“Not yet. Later,” I said.
At the far end of the deck was a door set in the bulkhead. I paused outside to listen, turned the handle and eased the door open.
It was hotter than an oven in full blast in there, and oil in the paint on the walls was beginning to run. It was a nice room : big, airy and well-furnished: half-office, half-lounge. Big windows on either side of the room commanded views of Orchid City beach and the Pacific. A solitary desk-light threw a pool of light on the desk and part of the carpet. The rest of the room was in darkness. Overhead came the sounds of dance music and the soft swish of moving feet.
I entered the room, my gun pushed forward. Paula came in after me and closed the door. There was a smell of burning and smoke, and as I moved to the desk I saw the carpet was smouldering and smoke was coming in little wisps from under the wainscoting.
“The fire’s right below us,” I said. “Keep by the door. The floor mightn’t be safe. This looks like Sherrill’s office.”
I went through the desk drawers, not knowing what I was looking for, but looking. In one of the bottom drawers I found a square-shaped envelope. One glance told me it was Anona Freedlander’s missing dossier. I folded it and shoved it into my hip pocket.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Paula said in a small voice, “Vic! What’s that—behind the desk?”
I peered over the back of the desk. Something was there: something white: something that could have been a man. I shifted the desk-lamp so the light fell directly on it.
I heard Paula gasp.