He said in a gritty voice, "Go on."
"You will remember Nurse Gurney? Mrs. Salzer admits kidnapping her, only, according to
her, Nurse Gurney fell down the fire escape and broke her neck. Mrs. Salzer hid her somewhere in the desert. That's murder, too."
"This is fantastic." Willet said. "It's unbelievable."
"It's unbelievable only because of the motive. Here we have two people, Mrs. Salzer and Sherrill, committing three murders between them, to say nothing of kidnapping Anona Freedlander and myself, to protect a girl from newspaper publicity. That's what makes it unbelievable. I think there's a lot more to this business than we know about. It seems to me these two are desperately trying to keep a very lively cat from hopping out of the bag, and I want to find out what kind of cat it is."
"It's not newspaper publicity they're worrying about," Willet said. "Look at the money that's involved."
"Yeah, but I still think there's a strange cat we haven't found yet. I'm going to hunt for it. Anyway, I'll get on. I haven't finished yet. The punch line comes last. Maureen told me when she came into her money, Sherrill reverted to type. He turned blackmailer. He said he would circulate the rumour that because she stole him from Janet, Janet shot her father and killed herself. But if Maureen bought the Dream
Ship for him, he would k
eep quiet. She bought the
Dream Ship: that's w
hy she converted the insurance money into bearer bonds. She gave the bonds to Sherrill. Imagine how the newspapers would scream if it got out that Maureen Crosby was the backer of a gambling-ship. Wouldn't that drop the whole of the Crosby money into the Research Centre's lap?"
Willet managed to look green without actually turning green.
"She bought the Dream
Ship," he said in
a stifled voice.
"That's what she tells me. She also said she was frightened of Sherrill, and at that dramatic moment Mr. Sherrill made a personal appearance. He announced he was going to put Maureen where no one would find her and dispose of me in the same way. I was beginning to argue with him when someone from behind bent a sap over my head, and I woke up in Salzer's sanatorium. We won't waste time going into what happened there. It's enough that my assistant kidded Lessways he was a well-known writer and got himself invited to the monthly visit to the asylum with the City's councilmen. He spotted me, and got out and we took Anona Freedlandcr with us. What we have to find out is whether Sherrill has carried out his threat to hide Maureen away. If she doesn't show up tomorrow, my bet is she's hidden away: probably on Sherrill's ship. But if she does show up, then I'll be inclined to think she's in this business with the rest of them, and she took me to her house so Sherrill could get at me."
Willet poured another drink with a hand that wasn't too steady.
"I don't believe that's likely," he said.
"We'll see. If Sherrill is holding her, have you any power to stop her money?"
"I haven't any power over her money at all. All I can do is to advise the other trustees that she has broken the terms of the will."
"Who are the other trustees?"
"Mr. Glynn and Mr. Coppley, my chiefs, who are of course, in New York."
"Should they be consulted?"
"Not at this stage," he said, and rubbed his jaw. "I'll be frank with you, Malloy. They would follow out the terms of the will without hesitation, and without taking into consideration the girl might be innocent. To my way of thinking the will is over-harsh. Crosby has stipulated that if Maureen figures in the newspapers the money goes to the Research Centre. I imagine he got a little tired of her pranks, but he didn't realize he was giving an unscrupulous blackmailer a weapon to use against her. And that's what has probably happened."
"It's occurred to you we are covering up three murders?" I said, helping myself to another drink. All this talk made me dry. "So far Brandon isn't digging too deep because he's scared of the Crosby's money, but if the facts turn out that Maureen's hooked up in these murders, he'll have to forget about her money and take some action: then you and I will be out on a limb."
"We've got to give her the benefit of the doubt," Willet said uneasily. "I'd never forgive myself if by acting too previously we caused her to lose her money unfairly. How about this Freedlander woman? How long will it be before she can talk?"
"I don't know. Some days from the look of her. She can't even remember who she is."
"Is she in hospital?"
I shook my head.
"My secretary. Miss Bensinger, is looking after her. I've called in a doctor, but there's nothing much he can do. He says it's a matter of time. I'm going to San Francisco to-day to see her father. He may help her memory."
