trying to protect against was still around and still worrying her. Second, I wasn’t going to advance the ball an inch until I found out what it was.
I decided I’d have to do some careful checking at Hank Sawyer’s place.
When I turned into the alley at Hank’s place, I drove very slowly past his garage. I hadn’t noticed the lock closely before but I gave it my full attention now. Not very big. One of those laminated steel jobs and dulled with the grease of many handlings. This was going to be easy, much easier, anyway, than trying to distract the landlady and get Hank’s key at the same time.
I drove on out to the street, swung over to the hardware store, and bought a similar lock. It only took a few seconds to lift the hood of the Ford and rub a little dirty grease on my new lock. Then I drove to a service station, bought some gas, scrubbed the grease off of my hands, and went back to see the lady who owned Hank’s apartment. She came to the door in a bathrobe again, a pair of slippers flopping at her heels.
“Sorry to bother you again,” I said quickly, “but it will only take a moment. The company sent me out to have a second look at those power tools Mr. Sawyer bought.”
She sighed heavily, reached toward the side, and brought out her key tied to the stick. “Lord a’mighty. You insurance people never rest,” she complained.
“That’s right,” I agreed. She pulled the robe a little tighter around her and we went down the walk, into the alley, past the garages for two other places, and stopped behind Sawyer’s garage door. When she lifted her key I quickly took it out of her hand.
“Here, I’ll do that,” I said. I turned the key, opened the lock, handed the key back to her, and lifted the door. As it went up I turned sideways to hide the switch, dipped into my pocket, dropped Hank’s lock, and brought out the one I’d just bought. I hung it on the hasp and went toward the two new pieces of equipment standing amid the clutter.
“Won’t take long,” I said briskly. Slipping a card and pencil out of my pocket, I jotted down the numbers on the tags of the lathe and drill press.
“That’s all,” I said, moving toward the door. I glanced up and saw that the house key was still there.
“Heaven help us! You dragged a body clear over here for that? I’d think you could have phoned Sears Roebuck and asked them the—”
“I don’t like it either, lady,” I cut in. She’d caught me short; I didn’t want to try to explain it away. “The boss said go out and check and that’s what I have to do.”
We stepped outside. I lowered the garage door and snapped home the lock. My lock, and the key was in my pocket; now all I needed was darkness and a flashlight.
It was getting on toward midnight and my nerves were beginning to jump. I had a small flashlight in one jacket pocket and a couple of spare batteries and some thumbtacks in the other as I walked softly down the alley toward Hank’s garage. This was new work for me, strictly amateur night, but it had to be done. The houses on each side were dark. I slipped the key into the padlock, raised the door enough to duck under, and eased it back down again.
It took a few seconds to locate the house key. When I had it I listened for footsteps along the alley, heard nothing, and let myself out of the garage. Up the side stairway, into the house as silently as possible, and the worst part was over. I went into the bedroom, caught up a couple of blankets, pulled the shades, used my thumbtacks to fasten blankets over each window for better blackout, and snapped on my flash.
Not much had changed since the morning I’d been here to use the phone. The panel of pin-ups was still in place; the five bare spots I had noticed and that the newspapers had mentioned were still obvious.
And then it hit me.
I went toward the collection of cheesecake, my flashlight playing over the pictures. Suppose those five missing shots had been Nola Norton. Sure,
I decided I’d have to do some careful checking at Hank Sawyer’s place.
When I turned into the alley at Hank’s place, I drove very slowly past his garage. I hadn’t noticed the lock closely before but I gave it my full attention now. Not very big. One of those laminated steel jobs and dulled with the grease of many handlings. This was going to be easy, much easier, anyway, than trying to distract the landlady and get Hank’s key at the same time.
I drove on out to the street, swung over to the hardware store, and bought a similar lock. It only took a few seconds to lift the hood of the Ford and rub a little dirty grease on my new lock. Then I drove to a service station, bought some gas, scrubbed the grease off of my hands, and went back to see the lady who owned Hank’s apartment. She came to the door in a bathrobe again, a pair of slippers flopping at her heels.
“Sorry to bother you again,” I said quickly, “but it will only take a moment. The company sent me out to have a second look at those power tools Mr. Sawyer bought.”
She sighed heavily, reached toward the side, and brought out her key tied to the stick. “Lord a’mighty. You insurance people never rest,” she complained.
“That’s right,” I agreed. She pulled the robe a little tighter around her and we went down the walk, into the alley, past the garages for two other places, and stopped behind Sawyer’s garage door. When she lifted her key I quickly took it out of her hand.
“Here, I’ll do that,” I said. I turned the key, opened the lock, handed the key back to her, and lifted the door. As it went up I turned sideways to hide the switch, dipped into my pocket, dropped Hank’s lock, and brought out the one I’d just bought. I hung it on the hasp and went toward the two new pieces of equipment standing amid the clutter.
“Won’t take long,” I said briskly. Slipping a card and pencil out of my pocket, I jotted down the numbers on the tags of the lathe and drill press.
“That’s all,” I said, moving toward the door. I glanced up and saw that the house key was still there.
“Heaven help us! You dragged a body clear over here for that? I’d think you could have phoned Sears Roebuck and asked them the—”
“I don’t like it either, lady,” I cut in. She’d caught me short; I didn’t want to try to explain it away. “The boss said go out and check and that’s what I have to do.”
We stepped outside. I lowered the garage door and snapped home the lock. My lock, and the key was in my pocket; now all I needed was darkness and a flashlight.
It was getting on toward midnight and my nerves were beginning to jump. I had a small flashlight in one jacket pocket and a couple of spare batteries and some thumbtacks in the other as I walked softly down the alley toward Hank’s garage. This was new work for me, strictly amateur night, but it had to be done. The houses on each side were dark. I slipped the key into the padlock, raised the door enough to duck under, and eased it back down again.
It took a few seconds to locate the house key. When I had it I listened for footsteps along the alley, heard nothing, and let myself out of the garage. Up the side stairway, into the house as silently as possible, and the worst part was over. I went into the bedroom, caught up a couple of blankets, pulled the shades, used my thumbtacks to fasten blankets over each window for better blackout, and snapped on my flash.
Not much had changed since the morning I’d been here to use the phone. The panel of pin-ups was still in place; the five bare spots I had noticed and that the newspapers had mentioned were still obvious.
And then it hit me.
I went toward the collection of cheesecake, my flashlight playing over the pictures. Suppose those five missing shots had been Nola Norton. Sure,
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