nose.
A half a million! With that money, he could get a villa with a view of the sea; he could afford a comfortable armchair, a good radio and a continuous flow of whisky. Pretty good, he thought and no more work.
As he lay thinking about this, a sudden uneasy thought came into his mind.
Technically speaking, if he went to Delaney and asked him for half a million in return for his silence, he would be committing blackmail. If Delaney wasn’t prepared to make a deal with him, he might find himself in the hands of the police. Also, by keeping silent, even if Delaney parted with the money, he would be making himself an accessory to murder and if he were found out, he could be faced with a stiff prison sentence.
Joe flinched at the thought of getting into trouble with the police and again he was tempted to call Manley, to give him the story and let him handle it, but, as his hand moved to the telephone, he again hesitated.
“Take it easy,” he said aloud. “Wait and see how this thing develops. You’ve got the pictures. You mustn’t rush this. If the police get a lead on the boy, Delaney might jump at the chance of buying the pictures off me. The thing to do is to take it nice and easy and wait. It’ll be tricky, but you can cope with it. This could be the biggest thing that has ever happened to you if you don’t make a mess of it.”
He reached up and turned off the light. The time was now twenty minutes past four. His body ached for sleep, and, as soon as the sordid little room turned dark, he closed his eyes and slept. He dreamed he was carrying his wife’s crushed and bleeding body along a corridor in the Plaza hotel.
Lucille Balu, giggling excitedly, walked by his side.
Chapter Six
I
A t 6.15 a.m., a waiter making his way to the Service room on the third floor of the hotel noticed the elevator door was standing open and he went over to close it.
A few minutes later, in response to his frantic telephone call, Vesperini, the assistant manager and Cadot, the hotel detective, came hurriedly upon the scene.
Vesperini had been about to leave the hotel for the flower market. He was freshly shaven and immaculate, wearing a dark, well-cut suit and a carnation in his buttonhole.
Cadot, roused out of his bed, wore jacket and trousers, hastily pulled over his pyjamas. His fat face was unshaven and still puffy from sleep.
The two men looked at the dead girl and reacted in different ways. Vesperini immediately thought of the hotel’s reputation and what must be done to cause the hotel’s clients the least inconvenience.
Cadot, on the other hand, had difficulty in concealing his leased excitement. Nothing had happened in the hotel since his appointment to give him a chance to exercise his talents as a detective. Here was his big chance and he was already visualizing his photograph in all the newspapers.
Cadot said: “If Monsieur would be good enough to notify Inspector Devereaux, I will remain here. It would be better to arrange to have ‘out of order’ signs put on the elevator doors on all floors in case someone wishes to use this elevator.”
Vesperini instructed the staring waiter to get this done and then, leaving Cadot, he hurried away to call the police and inform the management.
Left on his own, Cadot examined the girl, being careful not to move her. He recognized her and he thought how fortunate it was that she was not without some fame. The murder, when the news broke, would cause a major sensation.
He lightly touched the girl’s arm. From the hard, board-like feel of her flesh, he judged she had been dead for at least twelve hours.
Had she been strangled in the elevator? This seemed unlikely. As she wasn’t a resident of the hotel, she must have come here to visit someone.
He closed the elevator door and leaning his fat back against it he speculated on whom the girl could have visited and why she had been strangled.
He was still cogitating ten minutes later when Inspector
A half a million! With that money, he could get a villa with a view of the sea; he could afford a comfortable armchair, a good radio and a continuous flow of whisky. Pretty good, he thought and no more work.
As he lay thinking about this, a sudden uneasy thought came into his mind.
Technically speaking, if he went to Delaney and asked him for half a million in return for his silence, he would be committing blackmail. If Delaney wasn’t prepared to make a deal with him, he might find himself in the hands of the police. Also, by keeping silent, even if Delaney parted with the money, he would be making himself an accessory to murder and if he were found out, he could be faced with a stiff prison sentence.
Joe flinched at the thought of getting into trouble with the police and again he was tempted to call Manley, to give him the story and let him handle it, but, as his hand moved to the telephone, he again hesitated.
“Take it easy,” he said aloud. “Wait and see how this thing develops. You’ve got the pictures. You mustn’t rush this. If the police get a lead on the boy, Delaney might jump at the chance of buying the pictures off me. The thing to do is to take it nice and easy and wait. It’ll be tricky, but you can cope with it. This could be the biggest thing that has ever happened to you if you don’t make a mess of it.”
He reached up and turned off the light. The time was now twenty minutes past four. His body ached for sleep, and, as soon as the sordid little room turned dark, he closed his eyes and slept. He dreamed he was carrying his wife’s crushed and bleeding body along a corridor in the Plaza hotel.
Lucille Balu, giggling excitedly, walked by his side.
Chapter Six
I
A t 6.15 a.m., a waiter making his way to the Service room on the third floor of the hotel noticed the elevator door was standing open and he went over to close it.
A few minutes later, in response to his frantic telephone call, Vesperini, the assistant manager and Cadot, the hotel detective, came hurriedly upon the scene.
Vesperini had been about to leave the hotel for the flower market. He was freshly shaven and immaculate, wearing a dark, well-cut suit and a carnation in his buttonhole.
Cadot, roused out of his bed, wore jacket and trousers, hastily pulled over his pyjamas. His fat face was unshaven and still puffy from sleep.
The two men looked at the dead girl and reacted in different ways. Vesperini immediately thought of the hotel’s reputation and what must be done to cause the hotel’s clients the least inconvenience.
Cadot, on the other hand, had difficulty in concealing his leased excitement. Nothing had happened in the hotel since his appointment to give him a chance to exercise his talents as a detective. Here was his big chance and he was already visualizing his photograph in all the newspapers.
Cadot said: “If Monsieur would be good enough to notify Inspector Devereaux, I will remain here. It would be better to arrange to have ‘out of order’ signs put on the elevator doors on all floors in case someone wishes to use this elevator.”
Vesperini instructed the staring waiter to get this done and then, leaving Cadot, he hurried away to call the police and inform the management.
Left on his own, Cadot examined the girl, being careful not to move her. He recognized her and he thought how fortunate it was that she was not without some fame. The murder, when the news broke, would cause a major sensation.
He lightly touched the girl’s arm. From the hard, board-like feel of her flesh, he judged she had been dead for at least twelve hours.
Had she been strangled in the elevator? This seemed unlikely. As she wasn’t a resident of the hotel, she must have come here to visit someone.
He closed the elevator door and leaning his fat back against it he speculated on whom the girl could have visited and why she had been strangled.
He was still cogitating ten minutes later when Inspector
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