I went up the steps and across the verandah and into the lobby. I saw potted palms and heavy mahogany furniture and brass spittoons.
The clerk at the reception desk was fussing with the register. A girl stood at the desk. She was tall; gold hair rested on the collar of her grey-and-blue check dress. On her arm she carried a light grey dustcoat and at her feet stood a bag, covered with hotel labels.
I came up to the desk and waited.
The clerk said to the girl: “Have you a reservation?”
She said she hadn’t.
He looked doubtfully at her and I had a feeling he was going to refuse her.
“Why should anyone need a reservation?” I said to him. “You’ve more vacant rooms than a dog’s got fleas.”
He gave me a cold, impersonal stare, but shoved the register at the girl. She gave me a quick glance and then signed her name. She was pretty in a sensible way. Her skin was good and her features small and regular.
The clerk gave me my key and I went across to the lift. A negro porter picked up the girl’s bag and joined me. The girl came over a moment later and we all travelled up to the third floor together.
The negro porter unlocked a door opposite mine and showed her in while I was unlocking my door. I turned before I went into my room to look at her. She was already looking at me.
“Thanks,” she said, and gave me a nice smile.
“Maybe it would have been better if you’d’ve tried elsewhere,” I said. “This is a pretty lousy hotel.”
“It’s a lot better than some,” she said, smiled again and went into the room.
I closed my door.
The room wasn’t anything to shout about. It had a small bed by the window.
A bureau with a white stain where some gin had been spilled and a couple of big chairs. On the table by the bed was an old-fashioned telephone with an unpainted metal base and a transparent celluloid mouthpiece. Beyond the clothes cupboard was a bathroom.
I took off my hat and sat down in one of the chairs. Streetcars rattled past the hotel and the whine of the lift as it crawled between floors indicated that there wasn’t going to be a lot of peace for me in this room.
I lit a cigarette and decided I could do with a drink. I went over to the telephone and told the clerk to send up some Scotch and Whiterock. Then I went back to the chair again and thought about Wolf and Dixon and Esslinger. After turning it all over in my mind, I came to the conclusion that before long I would run into trouble. I didn’t mind that so much, because I’d run into trouble before.
But I thought I’d better let Colonel Forsberg know as he had special rates which he charged if his operators ran into trouble.
I was beginning to compose the report I intended to send Colonel Forsberg without actually writing it down when a knock came on the door.
Thinking it was the Scotch and Whiterock, I called, “Come in,” without getting up.
A girl’s voice said: “I’ve done such a silly thing. I’ve lost the key to my bag.”
I turned and stood up.
She had taken off her hat and she looked even nicer without it. She stood in the doorway, holding the doorknob in her hand, looking at me hopefully. I noticed that she had long thighs and nice legs.
“How did you know I’ve been picking locks since I left school?” I said. “I thought I was concealing it from even my best friends.”
She laughed. “Oh, I didn’t know,” she said. “I thought you’d be able to do something because you are big and intelligent-looking.”
“Won’t you come in?” I said, waving to the other armchair. “There’s some Scotch and Whiterock on their way up. My mother doesn’t like me to drink alone.”
She hesitated, then closed the door and walked over to the armchair. She sat down, pulled her skirt over her knees and looked up at me. “I really only wanted you to open my bag,” she said.
“Don’t worry about your bag “ I returned, sitting down again. “ I’ll do that after we’ve had a drink. I’ve only been in this town three hours and I’m lonely already.”
“Are you?” She seemed surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d ever be lonely.”
“Only in this town,” I said. “There’s something about it that I don’t like. It isn’t friendly. Haven’t you noticed it?”
She shook her head. “I’ve only just arrived. Shall we introduce ourselves, or would you rather we didn’t?”
“Spewack’s the name,” leaning back and enjoying everything about her. “Marc Spewack. I’m a sleuth.”
“You don’t have to kid me,” she said seriously. “I’ve been around too long for that. Are you selling something?”
I shook my head. “Only my brains,” I said. “They’re fetching high prices in Cranville.”‘ I gave her one of my cards.
She studied it and gave it back. “So you are a sleuth.” She looked at me curiously. It’s funny how dames always look at me like that when they hear what I am. I was getting quite used to it. “I’m Marian French,” she went on. “I sell a snappy line in lingerie.” She made a little face. “The trouble is a town like this thinks snappy lingerie isn’t very nice. I’ll have a lot of opposition.” She touched her hair with long fingers. “But I’m used to opposition by now.”
The negro porter came in with the Scotch and Whiterock. He looked at me and then at Marian French; then he rolled his eyes. I gave him some loose change and got rid of him.
“I haven’t seen anyone in this town so far who looks like a proposition for snappy lingerie,” I said, stripping the tissue paper off the Scotch bottle. “Apart from you,” I added on second thoughts. “How do you like your poison?”
She shook her head. “My mother told me not to drink hard liquor with strangers. I’ll have the Whiterock straight.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
I gave her a half-glass of Whiterock, poured myself a stiff whisky and sat down again.