"We'll pay any expenses involved," Willet said. "Charge it up to us." He lit another cigarette. "What's the next move?"
"We'll have to wait and see if Maureen turns up. If she doesn't, I'll go out to the Drea
m
Ship
and see if she's on board. There are other angles I'm looking into. At the moment I have a lot of loose strings that need tidying up."
There was a tap on the door and the platinum blonde came in and swayed her way to Willet's desk.
"Mrs. Pollard is getting impatient," she murmured. "And this message has just come in. I thought you should see it at once."
She gave him a slip of paper. He read what was written on it and his eyebrows shot up.
"All right. Tell Mrs. Pollard I'll see her in five minutes," he said. He looked at me. "Miss Crosby won't be coming to-morrow. Apparently she is going to Mexico for a trip"
"Who phoned?" I asked, sitting forward.
"He didn't say who he was," the platinum blonde told Willet. "He said he was speaking for Miss Crosby, and would I give you the message right away."
Willet raised his eyebrows at me. I shook my head.
"All right, Miss Palmetter," he said. "That's all."
I fished up my hat from under my chair and stood up.
"Looks like a visit to the Dream
Ship," I said
.
Willet put the Scotch and the two glasses away.
"You'd better not tell me about that," he said. "You'll be careful, won't you?"
"You'll be surprised how careful I will be."
"She may have gone to Mexico," he went on doubtfully.
I gave him a little grin, but he didn't grin back.
"Be seeing you," I said, and went into the outer office.
A fat, over-dressed woman, with pearls the size of pickled onions around her neck, sat breathing heavily in one of the lounging chairs. She gave me a stony glare as I picked my way past her to the door.
I looked back at the platinum blonde and tried my grin on her.
She opened her eyes very wide, stared emptily at me and then looked away.
I went out, my grin hanging in space, like an unwanted baby on a doorstep.
II
Jack Kerman was demonstrating to Trixy, my switchboard girl, how Gregory Peck kisses his leading ladies when I tramped in. They came apart a little slower than a flash of lightning, but not much. Trixy whipped to her seat and began to pull out plugs and push in plugs with an unconvincing show of efficiency.
Kerman gave me a sad smirk, shook his head sorrowfully, and followed me into the inner room.
"Do you have to do that?" I asked, going over to my desk and yanking open a drawer. "Isn't she a mite young?"
Kerman sneered.
"Not by the way she was acting," he said.
I took out my .38 police special, shoved it in my hip pocket and collected a couple of spare magazines.
"I have news," Kerman said, watching me a little pop-eyed. "Want it now?"
"I'll have it in the car. You and me are going to 'Frisco."
"Heeled?"
"Yeah. From now on I'm taking no chances. Got your rod?"
"I can get it."
While he was getting it I put a call through to Paula.
"How is she?" I asked, when she came on the line.
"About the same. Dr. Mansell's just been in. He's given her a mild shot. He says it'll take a long time to taper her off."
"I'm on my way to see her father. If he'll take her over it'll let us out. You all right?"
She said she was.
"I'll look in on my way back." I said, and hung up.
Kerman and I rode in the elevator to the ground floor, crossed the sidewalk to the Buick.
"We're going out to the Dream
Ship to-night," I said
as I started the engine.
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Unofficially: just like they do on the movies. Maybe we'll even have to swim out there."
"Sharks and things, ugh?" Kerman said. "Maybe they'll try to shoot us when we get aboard."
"They certainly will if they see us." I edged past a truck and went up Centre Avenue with a burst of speed that startled two taxi-drivers and a girl driving a Pontiac.
"That'll be something to look forward to," Kerman said gloomily. He sunk lower in his seat. "I simply can't wait. Maybe I'd better make a will."
"Have you anything to leave?" I asked, surprised, and braked hard as the red light went up.
"Some dirty post-cards and a stuffed rat," Kerman said. "I'll leave those to you."
As the light changed to green, I said, "What's the news? Find anything on Mrs. Salzer?"
