This Way for a Shroud

by James Hadley Chase

Conrad paused to read the name-plates on the door, then dug his finger in the second bell, opened the front door and walked briskly across the hall and up the stairs, followed by Bardin.

  They stopped outside the front door on the second-floor landing, and Conrad knocked. They waited a few moments, then as no one answered the door, Conrad knocked again.

  “Looks as if no one’s at home,” he said, frowning, after another minute’s wait. “Damn it! Now what are we going to do?”

  “Come back later,” Bardin said philosophically. “I would have been surprised if anyone was in on a morning like this.”

  They walked down the stairs together.

  “Maybe the guy at the window knows where she’s gone,” Conrad said as he reached the hall. “From the way he was peeping at us, he shouldn’t miss much.”

  “What’s the excitement?” Bardin said. “We’ll come back this afternoon.”

  Conrad was already knocking on the front door to the right of the main entrance. There was a longish delay, then the door opened and a tall, bent old man in a tight-fitting black suit regarded them with big, watery blue eyes.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I’m Paul Conrad of the District Attorney’s office, and this is Lieutenant Bardin, City Police,” Conrad said. “We have business with the people in the second-floor apartment. They seem to be out. You wouldn’t know when they will be back?”

  The old man took out a big red silk handkerchief and polished his nose with it. Into his watery blue eyes came a look of intense excitement.

  “You’d better come in, gentlemen,” he said, standing aside and opening the front door wide. “I’m afraid you will find my quarters a little untidy, but I live alone.”

  “Thank you,” Conrad said, and as they followed the bent old figure into the front room, he and Bardin exchanged resigned glances.

  The room looked as if it hadn’t been dusted or swept or tidied in months. On the old, well-polished sideboard stood an array of whisky bottles and about two dozen dirty glasses. Most of the bottles were empty, but the old man found an unopened one and began to pick off the tinfoil around the cap with unsteady fingers.

  “Take a seat, gentlemen,” he said. “You musn’t think I’m used to living like this, but I lost my wife some years ago and I sadly miss her.” He managed to get the bottle open and looked vaguely at the dirty glasses. “I should introduce myself. I am Colonel Neumann. I hope you gentlemen will join me in a drink?”

  “No, thank you, Colonel,” Conrad said briskly. “We’re in a hurry. Did you happen to notice if Miss Coleman went out this morning?”

  “Then if you really won’t, I think I will,” the Colonel said, pouring a large shot of whisky into one of the glasses. “I’m an old man now and a little whisky is, good for me. Moderation at all times, Mr. Conrad, and there’s then no harm in it.”

  Conrad repeated his question in a louder voice.

  “Oh, yes. They all went out,” the Colonel said, carrying the glass of whisky carefully to a chair and sitting down. “You mustn’t think I pry on people, but I did notice them. Are they in trouble?” The hopeful, intent curiosity in his eyes irritated Conrad.

  “No, but I’m anxious to talk to Miss Coleman. Do you know her?”

  “The dark one?” The Colonel smiled. “I’ve seen her: a pretty thing. What would the police want with her, Mr. Conrad?”

  “Do you happen to know where they have gone?”

  “They said something about the amusement park,” the Colonel said, frowning. “I believe I heard one of them say something about going for a swim.”

  Conrad grimaced. He knew it would be hopeless to try and find Frances Coleman if she had gone to the amusement park. The place was always packed. He lifted his shoulders, resigned.

  “Thank you, Colonel. I guess I’ll look back this afternoon.”

  “You’re sure nothing’s wrong?” the Colonel asked, staring at Conrad. “I didn’t like the look of the man who followed them. He looked a rough character to me.”

  Conrad stiffened to attention.

  “What man, Colonel?”

  The Colonel took a sip from his glass, put the glass down and wiped his mouth with his silk handkerchief.