“Here’s to a lot of luck with your silk glamour,” I said, and put half the whisky away. It tasted good, and it was only after it had hit my belly that I realized how badly I needed it.
“Are you working here or on vacation?” she asked, stretching out her long legs and relaxing in the chair.
“Working,” I told her, thinking it would be nice to have a girl around more often. Only she’d have to be a nice girl like Marian French. I didn’t want the kind of floozy who is easy to get into a bedroom. “Haven’t you heard? Three blondes disappeared from Cranville during the past four weeks. I’ve been hired to find them.”
“That’s easy,” she said. “Why don’t you tell the police? They’ll do all the work and you’ll get the money. I wish I had someone to sell my specialities for me. But I have to do all my own work.”
I finished my drink. “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “It’s an idea at that.”
“I’m full of ideas,” she said, a little wearily. “But they don’t get me anywhere. Two years ago I had an idea that I’d get married and raise some children.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair. “But it didn’t work out,”
I wondered if she wanted sympathy; then looking at her profile and the firm line of her mouth I decided she didn’t. She was taking the opportunity of letting off a little steam to a guy she had decided she could trust. That was all right with me.
“Never mind,” I said lightly. “You’re not a withered old maid yet. You’ll catch someone.”
She smiled. “I’ve got to unpack,” she said, drawing in her legs and standing up. “This is a record. You’re the first friendly, nice man I’ve met in two years.”
“You haven’t been trying,” I said, getting up too. “Come on, show me your bag. I want to see if I’ve lost my old cunning.”
She wasn’t listening. Her eyes were fixed on the floor by the door with the kind of expression a girl will have when she thinks she’s seen a mouse.
I followe
d her gaze. A white square envelope was being pushed gently under the door. As I looked at it, it stopped coming further into the room. I took a step towards the door, collided with her, pushed her gently aside and jerked open the door. I looked up and down the long passage, but there was no one around. I picked up the envelope and put it in my pocket.
“Now you see what kind of a hotel this is,” I said carelessly. “They hand you your check before you’ve been here an hour.”
“Are you sure it’s a check?” she asked, a puzzled, curious expression in her eyes.
“Maybe the nigger likes me and wants me to go out with him.” I took her by her elbow and pushed her gently from the room, across the passage and into her room. You’d be surprised how coy some of these niggers are.”
I opened her bag with a hairpin she lent me. It didn’t take me a minute. “Do you see?” I said, smiling at her. “I’m not called Picklock Harry by my friends for nothing.”
“I thought your name was Marc?” she said.
“So it is, but I don’t tell everyone that.” I went over to the door and opened it. “Suppose you and me get acquainted? How about having dinner with me tonight?”
She looked at me thoughtfully. I could see what was going in her mind.
“Don’t go mixing me up with the local masher,” I said gently. “I don’t have any strings hanging to my invitations.”
She blushed faintly and laughed. “Sorry,” she said quickly, “but I’ve had too many experiences. A girl in my position develops a lot of arm muscles pushing off gentlemen with high blood pressure. I’m feeling a little tired tonight, so I didn’t want anything like that.”
“There’s nothing up my sleeve,” I said. “But skip it if you’d rather.”
“I’d love to,” she returned. “Give me time for a bath. Eight o’clock?”
“Eight o’clock,” I said, and left her.
I went back to my room, took out the envelope from my pocket and opened it. The note inside was typewritten:
You have twelve hours to get out of town. We won’t tell you again. You won’t even know what hit you. It’s not because we don’t like you, we do, but there isn’t enough air in Cranville for us all. So be a wise guy and dust. We’ll fix the funeral if you don’t.
I poured myself out another drink and sat down. The guy who had slipped this under my door must be in one of the rooms either side of mine. He couldn’t have run down the passage and out of sight in the time it had taken me to reach the door.
I stared at the wall opposite me and then at the wall behind me. I wondered which room he was in and whether he was sitting there wondering what I was going to do. The idea gave me a spooky feeling.
I put the letter carefully away, thought for a moment, then went over to the table to write my report to Colonel Forsberg. I had an hour and a half before I saw Marian French again. In that time I had to write to Forsberg, take a bath and decide whether I was going to leave town tomorrow morning or not.
I sat at the table thinking, then I reached for my bag, opened it and took out a black Police .38. I let it lie in my hand while I stared out of the window at the traffic. Then I shoved it down the waistband of my trousers and adjusted my vest points over the butt.
chapter two
“I think,” Marian French said calmly, “we are being followed.”
We had finished dinner and were on our way back to the hotel. A large, sullen-looking moon hung in the cloudless sky and floodlit the street. The night air was stifling and I carried my coat on my arm.
Marian, in a light summer frock, her hat in her hand, had wanted to walk back to the hotel. It was just after ten o’clock when we left the restaurant and we had crossed the street and were walking in the deep shadows when she made the remark.
I glanced down at her. “Sure all those ice drinks aren’t upsetting your judgment?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Don’t look now, but have a feeling someone is interested in us.”