Kerman lit a cigarette, dropped the match into the back seat of the Pontiac as it tried to nose past us.
"You bet. Watch your driving, this is going to knock you sideways. I've been digging all morning. Know who she is?"
I swung the car on to Fairview Boulevard.
"Tell me."
"Macdonald Crosby's second wife: Maureen's mother."
I swerved half across the road, missed a truck that was pounding along and minding its own business, and had the driver curse at me. I edged back to the near side.
"I told you to watch it," Kerman said, and grinned. "Hot, isn't it?"
"Go on : what else?"
"About twenty-three years ago she was a throat and ear specialist in San Francisco. Crosby met her when she treated Janet for a minor complaint. He married her. She kept her practice, over-worked, had a nervous breakdown and had to quit. Crosby and she didn't hit it off. He caught her fooling with Salzer. He divorced her. When he moved to Orchid City, she moved too, to be near Maureen. Like it?"
"Well, it helps," I said. We were now on the Los Angeles and San Francisco Highway, and
I had my foot hard down on the gas pedal. "It explains quite a lot of things, but not everything. It accounts for why she took a hand in the game. Naturally she'd be anxious her daughter should keep all that money. But for the love of Mike! Imagine going to the lengths she's gone to. It's my bet she's crazy."
"Probably is," Kerman said complacently. "They were cagey about her at the Medical Association. Said she had a nervous breakdown and wouldn't enlarge on it. She chucked a dummy right in the middle of an operation. One nurse I talked to said if it hadn't been for the anesthetist she would have cut the patient's throat: as bad as that."
"Salzer any money?"
"Not a bean."
"I wonder who promoted the sanatorium: probably Crosby. She's not going to get away with Nurse Gurney's death. When the police find the body I'm going to tip Mifflin."
"They may never find her," Kerman said. He had a very low opinion of the Orchid City police.
"I'll help them, after I've seen Maureen."
We drove for the next ten minutes in silence while I did some heavy thinking.
Then Kerman said, "Aren't we wasting time going to see old man Freedlander? Couldn't we have telephoned?"
"You get bright ideas a little late, don't you? He may not be anxious to have her back. A telephone conversation can be closed down too easily. I have a feeling he'll need talking to."
We crossed the Oakland Bay Bridge a few minutes after three o'clock, turned off 3rd into Montgomery Street, and left into California Street.
Freedlander's place was half-way down on the right-hand side. It was one of those nondescript dwelling-houses: six storeys of rabbit warren, blaring radio and yelling children.
A party of kids came storming down the stone steps to welcome us. They did everything to the car except puncture the tyres and drop lighted matches into the petrol tank.
Kerman picked out the biggest and toughest of them and gave him half a buck.
"Keep your pals off this car and you'll get the other half," he said.
The boy hauled off and socked a kid around the ears to show his good faith. We left him booting another.
"Nice neighbourhood," Kerman said, stroking his moustache with his thumb-nail.
We went up the steps and examined the two long rows of mail-boxes. Freedlander's place was on the fifth floor: No. 25. There was no elevator, so we walked.
"It's going to make me a happy day if he's out," Kerman panted as he paused on the fourth landing to mop his brow.
"You drink too much," I said, and began to climb the stairs to the next floor.
We came to a long, dingy passage. Someone's radio was playing jazz. It blasted like a hot breath the length and breadth of the passage.
A slatternly looking woman came out of a room near by. She had on a black straw hat that had seen its best days, and in one hand she clutched a string shopping-bag. She gave us a look full of inquisitive interest, and went on down the passage to the head of the stairs. She turned to stare again, and Kerman put his thumbs to his ears and waggled his fingers at her. She went on down the stairs with her nose in the air.
We walked along the passage to No. 25. There was no bell or knocker. As I lifted my hand to rap, a muffled bang sounded beyond the door: the sound a paper bag makes when you've blown it up and slapped it with your hand.
I had my gun out and my hand on the door handle before the sound had died away. I turned the handle and pushed. To my surprise the door opened. I looked into a fair-sized room: a living-room if you judged by the way it was furnished.
