'Sounds like her. She wore a wine-coloured evening gown and a black silk wrap on the evening of the
12th.'
He nodded, patted his lips with a snow-white handkerchief and gave Paula a dazzling smile.
'That's Miss Henderson.'
'Fine. When did she book in?'
He consulted the register.
'Six o'clock on the 12th.'
'Any forwarding address?'
'I'm afraid not.'
'When did she leave?'
'On the 13th. I remember now. I was rather surprised. She had booked the room for a week.'
'Did she have a car?'
The clerk frowned, studied Paula's lovely, intent face seemed to draw inspiration from it for he said, 'Actually, not. At least, not when she arrived. But before she went up to her room, she arranged to hire a car. She said she wanted it that evening as she was going out.'
'Did you hire the car for her?'
'Oh, yes. We deal with the Acme Garage. You may know it?'
I said I knew it.
'Ferris brought the car around at six-thirty or seven, and left it for Miss Henderson.'
'Did he see her?'
The clerk lifted his eyebrows.
'Why, no. That wasn't necessary.'
'You're quite sure he didn't see her?'
'Yes.'
'What happened to the car?'
'As a matter of fact, it's still in our garage. I'm glad you reminded me. Ferris usually comes and takes it away. I must remind him.'
'Mind if I look at it?'
'Why, certainly.'
'What is it?
'A black Lincoln. The attendant will show it to you.' He was looking puzzled.
'Well, thanks. One more thing; did Miss Henderson have any visitors while she was here?'
He thought for a moment.
'One gentleman. Yes, that's right. He came to see her in the afternoon on the 13th. She cancelled her room after he had gone.'
I lit a cigarette before I asked, 'Did you see him?'
'Certainly. He came to the desk and asked for her.' Again he patted his lips with his handkerchief and gave Paula a quick, admiring glance out of the corners of his eyes.
'Can you describe him?'
'He was an elderly gentleman. Well dressed; obviously well-to-do. He said his name was Franklin Marshland.'
I drew in a slow deep breath, asked, 'Short, suntanned, beaky nose and very small feet?'
'I didn't notice his feet, Mr. Malloy, but the rest is right.'
'And Miss Henderson left almost immediately after? Did she seem upset?'
'I wouldn't say upset, but perhaps a little flustered. She seemed very anxious to go. I was rather surprised. I think I told you. She had reserved the room for a week.'
'Did she take a taxi?'
'I believe she did. The porter will remember her.'
'If we could find the taxi-driver, he might know where she went.'
The clerk was taking a lot of interest by now.
'I'll ask the porter. Just wait a moment.'
When he crossed the lobby to the porter's desk, Paula and I exchanged glances.
'Well, we are certainly making progress,' I said. 'I wonder what Marshland wanted with her. You know, I'm beginning to think my idea that Marshland has something to do with the kidnapping isn't such a scatty one at that.'
'Do we know where he was at the time of the kidnapping?'
'I don't think that matters. He wouldn't have had anything to do with it himself. He would have hired someone to do it.'
The clerk came back.
'No luck, I'm afraid. The porter remembers Miss Henderson, but has no idea who the driver was. The cab was cruising when he stopped it.'
'Well, thanks for giving me so much of your time. I'll take a look at the car now. The garage's around the back?'
He said the garage was around the back.
'I hope you find her,' he said to Paula.
Paula thanked him with a smile that had him running his hand over his curly blond hair.
As we walked across the lobby the well-fed loungers again paused in their conversations to stare at Paula's ankles.
The attendant in the garage took us over to a black Lincoln.
'That's the job. Can't understand why Ferris hasn't collected it yet,' he said. He too seemed smitten with Paula.
'Do you remember what time she brought it in on the nightof the 12th?'I asked.
'I can tell you. We log all cars as they come in.'
While he went over to the office, I examined the car, pushing my hands down the sides of the seats, turning up the floor mats, and going through the pockets, hoping to find some-thing she might have dropped or forgotten. I didn't find a thing.
