Figure it Out For Yourself

'That's a hundred and fifty dollars down the drain,' I said gloomily. 'I hoped to dig up some dirt on that chauffeur. Well, well, can't be helped. With any luck, I've cracked this case.'

I talked solidly as I rushed the Buick along Orchid Boule-vard, up Beach Road and

Hawthorne Avenue. It was surprising how much there was to tell her since I had last seen her.

Finally, as I swung into Foothill Boulevard I got around to Mrs. Ferris.

'This is really something,' I said. 'Dedrick a reefer smuggler! What do you know? For five hundred she'll give me a signed statement.'

'But how do you know she's telling the truth?'

'I'll get the statement and then shanghai her to the police. She'll get her money all right, but every word she's signing is going to be checked.'

I slowed down and pulled up outside the filling station. The boy didn't show up. I got out of the car, followed by Paula.

'The bungalow's around the back.'

We walked down the path, past the repair shed. I paused and look in. The boy wasn't there. I felt a sudden tightness around my chest, and I broke into a run. I was rapping on the door of the bungalow by the time Paula caught me up. No one answered. Nothing happened.

'Well, I warned her,' I said savagely, drew back and slammed my shoulder against the door. It wasn't built for such treatment and flew open. We stood, side by side, in the dark little hall.

'Mrs. Ferris!' I shouted. 'Mrs. Ferris!'

Silence.

'Well, that's that. These rats work fast. You'd better stay here, Paula, while I look the place over.'

'You don't think she changed her mind and bolted?' I shook my head.

'Not a chance. She wanted the money too badly. The boy must have tipped them off.'

Leaving her in the hall, I went from room to room. I didn't find her.

I came back to the hall.

'Not here. If they haven't taken her away, they've frightened her away.'

I was thinking of the screwed-up figure in the blue nightdress, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. If Mrs. Ferris knew as much as she hinted she did, her life now wasn't worth a dime.

'Take a look in her bedroom and see if she's taken any clothes,' I said. 'She can't have many.'

While Paula went into the bedroom, I went into the back room where we had talked. I hunted around, but didn't find anything that told me why she had disappeared.

Paula came in after a while.

'As far as I can see, she hasn't taken anything. There're no gaps in the cupboards and the drawers aren't disturbed.'

'I wish I knew where that boy is. If I could get him to talk—'

'Vic!'

Paula was looking out of the window. I joined her.

'What's that, by the shed? Isn't it—?'

At the end of the strip of garden was a tool shed. The door was ajar. I could see something white lying on the floor.

'Wait here. I'll look.'

I went to the back door, opened it, and walked quickly down the garden. As I approached the shed, I pulled out my gun. I pushed open the door, looked into the dim darkness.

She was there, lying on her face, her hands covering her head as if to protect it.

I imagined her seeing them coming up the front way, losing her head and running wildly down the path to the shed. They had probably shot her from the back door, not even bothering to come down and see if she was dead.

I turned and walked quickly back to the bungalow.

V

They were several well-bred, well-dressed and overfed men aging in the lobby of the Beach Hotel. All of them stared fixedly at Paula's ankles as we walked over to the reception desk. The reception clerk was a tall, willowy young man with blond, wavy hair, a pink-and-white complexion and a dis-illusioned expression in his pale blue eyes.

'Good evening,' he said, giving Paula a little bow. 'Have you made reservations?'

'No; it's not that kind of a party,' I said, and laid my busi- ness card on the counter. 'I'm hoping you can give me some information.'

Blond eyebrows lifted. He peered at the card, read it, picked it up, and read it again.

'Ah, yes, Mr. Malloy. What can I do for you?' He glanced at Paula again, and unconsciously fingered his tie.

'We're trying to find a young woman who we think stayed here on the 12th or maybe the 11th.'

'We don't encourage inquiries about our visitors, Mr. Malloy.'

He was as stiff as a Dowager watching a bubble dance.

'That I can understand. But she happens to be this young lady's sister.' I waved to Paula, who gave him a look from under her eyelashes that made his knees buckle. 'She ran away from home and we're anxious to trace her.'

'Oh, I see.' He hesitated. 'Well, perhaps, in that case I might ... What is her name?'

'We think she was staying here under an assumed name. You don't get many unattached young women staying here, do you?'

He shook his head regretfully.

'Actually, not. I think I know the one you mean. Miss Mary Henderson, if I remember rightly.' He flicked the pages of the register, ran a well-manicured finger down a page, paused. 'Yes; Miss Henderson. Tall, dark, distinctly pretty. Would that be the one?'