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Luncardy took her time running through the coroner's report, although ultimately I learned nothing that I hadn't already gathered from previous conversations. She also said she had put out an all-points alert for Drummond and Clathy. After that, the time began to drag. We rapidly got bogged down in petty details that were probably not going to lead anywhere. Finally, I had had my fill of this irrelevant stuff. I stood up suddenly, the chair scrapping on the floor. Luncardy looked startled as I retrieved my hat and made to leave. "What're you doing?" she demanded. "I'm learning nothing useful here," I said directly, "And I do have a client to report to." She looked wryly at me, then pressed a button on her telephone. The same uniformed officer appeared at the door almost immediately. "Mister Gask is just leaving," Luncardy said. It was the second time in less than a day that somebody had said that about me. It was approaching noon before I once again stood before the slightly irregular front of Clunie's apartment block, the construction of the apartments merging imperceptably with the uncut rock of the cavern wall. I inspected the building - if that's the right word for these constructions - but I could make out nobody on the stairs or terraces. Finally, I made my way up the stairs and along the narrow balcony to apartment number 514. I didn't knock; instead, I listened carefully for several minutes, my large ear pressed firmly up against the solid timbers of the door. I wondered if Clunie was at home. If she was entertaining one of her gentleman friends, she might not wish to be disturbed. I could come back later, in the afternoon, perhaps before she set out for her shift at the Club. There was no sound from within. Despite their solid and old-fashioned construction, apartments like these are not particularly well sound-proofed. I was pretty certain I'd be able to hear Clunie inside, unless she was asleep or otherwise making no noise. I knocked briskly, then stood back slightly so that somebody peering through a crack in the door could see me clearly. I wasn't trying to sneak up on anybody, after all. The door resolutely refused to move, to open a crack. I knocked again. Still nothing. Nobody at home, then. These old places are less secure than they look, as well as less soundproofed. The timbers of the doors are so old, so dried up and shrunk, that there is a great deal of movement in the frames and hinges. For a big guy like me, it is the work of a moment to lift the door by the handle, lean against the hinge and pop the bolt out of its restraining hasp. I pushed the door closed behind me and stepped into the tiny apartment. It was as tidy and over-furnished as it was before. There was no sign of Clunie, no sign that she had gone away for a lengthy period: all her clothes and shoes and knick-knacks were still in place. Perhaps she had been detained entertaining another of her gentleman friends. A girl's got to eat, after all. I gave the place a cursory once-over. I checked the bedroom - a vision in pink - and the bathroom - a clutter of bottles and jars and implements of the kind which are a mystery to the male of the species. Nothing doing. Then scribbled a note on the back of one of my business cards: "Call me. Gask." I tossed the piece of cheap card on the coffee table. I made my way out of the front door, leaing against the frame again to force the lock back into place. There was a clunk as the fittings re-engaged. Then there was a voice in my ear and a sharp jab in the small of my back. A knife, not a gun. I had no magical protection - or any other kind of protection - against blades. "Stand still and put your hands where I can see them."
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Part 71