The attendant came back.
'She booked in at twenty minutes to eleven.'
'Did you see her?'
'I must have, but I don't remember.'
It would have been too good to be true if he had.
'Okay,' I said, and gave him a buck. 'Well, thanks.'
We went back to the Buick. The time was now half-past six.
'I'll drop you off at the office. Get Trixy off home,' I said.
'And you?' Paula asked.
'I'm going to talk to Marshland.'
CHAPTER FIVE
I
As I drove towards Ocean End, I laid out my discoveries in my mind and brooded over them.
In actual fact, I was no nearer to getting Perelli out of jail, but I had a feeling that if I kept on digging, sooner or later I'd get the necessary proof. At least, I had something to work on: which was more than Mifflin had.
Gracie had been murdered because she knew who had framed Perelli. That meant Perelli was innocent, and up to now I hadn't been 100 per cent convinced. It made a difference.
If I was to believe Mrs. Ferris, Dedrick had been smuggling reefers into Paris before he met Serena. Was this the clue to his kidnapping? Had he decided to give up working for Barratt now he had married Serena, and had Barrett killed him: stag-ing a fake kidnapping to get money out of Serena? That was possible.
My mind shifted to Marshland. Had he anything to do with the kidnapping? Suppose Souki had found out that Dedrick was hooked up with Barratt and had told Marshland? That would have been a nice item of news: the fourth richest woman in the world married to a reefersmuggler. Marshland might have gone to any lengths to save his daughter from such publicity. He might have hired someone to get rid of Dedrick. It might have been his idea, and not Barratt's, to fake the kidnapping. For all I knew, Dedrick might have been buried somewhere in the grounds of Ocean End. No one had thought of looking for him under four feet of earth.
Where did Mary Jerome come in on all this? Who was she? Brandon had made a feeble attempt to find her, but appar-ently Marshland had had no difficulty in tracking her down. How had he found out where she was? Why had he gone to her? Why had she bolted after they had talked?
I ran my hand over my hot, tired face, and said, 'Aw, nuts!' I knew I was within touching distance of the key to this business, but my arm wasn't quite long enough. I had to get more information.
How was I going to tackle Marshland? He wasn't going to be easy. After thinking about it, I decided the only way was to be tough. He could either talk to me or to Brandon. The reception clerk would identify him. He couldn't deny he had gone to the Beach Hotel. Either me or Brandon.
I drove down the private road to Ocean End with the even-ing sun reflecting on the windshield.
The big black Cadillac was parked on the tarmac as it had been parked on my first visit to the house. The two Chinese gardeners were weeding a rose bed as enthusiastically as a man sitting down in a dentist's chair. They poked about in the rich, dark soil with their handforks, lifting the odd weed and sneering at it, dropping it into a basket and poking again.
The flamingoes were moving about, stiff-jointed, on the lawn below the terraces. Like the Chinese gardeners, they paid no attention to me.
I walked along the terrace, thumbed the bell-push and waited, feeling the sun hot on my back.
Wadlock opened the door. His bushy eyebrows contracted and the eyes under them registered disapproval when he saw me.
'Hello,' I said. 'I'd like to talk to Mr. Marshland. Would you tell him?'
'Will you come in, Mr. Malloy?' He stood aside. I am not sure if Mr. Marshland is in.'
I walked into the hall. It was cool and dim after the hot ter- race. I took off my hat, looked inside it for no reason at all, said, without looking at the old man, 'The password is Beach Hotel. Will you tell him?'
'Beach Hotel?'
'That's right. You'll be surprised how he'll react. Do I go in lounge?'
'If you will, sir.'
'How is Mrs. Dedrick?' I asked. 'I heard she hasn't been well.'
'Considering the circumstances, sir, she is as well as can be expected.'
