‘Did she often bring men back to the apartment?’
‘Only once that I remember: towards the end of July. She said she was having a friend in for supper, and would I mind keeping out of the way. We had agreed to do this when we shared the apartment together. If I wanted my friends in, she kept out of the way. As it happened I had a movie date, and I didn’t get home until late. They had gone by then, but there were a lot of cigarette butts in the ashtray: Egyptian cigarettes. I don’t like the smell of them much and I particularly noticed they were Egyptian.’
‘It might have been a woman, of course?’
‘Well, there were no lipstick marks on the butts.’
I smiled at her.
‘You’d make a good detective; Miss Jarrard.’
‘I was thinking that about you,’ she said seriously. ‘Why are you asking all these questions?’
‘I’ll tell you: I think Frankie’s in trouble.’ I took out Fay Benson’s photograph from my wallet and put it on the table.
‘That’s her, isn’t it?’
Irene looked at the photograph.
‘Yes, of course, but she’s blonde in this picture. She was a natural brunette, Mr. Sladen. Why has she gone blonde? When was this picture taken?’
‘From what you tell me, I’d say it was taken a couple of weeks after she left here. This girl,’ I went on, tapping the photograph, ‘called herself Fay Benson. On August 9th, she arrived at Welden and got a job at the Florian nightclub as a solo dancer. On August 17th she suddenly vanished and the police think she was kidnapped. I’m going to be frank with you, but I want you to promise me that what I’m going to tell you goes no further. It’s important.’
She was looking a little scared by now.
‘Of course I won’t say anything.’
‘The Welden police have asked me to find out what I can about the girl. They have an idea an investigation won’t be encouraged by the Tampa City police so I have to work cautiously. There’s some mystery going on, and I want to find out what it is.’
‘But if she was kidnapped, surely she must have been found by now,’ Irene said, her eyes opening wide. ‘You say she disappeared on August 17th? That’s more than fourteen months ago?’
‘She hasn’t been found yet,’ I said. I thought it wouldn’t be wise to tell her the girl had been murdered. She might get scared and clam up on me. ‘Maybe she hasn’t been kidnapped. Maybe she’s scared of something and is in hiding. Did she have a boyfriend; someone she went regularly with?’
‘No. You see, her work made it difficult. She didn’t get up until late, and she went to the nightclub at eight. She often said how dull it was having the afternoon free with no one to spend it with.’
‘And yet there was a man who came to your apartment for supper, and who was with her on the last night before she left.’
‘Yes, but she never said who he was and I never saw him.’
‘Are you quite sure she didn’t leave that night? You didn’t go into her room the next morning, did you?’
‘No. Of course, she might have left that night. I overslept and I was in a hurry to leave. It was only when I got back I noticed the money on the mantelpiece. It might have been left there overnight.’
‘She never mentioned a guy named Henry Rutland to you, did she?’
Irene shook her head.
‘No.’
‘She had a charm bracelet. Did you ever see it?’
‘Yes. I’ve often seen it.’
‘Did you notice a golden apple among the charms?’
Irene looked surprised.
‘Oh yes. Mr. Royce gave it to her. It was soon after she had got the job at the Golden Apple. She had made a hit on her first night, and Mr. Royce gave it to her as a memento.’
‘Hamilton Royce? He owns the club, doesn’t he?’
She nodded.
Hamilton Royce - Henry Rutland, I was thinking. Could he be one and the same?
‘Have you ever seen him?’
‘Oh no. Although Frankie didn’t talk about him much, I think she liked him. I’ve never seen him myself.’
‘Did she ever say what he looked like?’
‘I don’t think she did, but I have the impression she thought he was very good looking.’
I decided I should have to take a look at Mr. Royce. He interested me.
We talked on for another half hour, but I learned nothing further. Irene had just so much information to give me, and no more. But I had one more lead to follow. My next move was to take a look at Royce.
I took Irene home, promised I would let her know if I made any startling discoveries, then drove back to the Beach Hotel.
I went up to my room, got into bed and lay in the dark, considering my progress.
Fay obviously had a mysterious man friend. For some reason or other she had kept quiet about him to Irene. If the association had been straightforward the most natural thing would have been for her to discuss him with Irene. But she hadn’t done so. Why? Was he Royce? At least I had one small clue. This guy smoked Egyptian cigarettes: a little unusual, but not all that unusual.
Had Fay left on the night of August 2nd? If she had, it was possible she had gone with her boyfriend. I wasn’t forgetting that she and Henry Rutland booked in at the Shad Hotel, Welden, on the same day.
The time lag between August 2nd, when she left Tampa City and August 9th, when she arrived at Welden, puzzled me. Seven days - where had she been and what had she been doing during those seven days?
‘Work at it, Sherlock,’ I said to myself. ‘This time lag may be the key to the whole mystery, so work on it.’
It was after two o’clock before I fell asleep.
II
A little after noon the following day, I drove out to Lennox Hartley’s house.
The Filipino boy who opened the door showed me into the lounge and said he would ask if Mr. Hartley was free to see me. I waited half an hour before Hartley appeared, in a red and white striped dressing gown over pearl grey pyjamas. He looked rather the worse for wear, but at least he had shaved and bathed.
‘You again,’ he said and laboured across the carpet to the cocktail cabinet. ‘Scotch or gin?’
I said Scotch sounded right.
He made two large highballs, handed me one with a hand that was no steadier than an aspen leaf, then sank into an armchair, took a swig from his glass, shuddered and closed his eyes.
‘Sunlight and early callers are hell,’ he said mournfully. ‘I sometimes wish I lived on the moon. Have you ever thought of living on the moon?’
I said since, from what I had heard, there was no air worth mentioning up there and also it was pretty cold, I had never given it serious consideration as an asylum.
He stared up at me and shrugged.
‘Maybe you’re right, but think how isolated you’d be.’ He took another drink, then asked, ‘Well, old fella, what is it this time?’
‘You are a member of the Golden Apple club, aren’t you?’
He looked surprised.
‘That’s right, but don’t hold it against me. Why?’
‘I want you to take me there tonight.’
He gaped at me, then smiled and set his glass down on the occasional table at his side.
‘You are quite a guy, aren’t you? So you want me to take you to the club, do you? This is very interesting, Mr. Slade - is that your name?’
‘Sladen,’ I said.
