“The boys are up at the house and at the swimming-pool doing their stuff. If there’s anything to turn up, they’ll turn it up. Want to have a walk around and see for yourself?”
“I guess so. Can Doc fix the time?”
“He’s working on it now. I told him not to move the bodies until you arrived. He should have something for us before long. Let’s have a look at the guardhouse.”
Conrad followed him through the doorway into a small room equipped with a flat-topped desk, a chair, a padded settee and a battery of telephones. On the desk was a big leather-bound Visitors’ book open at that day’s date.
The guard, in an olive-green uniform and glittering jack boots, lay half under the table, his head resting in a crimson halo of blood. He had been shot at close quarters, and one quick glance at him was enough for Conrad.
He moved over to the desk and bent to look at the Visitors’ book.
“The killer isn’t likely to have signed himself in,” Bardin said dryly. “Just the same, the guard must have known him or he wouldn’t have unlocked the gates.”
Conrad’s eyes took in the almost empty page.
15.00 hrs. Mr. Jack Belling, 3 Lennox Street. By appointment. 17.00 hrs. Miss Rita Strange, 14 Crown Street. By appointment. 19.00 hrs. Miss Frances Coleman, 145 Glendale Avenue.
“This mean anything?” he asked. This girl Coleman was here about the time of the killings.”