'Doesn't look as if anyone's at home,' Harry said. 'What do we do now?'
'Let's see if we can get in. I want to be sure this is her place.'
Harry examined the lock of the door.
'Nothing to it, sir, I've a bit of wire that'll fix it.' He handed the flashlight to Don and inserted a piece of wire into the lock. He fiddled for a few seconds then twisted sharply. The lock clicked back.
Don turned the handle and pushed the door open.
They stepped into a musty-smelling passage and Harry closed the door. The beam of Don's flashlight lit up a flight of stairs leading to the upper landing.
Moving silently and followed by Harry, Don went up the stairs. His flashlight showed a door at the head of the stairs, a short passage and another flight of stairs.
Across the door was painted in white letters:
The Acme Manufacturing Co.
'Stay here, Harry,' Don said. 'If she's anywhere, she'll be on the next landing.'
He went along the passage and began to mount the second flight of stairs. These, he noticed, were covered with a dusty, threadbare stair-runner that looked as if it hadn't been swept in months.
At the head of the stairs was a red-painted front door; its brass fitments tarnished. The card-holder screwed to the door was empty.
Don listened outside the door. He stood listening for some moments, but no sound came to him. Turning the door handle, he pushed, expecting to find the door locked, but to his surprise it swung inwards.
Holding the door open, and not moving, he swung the beam of his flashlight around the small hall. Facing him was a large gilt framed mirror. Below it a carved wood chest on which stood a vase of dead zinnias. Dust lay thick on the chest and obscured the mirror. On either side of the mirror was a door.
Don moved into the hall, leaving the front door open. He crossed to the door on the right, turned the handle and opened it.
Darkness and silence came out of the room. He groped for the light switch, found it and pressed it down. A shaded lamp in the centre of the room sprang alight.
The bedroom, Don found himself looking at was skimpily furnished. A small padded chair stood before a walnut dressing-table on which stood triple mirrors. A walnut clothes closet stood against one of the walls. A pale blue fitted carpet covered the floor. Against the wall, facing the window, was a wide divan bed, covered with a pale blue bedspread.
It was this bed that held Don's rigid attention.
Ed Shapiro lay across the bed in a dark puddle of blood, his lips drawn off his teeth in a wolfish snarl. His bloodstained fingers were curled round the wooden handle of a knife that had been driven with great violence to the hilt into his chest.
Don didn't have to touch him to know he was dead.
Leaning over the banister rail, Don called softly, 'Harry! Come up.'
Harry mounted the stairs, two at a time. The sight of Don's set face brought him up short.
'Shapiro's in there - he's dead,' Don said. 'Take a look at him.'
They went into the bedroom.
Harry touched the dead man's hand.
'He's been dead some time.'
'Look at the knife. It's a copy of the one that killed Guido.' ,
'I bet his pals decided he wasn't any further use to them, and they knocked him off,' Harry said, stepping away from the bed.
'Yes.' Don glanced around the room, then went out into the hall. He crossed over to the door on the left and opened it.
He looked into a small kitchen. On the table was a large stock of tinned food.
'Looks as if he had settled here until the police had given him up,' he said. 'Let's get out of here, Harry.'
They left the flat and went down the stairs. Rain was still falling steadily. Harry closed the street door and he and Don walked quickly down the alley to Peters Road.
'Are you going to report this to the police, sir?' Harry asked.
'I'm finding Gina first,' Don said. 'Uccelli might know where I can find her.' He peered at his watch in the light of the street lamp. 'It's just two. Maybe he hasn't gone to bed yet. Let's see.'
Uccelli hadn't gone to bed, and he answered Don's knock himself.
'I'm trying to find Gina Pasero,' Don said after he had apologized for disturbing Uccelli. 'Have you any idea where I can find her?'
'Come in,' Uccelli said. 'How wet you are. Have you tried the club?'
Don and Harry followed the old man into his room.
'I saw her at the club. I made a date with her for one o'clock. She hasn't shown up. Shapiro's been murdered. I'm worried about the girl.'
