I lit a cigarette, put the match carefully in the ashtray on the counter while I looked at the girl.
‘Did he say where he was going?’
She shook her head.
‘No. He paid his rent, packed his bag and beat it. You don’t ask Joe questions unless you want a new set of teeth.’
‘How long has he been staying here?’
‘About a couple of years.’
I took out my wallet and produced a five-dollar bill. ‘I would like to look at his room. Would five bucks cover your expenses?’
Fingers with grubby knuckles and nails stained dark red snapped up the bill. The girl turned, took a key from the cash register and handed it to me.
‘Through that door, upstairs. Second door on the left. If my old man catches you, you’ll have to talk yourself out of it. He’s got a mean disposition.’
‘You might not guess it to look at me,’ I said as I moved to the door, ‘but so have I.’
I walked into a passage, mounted dirty, uncarpeted stairs and stopped outside the second door on the left. I slid the key into the lock, turned it and pushed the door open. The room showed every sign of a hurried departure. The doors of the wardrobe hung open, drawers had been pulled out of the bureau and left on the floor. There was dirty, soapy water in the bowl on the washstand.
I shut the door and looked around. I was sure now I had started something. Hesson had panicked. He had lied about knowing Fay Benson, probably because he was off guard and said the first thing that came into his head. Realizing his mistake, he had packed and bolted.
I went over the room methodically and carefully. It wasn’t until I moved the bed from the wall that I found anything to excite my interest. I caught a glimpse of something that gleamed through a thick layer of dust. I bent and picked it up. Moving over to the window I examined my find.
It was a miniature replica of an apple, made of gold; the kind of thing you might find on a charm bracelet women wear.
Engraved on one side of it in letters so small I could scarcely read them was the following: F.B. from H.R. June 24th.
F.B. - Fay Benson?
I rolled the tiny apple across my palm, then I dropped it into my pocket. As I turned to renew my search, the door pushed open and a thickset man, his dark swarthy face set in a hard scowl, stood in the doorway.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he growled.
‘Looking for Hesson,’ I said, guessing he was the girl’s papa. He looked as if he had a mean disposition. ‘Know where he is?’
‘You can see he’s not here. Get out before I toss you out!’ He looked tough and strong enough to do it so I moved to the door.
‘I want to find him. I’ll spring five bucks for his address,’ I said.
He looked less hostile.
‘It’ll cost you twenty.’
I shook my head.
‘I’ll pay ten, but not a nickel more.’
‘Okay, ten.’
I groped in my wallet without taking it out of my pocket, found two fives and folded them.
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone to Sam Hardy’s place. 3, Lennox Street, Frisco.’
‘Would you be sure of that?’
‘That’s where he told me to send his mail.’ He reached for the bills. ‘If he isn’t there, he’ll be there sometime.’
I handed over the ten dollars. I wasn’t sure if I were parting with the money for nothing, but as it was Fayette’s money and not mine, I thought the risk was justified.
‘If I don’t find him, brother,’ I said, pushing past him, ‘you’ll be seeing me again.’
I went down the stairs to the street.
III
It was a little after one o’clock by the time I got back to the Shad Hotel. I found Bernie sitting in the lobby, hollow eyed and pale, glass of whisky and water within reach.
‘Still tippling? I should have thought you had had enough last night to last you a lifetime.’
Bernie closed his eyes, then opened them and shuddered.
‘Would you mind keeping your voice down?’ he said pathetically. ‘The least noise sends stabbing pains through my head.’
‘Serves you right. Come on; let’s eat. I’ve got news for you.’
Bernie recoiled.
‘Don’t talk to me about food. I couldn’t touch a thing.’
I grabbed him by the arm and hustled him into the dingy restaurant.
‘Then you can watch me,’ I said.
While I ate, I gave him a detailed account of what I had discovered the previous evening and of my work during the morning. He became so interested, he even forgot his headache.
‘We’re doing all right,’ I said. ‘We already know more than the police did when they dropped the case, and that’s not bad going. We know Fay was in touch with this guy in the camel hair coat. The police didn’t manage to turn him up or if they did, they didn’t think he was of sufficient interest to mention him. I think he’s worth investigating. Anyone who wears dark glasses at night is my idea of a suspect. And another thing: who is this girl Joan Nichols? Where does she fit in? She called here three days after Fay had disappeared and asked for her. Then she promptly falls downstairs and breaks her neck. Farmer is the only guy who could have seen Fay leave the club and he gets himself conveniently run over. Looks to me that Joan Nichols and Farmer were got rid of because they knew too much.’
Bernie’s eyes popped.
‘Hey! Has it occurred to your master mind we also know something?’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Suppose someone starts trying to knock us off?’
‘Don’t drivel. Investigators never get knocked off. Don’t you read thrillers?’
‘I don’t like it. Maybe we’d better drop this case, Chet. I’m serious. I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you - nor to me, come to that.’
‘Skip it!’ I said. ‘This is going to be our best story. I’m going after Hesson. I want you to find this guy in the camel hair coat. The chances are he’s already left town, but it’s worthwhile calling on all the hotels here and seeing if anyone recognizes his description. His car might help you.’
Bernie nodded reluctantly.
‘Well, okay. I’ll do what I can. There can’t be many hotels in town - I hope!’
I pushed back my chair.
‘Well, come on. I’ll need the car. I should be back from Frisco tonight. See you here.’
Bernie got to his feet and we went into the lobby.
‘Hang on a moment,’ I said and stepped into the telephone booth. I called the Florian club and asked to be put through to the stage door office.
‘Is Spencer there?’ I asked.
‘This is Spencer talking. Is that Mr. Sladen?’
‘Yeah. Do you know if Miss Benson owned a charm bracelet? You know what that is, don’t you?’
‘Sure, Mr. Sladen. She did have one. It had a lot of charms on it. She showed it to me.’
‘Was there a gold apple among the charms?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Fine, and thanks,’ I said and hung up. I left the booth and joined Bernie. ‘I was right. The charm came off
