“Who hasn’t?” she said, shrugging. “If that’s all, Mr. Conrad…” Her hand went out to hover over a packet of unopened mail.
“There is just one other thing. Miss Coleman has left her apartment house. You wouldn’t know how I could get in touch with her?”
“Have you tried the Central Casting Agency or the Union Offices? They will have her new address.”
Conrad nodded.
“Thanks. I’ll try them. You wouldn’t have a photograph of her, would you?”
She gave him a for-heaven’s-sake-when-are-you-going-to-stop-pestering-me look, swung round in her chair, opened a filing cabinet and took out a bulky file.
“There may be one amongst these stills of Miss Arnot’s last picture. I’ll see.”
Conrad watched her slim fingers flick through a big batch of glossy prints, saw her fingers hesitate over a print, flick it out and look at it more carefully.
“Here she is. She stood-in for Miss Arnot occasionally, and this still was taken to see how Miss Arnot’s costume would photograph.”
Conrad took the 7” X 5” plate and looked at it. The girl in the picture was about twenty-three, dark, with large serious eyes that looked right at him and gave him an odd, creepy feeling that crawled up his spine and into the roots of his hair.