I looked at him thoughtfully, but the old face gave nothing away, so I went into the lounge. It seemed a long, long time ago since I had last been here. I moved on to the terrace again, and looked expectantly up at the veranda where Serena had sat mourning for her loved one. No one was up there. I returned to the lounge, picked a comfortable chair and sat down. The day had been an exciting one. I felt very tired: probably nervous excitement, I told myself. I lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the Mexican saddle hanging on the wall. An enormous bowl of sweet peas filled the room with an overpowering scent that made me feel a little drowsy.
After a while, probably ten minutes, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
Serena Dedrick came into the lounge. She was wearing a simple white-linen dress and a rose in her hair. There were dark smudges under her eyes and a drawn, hard look about her mouth. She looked steadily at me as I got to my feet, smiled without warmth, waved me back to the chair.
'Don't get up. Would you like a whisky and soda?'
'Well, not just now, thank you. I wanted to see your father. Didn't Wadlock tell you?'
She went over to a big cocktail cabinet and poured two whiskies. She gave me one, motioned to a box of cigarettes on the occasional table by my side and sat down opposite me.
'My father went back to New York yesterday,' she said, looking anywhere but at me. 'What did you want to see him about?'
I sipped the whisky. It was Four Roses, and very good. I wondered why Wadlock hadn't broken the news and saved her the trouble of seeing me. It occurred to me that perhaps she wanted to see me.
'I wanted to ask him something, Mrs. Dedrick,' I said, but as he isn't here it doesn't matter. Could I have his New York address?'
'Is it so important?'
'It's something I want to ask him. I could telephone him.'
'He is going away. This - this business has upset him. I don't think you could reach him,' she said after a long silence.
I drank half the whisky, set down the glass and stood up.
'It doesn't matter. It isn't all that important.'
She looked at me now, surprise in her eyes.
'But can't you tell me what it is?'
The day after your husband was kidnapped, Mr. Marshland called on the woman who said she was your secretary, Mary Jerome. The meeting took place at the Beach Hotel, where the woman was staying. I wanted to ask him what was said and how he knew she was there.'
'My father?'
She stood so still she could have been a statue.
'Yes. He gave his name to the hotel clerk, who would be able to identify him.'
'But I don't understand. How could it be my father? He doesn't know the woman.'
'He's seen her and talked to her. I want to know what was said. If he won't tell me, I'll have to put the information in Brandon's hands.'
Her eyes lit up.
'Are you being threatening?'
'Call it that if you like.'
'My father flies for Europe this evening. He's probably gone by now. I have no idea where he is spending his vacation. He often goes off like that when he wants a rest'
'He's gone at a convenient time - for himself.'
She moved to the terrace window and stared out into the garden.
'You have no idea why he went to see her, have you?'
'No.'
'You can't even guess?'
'No.'
I joined her at the window.
'Mrs. Dedrick, there's a question I would like to ask you.'
She continued to stare out of the window. The flamingoes were looking towards the house, stiff, upright and crochety.
'Well?'
'Do you think Nick Perelli kidnapped your husband?'
'Of course.'
'Why of course? Why so sure?'
She made an impatient movement.
'I don't wish to talk about it. If there is nothing else you want, perhaps you will excuse me.'
'I don't think Perelli kidnapped him,' I said. 'Has it occurred to you that your father has a very sound motive for getting rid of your husband?'
She turned swiftly. Her face had drained of colour. Fear looked at me out of her big eyes.
'How dare you! I won't listen to you. You have no right to come here making insinuations and asking questions. I shall complain to the police.'
She went out of the room. She was crying as she mounted the stairs.
I stood there, brooding out into the twilight. Why had she been frightened? Did she know for certain that Marshland had engineered the kidnapping?
A faint cough behind me made me turn.
Wadlock was waiting at the door.
I crossed the room, paused before him.
'Apparently Mr. Marshland has gone off to Europe,' I said.
The old eyes were expressionless as he said, 'Apparently, sir.'
'Was it Souki who told you about Dedrick or did you find out for yourself - that he was a reefer-smuggler?'
I got past his guard, as I meant to. It was a shame to do it to him; he was a little too old to control his reflexes, but I wanted to know.