Safer Dead

‘He will after he’s read the report I’m mailing him. I want you to check on Cornelia Van Blake’s movements while she was there. I’ll send you all the dope. Take a photograph of Fay Benson with you and show it around in the hotels I’ll give you.’

‘Did she go to Paris then?’

‘I don’t know, but I want to find out. Check up on Joan Nichols too.’

‘Say, this sounds like hard work,’ Bernie protested. ‘There are other things to do in Paris besides work.’

‘Listen, you good-for-nothing punk! I’m in a jam here. The cops think I’ve knocked off a couple of guys and they’re hunting for me. They’re a tough, rough bunch, and if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll go to Paris myself and you can handle this end!’

‘Relax,’ Bernie said hurriedly. ‘I’ll give you what you want. Just tell me and you’ll get it.’

II

I left the hideout around nine-thirty, using the emergency exit. It was a dark, moonless night with a hint of rain in the air, and the darkness gave me a sense of security. I was glad to stretch my legs. The report I had written to Fayette was as complete as I could make it, and it had taken the best part of four hours. Getting it all down on paper had helped to clarify my mind on several points I had to clear up.

I had an idea that if I could find out why Lennox Hartley had been murdered I would find the solution to most of my problems. I had had time to think over the events of yesterday, and I recalled Cornelia’s reaction when I had remarked on the picture of her that Hartley had painted. I recalled too her reaction when I had given her Fay Benson’s photograph. Fay had been one of Hartley’s models. There was a hookup somewhere between the three of them. It occurred to me that Fay’s friend, Irene Jarrard, might be able to supply the key to this hookup. It was possible Fay had said something to her that might put me on the right lines. I told myself that at the first opportunity I would talk to her.

Hamilton Royce was another loose end that needed tying up. If his ex-girlfriend was willing to talk, she would be my best bet for tonight.

The Hey-Day club had a gaudy, neon decorated entrance that led down steep stairs into one of those airless, dark cellars that save rent and attract the tourist trade. I descended the stairs to where a hard-faced bouncer signed me in for a three dollar entrance and temporary membership fee and promptly lost interest in me.

I pushed aside the curtain that guarded the entrance to the bar and dance floor and made my way through the smoke laden air and the closely set tables to the bar. There weren’t more than twenty people in the club: most of them were over made up and underdressed girls on the lookout for male company. I could feel their eyes boring into me as I made my way to the bar.

The rat-faced barman nodded to me as I came to rest in front of him. He looked me over and didn’t seem to know what to make of me.

I ordered a straight whisky.

‘If you want company,’ the barman said as he set the whisky before me, ‘all you have to do is to smile at one of those babies and she’ll break her neck getting to you.’

‘Which one of them is Lydia Forrest?’ I asked, reaching for the whisky. ‘Or isn’t she on show?’

The barman touched his thin lips with the tip of a white coated tongue. His deepset eyes took on a sleepy look.

‘You want Miss Forrest?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘You a friend of hers?’ he asked and I could sense his hostility like a wall between us.

I leaned my elbows on the bar and smiled at him.

‘If you must know I am a friend of a friend of hers,’ I said mildly. ‘Is she around?’

‘No, and if you took my tip, you’d skip it. She has friends who are touchy about guys asking for her.’

‘Is that a fact?’ I said and shook my head. I drank the whisky and pushed the glass towards him. ‘Don’t let us get our lines crossed. I’ve plenty of girlfriends of my own. I don’t have to muscle in on someone else’s preserves. I have a message for her - that’s all.’

He refilled my glass and relaxed a trifle.

‘A lot of guys come in here pestering her,’ he said. ‘If it’s only a message.’

‘That’s it. Where do I find her?’

He took my money and accepted the dollar tip.

‘She’ll be doing her act in half an hour. Stick around, mister.’

I peeled off four more of Fayette’s dollar bills and showed them to the barman.

‘If I stay here for a half hour this atmosphere will put me into an iron lung. Can’t I call on her in her dressing room?’

He pulled at his right ear while he examined the four bills.

‘I guess so,’ he said finally. ‘Second door by the band. Don’t make it too obvious.’

He collected the four bills as easily as a vacuum cleaner picks up fluff.

I carried my drink to a table near the band, sat down and smoked a cigarette. A platinum blonde with a complexion like crepe rubber, jumped the gun and came over without an invitation.

‘Hello, honey,’ she said, flashing me a smile that might have been dazzling if her teeth had been better. ‘Going to buy me a drink?’