This Way for a Shroud

Conrad was already knocking on the front door to the right of the main entrance. There was a longish delay, then the door opened and a tall, bent old man in a tight-fitting black suit regarded them with big, watery blue eyes.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm Paul Conrad of the District Attorney's office, and this is Lieutenant Bardin, City Police," Conrad said. "We have business with the people in the second-floor apartment. They seem to be out. You wouldn't know when they will be back?"

The old man took out a big red silk handkerchief and polished his nose with it. Into his watery blue eyes came a look of intense excitement.

"You'd better come in, gentlemen," he said, standing aside and opening the front door wide. "I'm afraid you will find my quarters a little untidy, but I live alone."

"Thank you," Conrad said, and as they followed the bent old figure into the front room, he and Bardin exchanged resigned glances.

The room looked as if it hadn't been dusted or swept or tidied in months. On the old, well-polished sideboard stood an array of whisky bottles and about two dozen dirty glasses. Most of the bottles were empty, but the old man found an unopened one and began to pick off the tinfoil around the cap with unsteady fingers.

"Take a seat, gentlemen," he said. "You musn't think I'm used to living like this, but I lost my wife some years ago and I sadly miss her." He managed to get the bottle open and looked vaguely at the dirty glasses. "I should introduce myself. I am Colonel Neumann. I hope you gentlemen will join me in a drink?"

"No, thank you, Colonel," Conrad said briskly. "We're in a hurry. Did you happen to notice if Miss Coleman went out this morning?"

"Then if you really won't, I think I will," the Colonel said, pouring a large shot of whisky into one of the glasses. "I'm an old man now and a little whisky is, good for me. Moderation at all times, Mr. Conrad, and there's then no harm in it."

Conrad repeated his question in a louder voice.

"Oh, yes. They all went out," the Colonel said, carrying the glass of whisky carefully to a chair and sitting down. "You mustn't think I pry on people, but I did notice them. Are they in trouble?" The hopeful, intent curiosity in his eyes irritated Conrad.

"No, but I'm anxious to talk to Miss Coleman. Do you know her?"

"The dark one?" The Colonel smiled. "I've seen her: a pretty thing. What would the police want with her, Mr. Conrad?"

"Do you happen to know where they have gone?"

"They said something about the amusement park," the Colonel said, frowning. "I believe I heard one of them say something about going for a swim."

Conrad grimaced. He knew it would be hopeless to try and find Frances Coleman if she had gone to the amusement park. The place was always packed. He lifted his shoulders, resigned.

"Thank you, Colonel. I guess I'll look back this afternoon."

"You're sure nothing's wrong?" the Colonel asked, staring at Conrad. "I didn't like the look of the man who followed them. He looked a rough character to me."

Conrad stiffened to attention.

"What man, Colonel?"

The Colonel took a sip from his glass, put the glass down and wiped his mouth with his silk handkerchief.

"You mustn't get the impression that I'm always at the window, Mr. Conrad, but it did happen I looked out as they were walking down the street, and I saw this man in a car. He drove slowly after them: a yellow-headed man; a young man, but I didn't like the look of him at all."

"Who was Miss Coleman with?" Conrad asked sharply.

"With her friends." The Colonel showed his disapproval by a gentle snort. "That fellow who wears his shirt outside his trousers: I wish I had had him in my regiment. I'd have taught him how to dress like a gentleman! Then there's that Boyd girl: a cheeky little piece if ever there was one. It's a damn funny thing how some girls don't mind what a fellow looks like. Different in my day, I can tell you. I shouldn't have thought Miss Coleman would have cared to be seen out with that fellow with the birth-mark. But she's a kind little thing: perhaps she took pity on him."

Conrad and Bardin exchanged looks. Both of them knew Pete Weiner by sight, although he hadn't actually been through either of their hands, but they knew he had done some jobs for Maurer.

"What fellow with a birth-mark?" Bardin barked.

The Colonel blinked at him.

"I don't know who he is. I've never seen him before. He had a naevus – isn't that what they call it? – down the right side of his face."

"Was he dark, slightly built, looked like a student?" Bardin demanded.

"Yes. I'd say he could be a student."

"And this other fellow; the one in the car: was he driving a Packard? A short, square-shouldered guy with light blond hair and a white face?"

"That seems a very fair description of him: a vicious character. I don't know about the car. I didn't notice it. Do you know him then?"

"You say this guy with the birth-mark went with these other three?" Bardin said, ignoring the Colonel's question.