“Yes.”
I surrendered my hat as I walked into a small hall, which was furnished with an oval-shaped table on which stood a silver bowl of orchids.
The maid opened a door, said, “Mr. Brandon,” and stood aside for me to enter.
I walked into a big lounge, decorated in white and apricot. The walls and drapes and the leather lounging chairs were in apricot; the carpet and Miss Creedy were in white.
She stood by a big radiogram, looking towards me, slim and quite tall, with ash-blonde hair, the quality of spun silk. She was sensationally beautiful in the classic tradition and her eyes were the colour and seemed to have the same texture as those giant mauve-black pansies you see from time to time at the better flower shows.
She was high-breasted, long-legged, with hips that had curve and just the right weight. She was wearing a white evening gown with a plunging neckline, and around her throat was a string of diamonds that had probably been given to her on her twenty—first anniversary and must have set old man Creedy’s bank balance back quite a long way.
She wore elbow-length gloves, and around one wrist was a diamond-and-platinum watch, and on her little finger, worn over the glove, was a long flat ruby set in a thin gold hoop.
She looked what she was: every inch a multi-millionaire’s daughter. All in all I could understand why Mrs. Creedy had found her hard to compete with. She must have flung her bonnet over the roof when this young woman had packed her bags and left home.
“I would be glad if you would excuse me for making such a late call, Miss Creedy,” I said. “I wouldn’t be troubling you only my business is urgent.”
She gave me a small smile. It was neither friendly nor hostile: a hostess welcoming a stranger in her home, a show of good manners; no more, no less.
“Has it something to do with my father?”
“Well, no: remotely perhaps, but to be honest I didn’t think you would see me unless I mentioned your father’s name.” I gave her a boyish smile, but it made no impression.
She was now looking straight at me and her dark eyes had a disconcerting directness. “I am head of the Star Inquiry Agency,” I went on. “I’m hoping you might be willing to help me.”
She stiffened a little and frowned. Although she looked severe, she still managed to look beautiful.
“You mean you are a private detective?”
“That is right. I am working on a case and you could help me, Miss Creedy.”
I could see she was beginning to freeze.
“Help you? I really don’t know what you mean. Why should I help you?” The freeze was now in her voice.
“No reason at all except some people don’t mind helping others now and then.” I tried the boyish smile again, but still with no results. “This business might interest you if you will let me tell you about it.”
She hesitated, then she waved to a chair.
“Well, all right,” she said. “Perhaps you had better sit down.”
I waited until she had sat down on the settee opposite before I dropped into the chair she had indicated.
“Five days ago, Miss Creedy,” I said, “my partner Jack Sheppey came here from our office in San Francisco on an assignment he received over the telephone. The caller didn’t give his name to the girl who handles our switchboard. I was away at the time. Sheppey left without saying who the caller was, but he did write your father’s name on his blotter.”
While I talked, I watched her and I could see I was holding her attention. She was thawing out.
“Sheppey sent me a cable asking me to come down here. I arrived this morning. I went to the hotel where he was staying but he had gone out. A little later, the police came for me to identify him: he had been murdered in a bathing cabin out at Bay Beach.”
Her eyes widened.
“Why, of course. I saw it in the evening paper. I didn’t realize . . . was he your partner?”
“Yes.”
“You say he wrote my father’s name down on his blotter?” she said, frowning at me. “Why should he have done that?”
“I don’t know unless it was your father who called him.”
She looked away then and began to turn the ruby ring around on her finger. I had an idea she was suddenly uneasy.
“Daddy wouldn’t do that. If he wanted an inquiry agent, he would get his secretary to do it.”
“Unless it happened to concern a matter of an extremely confidential nature,” I said.
She continued to look away.
“I really can’t see what all this has to do with me,” she said. “I am going out in a few minutes . . .”
“I saw your father this afternoon,” I said, and saw her stiffen. “I asked him if he had hired Sheppey and he said he hadn’t. He was very emphatic about it. He produced what looked like an ex-fighter named Hertz and told him to take a look at me. He implied if I didn’t mind my own business, Hertz would discourage me.”
A slight flush mounted to her face.
“I still can’t see what this has to do with me. So if you will please excuse me . . .”
She got to her feet.
“I am trying to trace Sheppey’s movements, Miss Creedy,” I said, standing up. “Apparently he went to the Musketeer Club and I want to find out who he went with. You are a member of the club. I was wondering if you would sponsor me at the club so I could make a few inquiries.”
She stared at me as if I had suggested she should take a trip to the moon.
“That’s quite impossible,” she said, and she sounded as if she meant it. “Even if I did take you into the club and I have no intention of doing such a thing, they wouldn’t tolerate you asking anyone questions.”
“I’m with you there, Miss Creedy,” I said. “From what I hear of the place it seems pretty high-toned, but if you were to ask the questions, I’m sure you’d get the answers.”
She stared at me, biting her underlip.
“That is impossible. I’m sorry, Mr. Brandon, I must ask you to go now.”
“This isn’t a frivolous request,” I said. “A man has been murdered. I have reason to believe the police won’t make much effort to find his murderer. I realize that’s a pretty sweeping thing to say, but I’ve talked to Captain Katchen of the Homicide Department, and he more or less told me if I didn’t keep clear of this business he would make me sorry. I’m not kidding myself that he wouldn’t do it. A little less than an hour ago I got involved in a fight because I was asking questions. Someone in this town is anxious to have Sheppey’s death hushed up. Sheppey was my friend. I don’t intend to let anyone hush up his death. I’m asking you to help me. All I want you to do . . .”
She reached out and touched a bell push on the wall near her.
“This has nothing to do with me,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I’m unable to help you.”
The door opened and the maid came in.
“Oh, Tessa, Mr. Brandon is leaving now.”
I smiled at her.
“Well, at least you haven’t threatened me as Captain Katchen did, nor have you as yet sent a thug after me as your father did,” I said. “Thank you for giving me your time, Miss Creedy.”
I went out into the hall, picked up my hat and, opening the door, I set off down the corridor. It had been a long shot, and it hadn’t come off, but at least I hadn’t wasted my time. I had an idea that Margot Creedy knew just why her father had hired Sheppey. If she knew, it meant that Sheppey was hired on a matter concerning the family. I decided to take a look at Bridgette Creedy’s new boyfriend, Jacques Thrisby.
Maybe Sheppey had been hired to find out just how friendly these two were. That could make sense. Creedy would naturally clam up and turn tough if he thought he might have to tell a court that he had hired a private eye to watch his wife: that was something no man would want to broadcast.
The time now was ten minutes past eleven: a little early for me to return to the hotel. I got back into the Buick and sat for a long moment, thinking, then I trod on the starter and headed down to Bay Beach.