  “You mustn’t get the impression that I’m always at the window, Mr. Conrad, but it did happen I looked out as they were walking down the street, and I saw this man in a car. He drove slowly after them: a yellow-headed man; a young man, but I didn’t like the look of him at all.”

  “Who was Miss Coleman with?” Conrad asked sharply.

  “With her friends.” The Colonel showed his disapproval by a gentle snort. “That fellow who wears his shirt outside his trousers: I wish I had had him in my regiment. I’d have taught him how to dress like a gentleman! Then there’s that Boyd girl: a cheeky little piece if ever there was one. It’s a damn funny thing how some girls don’t mind what a fellow looks like. Different in my day, I can tell you. I shouldn’t have thought Miss Coleman would have cared to be seen out with that fellow with the birth-mark. But she’s a kind little thing: perhaps she took pity on him.”

  Conrad and Bardin exchanged looks. Both of them knew Pete Weiner by sight, although he hadn’t actually been through either of their hands, but they knew he had done some jobs for Maurer.

  “What fellow with a birth-mark?” Bardin barked.

  The Colonel blinked at him.

  “I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him before. He had a naevus — isn’t that what they call it? — down the right side of his face.”

  “Was he dark, slightly built, looked like a student?” Bardin demanded.

  “Yes. I’d say he could be a student.”

  “And this other fellow; the one in the car: was he driving a Packard? A short, square-shouldered guy with light blond hair and a white face?”

  “That seems a very fair description of him: a vicious character. I don’t know about the car. I didn’t notice it. Do you know him then?”

  “You say this guy with the birth-mark went with these other three?” Bardin said, ignoring the Colonel’s question.

  “Oh, yes. I watched them go down the street. They picked up a little car at the garage you can see from here. The blond man in the car followed the little car.”

  By now Conrad was alarmed. From the description the Colonel had given of these two men, he had no doubt they were Pete Weiner and Moe Gleb.

  “Thanks,” he said, moving to the door. “Sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”

  “But you’re not going so soon?” the Colonel said, getting to his feet and slopping what was left of his whisky in his anxiety to head Conrad off from the door. “You’re surely going to explain…”

  But by this time Conrad was half-way down the path with Bardin at his heels. They got into the police car.

  “Well, how do you like it now?” Conrad asked grimly. “We’ve got to get moving, Sam. We’ll go to the garage first. They may have a description of the car. I’ll go on to the amusement park and you organize some help. We’ll need forty or fifty men in a hurry.”

  “For crying out loud!” Bardin exclaimed blankly. “What do we want with forty or fifty men? You and I can handle this.”

  “Can we?” Conrad was pale and his eyes angry. “That girl is in a crowd of about fifty thousand people. Right at her heels are two of Maurer’s hoods. What do you imagine they are there for? Do you think I’m going to let them wipe her out the way Paretti wiped out all those other witnesses? We’ll want all the help we can get. I’m going to save that girl if it’s the last thing I do!”

  IV

  “Hey! Wait a minute,” Buster said, coming to a standstill. He was clutching in both arms an odd assortment of dolls, gaudy-looking vases, coconuts and two big boxes of candy. “I’ve got to park this lot. I’m fed-up with humping them wherever we go.”

  “You shouldn’t have won them then,” Bunty said, laughing. “Where are you going to park them?
”

  “Let’s go back to the car; then we can all go on the Big Wheel.”

  “We don’t all want to go,” Bunty said. “I’ll come with you. You go on, Frankie, and we’ll meet at the Big Wheel. I’m still not sure I’m going on it, but at least I can watch you three.”

  Pete’s heart skipped a beat. For the past hour he had tried desperately to get Frances to himself without success, and now the opportunity had made itself. He looked over his shoulder. Not far away, standing by one of the Bingo stalls, was Moe, his hard white face set in vicious lines.

  “All right,” Frances said, “We’ll meet you at the entrance to the Big Wheel.”

