Conrad grinned.
“I was about to take the wife out to a party when you called. This has put me in the dog-kennel for weeks. McCann shown up yet?”
“The Captain’s in San Francisco, worse luck,” Bardin said. “He won’t be back until tomorrow. This is a hell of a thing, Paul. I’m glad you’re here. We’ll want as much help as we can get before we’re finished.”
“Let’s make a start, then. Suppose you tell me what you know and then we’ll take a look around.”
Bardin wiped his big red face with his handkerchief and pushed his hat to the back of his head. He was a tall, heavily built man, ten years older than Conrad, which made him around forty-five.
“At eight-thirty we got a call from Harrison Fedor, Miss Arnot’s publicity manager. He had a business date with her for tonight. When he arrived here he found the gates open, which is unusual as they are always kept locked. He walked into the guard-house and found the guard shot through the head. He telephoned the house from the guard-house, but could get no reply. I guess he lost his nerve. Anyway, he said he was too scared to go up to the house and see what was wrong, so he called us.”
“Where’s he now?”
“Sitting in his car fortifying himself with whisky,” Bardin said with a grin. “I haven’t had time to talk to him properly yet, so I told him to stick around. I’ve been up to the house. The five servants have been wiped out: all shot. I knew Miss Arnot was somewhere on the estate as she had this business date, but she wasn’t in the house.” He took out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to Conrad and lit his own. “I found her in the swimming-pool.” He made a little grimace. “Someone ripped her wide open and hacked her head off.”
Conrad grunted.
“Sounds like a maniac. What’s happening now?”