In A Doorway sheltered from the wind, Piper waited. From where he stood he could watch the lighted phone box. No one came near it.
Within five or six minutes, a police car drove up. Not long afterwards the doctor arrived, followed almost immediately by some men in a van. They erected screens around the box and put up a canvas roof.
It was ten o’clock when Superintendent Mullett put in an appearance. He listened to Piper’s story, talked to the police surgeon, and then scrutinised the floor between Mrs. McAllister’s body and the farther wall.
When he backed out he was holding a cigarette lighter in his hand. On it were engraved the initials: F.H.
“Not much doubt who owns this,” he told Piper. “Now you see how much good it does to chase fancy theories before you know all the facts.”
The police surgeon finished his examination and reported… Been dead less than an hour, I’d say. Judging by appearances the cause of death was strangulation.”
Mullett said, “Thank you, doctor. I’ll have another word with you after the P.M.”
Then he asked Piper, “Where’s your friend?”
“What friend?”
“Quinn, of course. He was with you when you found the body and I’d like to hear what he’s got to say. Which of you did the phoning?”
Piper said, “He did.”
“Well, where’s he gone?”
“I don’t know. So far as I understood, he was going to the phone box in St. Charles’ Square. That was about half an hour ago.”
“You mean he hasn’t come back?”
“That’s precisely what I do mean.”
“Maybe he went somewhere to write the story for his paper.”
“There was very little he could write until he had your official sanction.”
“He had her name and some of the facts concerning her death. From what I know of Quinn he’s made less than that spin out to several paragraphs.”
“Which wouldn’t take him half an hour to phone through. He could’ve done it while he was in the phone box and been back here long ago.”
“All right. What do you suggest I do?”
“Start looking for him,” Piper said. “In view of all the circumstances, I think he might be in trouble.”
Superintendent Mullett said, “Not Quinn. He’s up to something; that you can be sure of.”
“Such as what?”
“How would I know? But Quinn always reminds me of that old nursery rhyme: Leave them alone and they’ll come home, wagging their tails behind them. If you spell it t-a-l-e-s you’ve got the kind of cheap pun that he’s so fond of making.”
“This is no joke. Anything might’ve happened to him.”
“We’d have heard by now. But, if you like, we’ll run round to the phone box in St. Charles’ Square. Will that satisfy you?”
Piper said, “I won’t be satisfied until we find him.”
Mullett detailed two men to join the search party. They inspected every doorway, every conceivable hiding-place along the route that Quinn must have taken. When they reached the phone box they had still seen no sign of him.
The two police officers continued their search. Piper rang the Morning Post.
He got the answer he had anticipated. Quinn had not spoken to anybody on the night editorial staff since they came on duty at four o’clock in the afternoon.
Piper told Mullett, “One thing we know for sure. After he left me he phoned the police, almost certainly from this call box. What happened to him on his way back?”
“Stop imagining that he was waylaid by someone. It’s ridiculous to think that the party who killed Mrs. McAllister would still be hanging around. What purpose would it serve to make off with Quinn, anyway?”
“I’m not saying he was kidnapped. Perhaps he caught sight of someone behaving suspiciously. That lighter with Haupmann’s initials on it worries me.”
“I’m more worried about the identity of a person called Lou Woods. Instead of distracting yourself over Quinn, put your brains to work on the meaning of the number on that piece of paper. Those four figures could be a phone number … but what does PA stand for?”
Almost without thinking, Piper said, “Among newspapermen it represents Press Association. …”
As if his own words were the catalyst, two thoughts crystallised simultaneously—two dissociated thoughts linked only by Quinn. So many apparently unrelated events now formed a pattern.
… Quinn’s interview with Mrs. Haupmann … his suggestion that he had been followed, that Howarth had been attacked by mistake … Mrs. McAllister’s phone call from the box at the corner of Ketfield Gardens. …
She hadn’t had to walk very far to get to the phone box: her hat was only lightly spotted with rain. If she’d come by taxi she’d have asked the driver to see her safely up to my flat… so it was a private car. And whoever brought her must have been the person she was afraid of.
How had she got hold of that piece of paper bearing a number preceded by two letters and what appeared to be a man’s name? She died with it in her hand … because she had only recently come into possession of it. She had obviously found the lighter engraved with Fritz Haupmann’s initials at the same time. …
That was the key answer. It brought all the rest in an overlapping series like cards toppling down one after another so that now they lay face upwards.
Only the last card was missing. And Quinn would provide that … if he had not over-reached himself.
Mullett repeated, “Press Association. … That ties up with our absent friend. Anything connected with newspapers is right up his street. Let me think … ah, yes!”
With a sudden change in his voice, the superintendent asked, “Did Quinn by any chance get a look at that slip of paper?”
Piper said, “Yes. It didn’t seem to convey anything to him at the time but—”
“—but you think the penny dropped after he left you?”
“Beginning to look like it. If that is the explanation I believe I can guess where he went.” “Where?”
“To search the back-files of some newspapers. PA 5934 could be the reference number of a classified ad.”
“That’s quite a thought,” Mullett said. “It would explain why he took off like that. The question is—which newspaper?”
“It’s fairly sure to be one of the nationals … probably a London edition.”
“Then let’s pay a visit to Fleet Street. Split up between you and Sergeant Boyd and me, it shouldn’t be too big a job. If PA 5934 is a classified ad, we’ll find it.”
“But I’ll bet Quinn’s done so already,” Piper said. “Something tells me he knew which paper to look in. And he’s had a good half-hour’s start.”
It took time but they found the advertisement: a one-day insertion in the Morning Post on November seventeenth.
PEACE AND QUIET available only 15 mis. from London in pleasant Essex countryside. Stone-built dwelling formerly a farmhouse: for sale or to let on extended lease. Good state of repair; piped water supply. Could be modernised at reasonable cost. Situated ¼ mile north of Epping—Waltham Abbey X-roads. Convenient shopping in nearby village of Loughton Woods. To anyone desiring solitude in healthy surroundings this is an attractive proposition. Write PA 5934 Morning Post E.C.4.
The man in charge of the library told them Quinn had called in about ten o’clock and spent a little while looking through the back-files for December and November. No, he had not mentioned what he was looking for.
“… But he seemed quite pleased with himself when he finished. Told me he was a clever boy and one of these days they’d be giving him a medal. Then he borrowed his usual couple of cigarettes and half a dozen matches. Be about twenty past ten when he left.”
Piper said, “And it’s now nearly eleven o’clock. If all this means what I think it means, he might be walking slap into trouble.”
“From what I know of Quinn he’s pretty good at taking care of himself,” Mullett said.
“He’s up against someone who’s already killed once—maybe twice,” Piper said. “Unless Quinn went by bus we won’t get there in time.”