  Pete was sure Moe wasn’t going to wait much longer. He had to get Frances somewhere away from the crowd and away from Moe. He looked right and left and his eyes alighted on a big neon sign that read:

  THE GREAT MIRROR MAZE

  Do You Want To Be Alone? Come and get lost in the most baffling maze in the world

  “You’ll take at least twenty minutes to get to the car and back,” he said to Buster. “We’ll go and have a look at the maze over there. Suppose you meet us at the entrance?” He turned to Frances. “Will you come with me? I’ve always wanted to see this thing. It could be fun.”

  “For heaven’s sake!” Bunty exclaimed. “You’ll only get lost, and you’ll be in there for hours.”

  “Oh, no,” Pete said quickly. “It’s really quite easy. All you have to do is to keep moving to the left and you come out in about ten minutes. Will you come?”

  Frances nodded.

  “All right.”

  She wasn’t particularly keen, but Pete had fallen in so readily with all her suggestions that she felt it was only fair to fall in with his now.

  “Well, please yourself. If you’re not out in half an hour we won’t wait for you,” Bunty warned. “Come on, Buster. Let’s go.”

  As the two pushed their way slowly through the endless stream of people, Pete again looked in Moe’s direction. There was an intent expression on Moe’s face as he watched Bunty and Buster disappear into the crowd.

  Pete turned quickly to Frances.

  “Shall we go?” he said. “It’ll be amusing, and we won’t be long.”

  She moved along with him, her hand on his arm towards the entrance to the maze.

  “Do you know that man?” she asked suddenly.

  Pete stiffened and looked sharply at her.

  “What man?”

  “The one you keep looking at. The one in the black suit. He’s been following us all the morning.”

  “Has he?” Pete tried to keep his voice steady. “I — I think I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

  By now they had reached the pay-box outside the maze, and Pete moved forward to buy the tickets. It seemed to be the only side-show where there was no queue, and the blonde, middle-aged woman seemed glad to sell him the tickets.

  “Keep to your left as you go in,” she said as she gave him the change. “If you get lost ring the bell. You’ll find plenty of bell-pushes as you go through the maze. Someone will come and find you.”

  Pete thanked her and joined Frances who was waiting at the entrance. He followed her down a long passage and at the last moment he looked back anxiously over his shoulder. He could see no sign of Moe.

  “What do we do?” Frances asked as she walked just ahead of him. “It’s awfully stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

  “You won’t find it stuffy once we get into the maze,” Pete assured her. “It’s in the open air.”

  They walked a few yards and then they found themselves suddenly in the maze.

  The maze was constructed of fifteen-foot-high walls, lined on either side by mirrors. The passage between the wall was six foot wide, just wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The mirrors were so angled that they reflected from one mirror to the other, and as Frances and Pete stepped into the first long passage they were immediately hemmed in and surrounded by their own reflections, multiplied thirty or forty times.

  The effect was so startling and overpowering that Frances came to an abrupt standstill.

  “I don’t think I’m going to like this,” she said, turning to Pete. “Do you think we’ll ever find our way out?”

  “It’s all right,” he said, taking her arm. “We just go straight ahead, and when we come to a cross section we turn to the left. If we keep turning to the left we’ll be out in ten minutes or so.”

  “Well, all right,” Frances said doubtfully. “But I don’t really like it.”

  He took her arm and walked her forward. He wanted to get her into the centre of the maze in case Moe had seen them and was following them. For some minutes they walked along the mirror-lined paths, turning to the left when they came to the cross sections.

  Above them as they walked they could see the blue sky and hear the strident noise of the amusement park. Each path that they came to was a replica of the one they had just left. Their reflections surrounded them. What appeared to be an endless path would suddenly terminate in a cul-de-sac so they had to retrace their way until they found a turning which they had passed without noticing it.

  After they had walked for two or three minutes, Frances said suddenly, “I think we should try to get out now. It’s rather dull, isn’t it?”

  Pete stopped. He looked back down the path along which they had come. Twenty faces with twenty disfiguring birthmarks stared at him, making him feel a little sick.