I didn’t want any trouble just then. There was no reason to mix Marian up in my affairs. I looked around for a taxi, but the long street was deserted. I glanced back over my shoulder, but the shadows from the houses were too dark to get a clear view of the street.
“I don’t see anyone,” I said, increasing my stride. “Did you?”
“There was a man standing opposite the restaurant when we came out. He started after us, but I lost sight of him. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw him again as he passed under a street light. He dodged into a doorway as I looked back. The sudden way he did it gave me the heebies. Perhaps I’m a little nervy tonight.”
She put her slim hand in mine and squeezed my fingers.
“What was he like?”
“I didn’t see him clearly,” she returned. “He was big, but I couldn’t make out how he was dressed or what he looked like.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t get excited. Maybe he isn’t following us, but if he is we’ll soon find out. We’ll turn the next corner and you go on. The clatter you make with your heels ought to fox him. I’ll wait for him and give him a surprise.”
“Is that a good idea?” She looked anxiously up into my face. “He might be dangerous.”
I grinned at her. “He won’t be. They never arc.” I opened my coat and my fingers touched the smooth butt of the .38. “There’s a turning just ahead. You go straight on. Can you find your way back to the hotel if I’m delayed?”
“I think so,” she said, a little doubtfully. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? You don’t want to be—hurt. I wouldn’t like—”
“That’s all right,” I said, patting her hand. “In my job this kind of thing happens every so often. I haven’t been hurt yet.”
We turned the corner and I gave her a little push forward. “On your way, honey,” I said softly, “and make those heels ring.”
She gave me a quick look and went on. Her wooden heels clicked steadily on the brick pavement.
I put my hand on my gun and leaned against the wall, watching the corner.
All I could hear was the distant roar of the traffic on Main Street, the fading sound of Marian’s heels on the sidewalk and the ticking of my wristwatch.
I stood there for several minutes, then I heard light footsteps approaching. I loosened my gun a trifle and waited. At the corner the footfalls slowed and then stopped. There was a long pause of silence; even the traffic seemed to have ceased to hurtle along Main Street.
I didn’t move. I stood close against the wall, breathing gently through my nose while I strained to hear the slightest sound.
Whoever it was round the corner coughed suddenly. A low, smothered cough that startled me. I half drew the gun and then, grinning savagely to myself, shoved it back again.
There came a faint sound and then a long starved shadow edged forward along the brick pavement ahead of me. I looked at the shadow and I felt spooked.
Sweat that had been running down the back of my neck and under my arms seemed suddenly to go cold on me.
A man was standing out of my sight and the moonlight had cast his shadow in such a way I could see it without seeing him.
The shadow was a sinister caricature of the man. It made him seem tremendously tall with enormous shoulders. The slouch hat seemed absurdly small in comparison with the vast shoulders and his wide trousers looked like sails. He stood motionless, his hands sunk into his coat pockets and his head thrust forward.
Very cautiously, I thumbed back the safety-catch on my gun. I watched the motionless shadow for several minutes, but it didn’t move. I guessed whoever it was round the corner knew I was waiting for him and he had made up his mind not to make the first move.
The sound of Marian’s heels had died away. There was a hot, stifling stillness in the night that added to my spookiness. Then suddenly a woman laughed hysterically. The high-pitched, almost idiotic sound came from above my head. I took a step back and glanced q
uickly up.
On the fourth floor of a nearby house one solitary window blazed light into the street. As I looked, a hot wind suddenly blew up and the dirty curtains hanging outside the window flapped convulsively like the flounderings of a dying fish.
The woman laughed again and then the sound died away in a whimpering gurgle. A moment later she began to weep.
I looked once more at the corner of the street and down at the brick pavement. The shadow had gone. No other sound came to me except the harsh, bitter sobbing from the woman and the flapping of the curtain in the wind.
I drew my gun and edged towards the corner. Taking off my hat, I peered round the wall into the street beyond. There was no sign of the man who had been following us. The street was empty but for a stringy-looking cat that bolted into the shadows at the sight of me.
I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face. Then I laughed softly. “All right,” I said to myself, “that made you as jittery as hell.” I tucked my handkerchief away, thinking that a few more nights like this and I’d be ready for the nut house.
I looked up and down the street, made certain that there was no one around, then in spite of the heat, I ran after Marian. She was waiting for me at the next corner and when she saw me coining, she moved quickly towards me.
“Phew!” she said, grasping my arm. “I was scared something was going to happen. Did you see anyone?”
“No, except a cat that looked like it could do with a meal,” I returned, smiling at her. “And you don’t have to be scared of cats.”
“I was scared,” she confessed. “I must be getting nervy or something. But I was sure that man was following us.”
I spotted a cab crawling down the street and I waved. “We’ll drive back and you can get yourself a good night’s rest. You’ll feel fine in the morning.”
When we had got into the cab, she said: “You wouldn’t be lying, would you?”
I patted her hand. “Not to you,” I assured her. “There just wasn’t anyone around.”
“I don’t understand it,” she returned. “I don’t really. When. I saw that man duck out of sight, I felt my flesh creep. I’ve never felt that way before.”
1945 - Blonde's Requiem Page 3