'I understand he took out the policy as security for a bank loan. Is that correct?'
'Those were his intentions.'
'Did he tell you how much he planned to borrow?'
'Three thousand dollars. We would have been happy to have advanced him that amount if he had lodged his policy with us.'
Harmas became alert.
'I understand Mr. Barlowe wanted a much larger sum than three thousand dollars.'
Merryweather looked prim.
'We couldn't advance him any more than that sum on a five thousand dollar policy.'
'Five thousand? Barlowe was insured for fifty thousand dollars!'
Merryweather looked startled.
'Surely not. Are you sure there isn't a mistake?' Looking at Harmas's set expression, he frowned and paused to adjust his bow tie. 'No, obviously you would know. Mr. Barlowe told me he was arranging to insure his life for five thousand dollars and as your company offered a five per cent discount for cash, he wanted to pay the first premium in cash. He drew out practically all the money he had in his account to meet the premium.'
Harmas felt a prickle of excitement run up his spine. Now he really was on to something, he told himself.
Quietly, he said, 'I don't understand. We don't give discount for cash ... what made him say that?'
'Mr. Barlowe told me that your representative gave him this information ... someone ... I think ... it's Mr. Anson, isn't it?'
'He's our representative,' Harmas said slowly. 'But there is obviously some mistake here. How much did Barlowe draw out of his account?'
'A hundred and fifty dollars.'
Harmas rubbed the back of his neck; the amount needed to cover a five thousand dollar life policy.
'There's something odd about all this, Barlowe took out a fifty thousand dollar coverage and he paid the first premium in cash! One thousand odd dollars.'
'I can't imagine where he got that amount from, Mr. Harmas. He was often overdrawn.'
Harmas thought for a long moment, then he got to his feet.
'Well, thanks for your time.'
Merryweather made a gesture with his fat hands.
'Only too happy to be of service,' he said.
As Harmas picked up his key at the reception desk, Tom Nodley said, 'There's a woman wanting to talk to you, Mr Harmas. She's been waiting some time in the bar.'
The smirking expression on Nodley's face made Harmas stare sharply at him.
'Who is she?'
'Her name is Fay Lawley,' Nodley leaned forward, lowering his voice. 'She's one of the girls.' He winked. 'I can get rid of her for you, Mr. Harmas, if you don't want to see her.'
'I always see everyone,' Harmas said and walked across the lobby to the bar.
He spotted Fay sitting in a corner, nursing a whisky and water, and he joined her.
She smiled at him.
'Come and sit down. I've been trying to contact you for days.'
'Is that a fact,' Harmas said. He signalled to the waiter, then sat down opposite her. 'I've been busy. You know me ... I don't know you.'
The waiter came over and Harmas ordered a Scotch on the rocks.
'I'm Fay Lawley,' she said. 'I live around here.' Her painted lips twisted into a hard little smile. 'You're with National Fidelity, aren't you?'
'That's right.'
'Well, I thought you'd like some information.'
The waiter came over with Harmas's drink.
'I thrive on information,' Harmas said when the waiter had gone away. He offered cigarettes. They both lit up. 'What is this ... some kind of deal?'
Fay shook her head.
'I'm just paying off a grudge. Treat me nice and I'm lovely. Treat me rough and I'm the original stinker. I'll do anything for a man who is decent, but the jerk who tries to shove me around gets his throat cut.'
'Should this interest me?' Harmas asked, looking at her intently.
'I don't know ... you're an insurance cop, aren't you?'
'That's it.'
'Would you be interested in the way your salesmen act?'
Harmas sipped his drink.
'Why, sure ... any particular salesman?'
'A little runt... Johnny Anson.'
Harmas put down his drink. He kept his face expressionless.
'What about him?'
Her face suddenly vicious, her eyes glittering, Fay leaned forward and began to talk.
Chapter 12
It was Harmas's idea, and as soon as he put it to Jenson, the Lieutenant agreed.
'Mrs. Barlowe will be returning home tomorrow,' Harmas said, 'this is our last chance. Let's go cut there and really look the place over. Okay, your fingerprint boys have gone over the place, but now let us go over it together?'
'Just what are we looking for?' Jenson asked as he got into his car.
'The guns. They could be hidden somewhere in the house. They bother me.'
Arriving at the house soon after midday, Harmas and Jenson got out of the car and surveyed the garden.
'You know, Barlowe had genius,' Harmas said 'It's odd, isn't it, how this land of talent and artistic ability can go hand in hand with rottenness.'
Jenson wasn't interested. He grunted and then walked over to the front door. He had no difficulty in slipping the lock.
The two men wandered into the lobby. The stale smell of stuffiness and dirt made them wrinkle their noses.
'Let's go and look at Barlowe's bedroom first,' Harmas said and led the way up the stairs.
Systematically, the two men searched the room. It was while Jenson was grimacing with disgust at a pack of photographs he had unearthed, that Harmas, pushing aside the bed, found one of the floorboards loose.
Taking out his pocket knife, he carefully lifted the board and shot his flashlight beam into the cavity.
'Here it is,' he said, 'and what the devil's this?'
Jenson peered over his shoulder at the .38 automatic that lay on the plaster. Harmas fished out a white bathing cap and two rubber cheek pads. Jenson inserted a pencil into the barrel of the gun and lifted it carefully from its hiding place.
Harmas was staring with interest at the bathing cap.
'The bald-headed man,' he said and looked at Jenson. 'It jells. All this muck ... now this ... I'll bet a hundred bucks that this is the Glyn Hill murder weapon.'
Jenson stroked his thick nose.
'Yeah? I never throw money away. Well, come on, now we're here, let's look at the rest of this hole.'
They remained in the stuffy little house all the afternoon, but they didn't find the other gun. Jenson had called police headquarters and a couple of cars, loaded with technical men, had arrived. Two of them had taken the .38 down to the Ballistics department at Brent. By the time Jenson and Harmas had returned to Brent, the experts were