  Now he had come to the moment when he had to tell her the truth, he realized how difficult it was going to be. There was so little time. Any moment Moe might appear at the end of one of these paths.

  “I brought you here to tell you something,” he began. “I’m afraid it is going to be a shock to you.”

  She looked quickly at him, and he saw her stiffen slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not Burt Stevens. My name is Pete Weiner. We haven’t much time. Please listen to me and please don’t be frightened.”

  He saw alarm jump into her eyes, and he felt desperately sorry for her. To suddenly find herself in this complicated maze with someone who now turns out to be a complete stranger was an alarming experience, he thought, as he tried to smile at her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said steadily. “Is this a joke?”

  “I wish it was,” he said earnestly. “Before I say anything more I want you to know I wouldn’t harm you for anything in the world. You’re safe with me. So please try not to be frightened.”

  She moved a step away from him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s so little time,” he said, his mind groping for the right words. “I don’t know what it is all about myself. I was sent to hurt you. That man who has been following us came with me. He’s dangerous. I know it sounds unbelievable, but he will kill you if he can get you alone. The only way to save you is for me to kill him while you escape. That’s why I brought you here. You must do exactly what I tell you…” He broke off as he saw terror darken her eyes.

  As she listened to the quiet, tense voice, she believed that she was listening to a madman. The newspapers were always mentioning horrible cases of lunatics who trapped girls in lonely places and murdered them. She backed away, staring at Pete, and she raised her hands in an imploring gesture for him to keep his distance.

  Seeing her rising panic, Pete remained still. He had realized the danger of telling her the truth. He guessed she might jump to the conclusion that he was a lunatic, and with a sick feeling of despair he saw now that was exactly what she was thinking.

  “Please don’t be frightened, Frankie,” he said. “Please trust me. I’m not cracked, and I wouldn’t hurt you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see I only want to help you?”

  “Please go away,” she said, white-faced but still calm. “I can find my way out without your help. Just please go away and leave me.”

  “I will go,” he said earnestly, “but you must first listen to what I have to say. This man who
is following us has been told to kill you. I don’t know why, but he will do it unless I stop him. They sent me a photograph of you so I should know you. Look, I’ll show it to you. Perhaps it will convince you I’m speaking the truth.”

  Seeing her mounting panic, he hurriedly thrust his hand inside his coat for his billfold. He felt if he could only show her the photograph she must realize the danger she was in.

  He jerked out the billfold, and as he did so his wrist-watch became entangled with the handle of the ice-pick, and the pick slid out of its sheath and fell on the path at his feet.

  Frances looked down and saw the ice-pick. She stared at the murderously sharp blade in horror. Then she looked up and met Pete’s frightened, guilty eyes. A cold chill settled around her heart.

  She didn’t hesitate. She was sure now he was a dangerous lunatic who had tricked her into this labyrinth of mirrors to do her harm, and she knew if it came to a struggle she would stand no chance against him. So she spun around and ran.

  “Frankie! Please!”

  His agonized cry only acted as a spur, and her long legs carried her down the straight, narrow path as fast as she could drive them.

  As she ran she kept the fingers of her left hand against the wall of mirrors. It was only by feel that she found a turning, down which she sped. She took another turning, this time to the right, and she ran frantically down yet another nightmare path, her dark hair streaming behind her, her face white, her breath coming in laboured gasps.

  She had no idea how long she ran, how often she twisted and turned. It was like running on a treadmill; every step she took brought her to the same place, or what appeared to be the same place.

  Finally she could run no more, and she leaned against the mirrored wall, her hands pressing her breasts, her eyes closed as she struggled to regain her breath.

  After a few moments she opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the mirror opposite her. She was shocked to see how frightened she looked, how big her eyes were and how wild and disordered her usually sleek, neat hair had become.

  She had no idea where she was. She might still be only a few yards from Pete or she might be in the centre of the maze.