sat down and again went through the file.
It was far more comprehensive and complete than Sarti had led me to believe. Not only were the telephone conversations recorded, but also my conversations with Helen while I had been with her. There were conversations between her and other men also recorded that made hairraising reading: the file was bulging with evidence that proved beyond doubt the kind of immoral life Helen had lived. Every one of these reports had been sent to June Chalmers, either to New York or to Paris.
Why hadn't she used this information? I kept asking myself. Why hadn't she given me away to Chalmers? Why hadn't she warned him of the life his daughter was leading?
I had no answers to these questions and, finally, I locked the file away in my desk.
The time was now after five o'clock. I put a personal call through to Jack Martin, and was told there was a half-hour wait for New York. I booked the call, and went over to the window and stared down at the fast-moving Sunday traffic until the call came through.
"Is that you, Ed?" Martin asked as I came on the line. "For the love of mike! Who's paying for this call?"
"Never mind that. What have you got for me? Have you managed to dig up anything on Manchini yet?"
"Not a thing. I've never heard of him," Martin returned. "Are you sure you've got the name right? You don't mean Toni Amando, do you?"
"My guy calls himself Carlo Manchini. Where does Amando come in?"
"Your description fits him. He's big, tough and dark, and he's got a zigzag scar on his chin."
"That sounds like him. My man's got a voice like a hog caller and he wears a gold ear-ring in his right ear."
"That's the fella!" Martin said excitedly. "That's Amando! There can't be two of them."
"What do you know about him, Jack?"
"He's not here any longer, I'm glad to say. He was a troublemaker and as dangerous as a rattlesnake. He's somewhere in your territory, I believe. He left with Frank Setti when they ran Setti out of the country."
"Setti?" My voice shot up.
"That's right. Amando was Setti's gunman and lieutenant."
This was the first really constructive piece of news I had had up to now.
Setti's gunman!
Now, at long last, some of the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle were falling into place. Martin was speaking again. "Have you run into him in Italy?"
"Yes. I think he's hooked up in a dope-smuggling racket. I wanted to get a check on him."
"Setti ran dope here before he was kicked out. He's in Italy, too, isn't he?"
"So I hear. Look, Jack, I can prove Amando flew from Rome to New York two days before Menotti was knocked off, and he returned to Rome the day after."
"Well, that's something. I'll pass the information to Captain Collier. He may be able to use it. That may be the link he's looking for. He was so sure either Setti or Amando knocked off Menotti, but both of them had cast-iron alibis at the time Menotti died. They had a flock of witnesses that put them in a gambling joint in Naples."
"Amando boasts that he is red-hot at manufacturing alibis. Talk to Collier, Jack, and thanks for the information."