“The clerk hasn’t seen Nora go up or down since dinner. But that doesn’t mean a damned thing in this madhouse. She could have gone in and out a dozen times without being noticed. The room key is out,” he added as the trio gained the first landing.
They turned into a dark-paneled corridor, and after a quick look at room numbers, Shayne muttered, “One-twenty-three should be down this way.”
He stalked ahead of them, stopped in front of a closed door and knocked. The sound was echoed back from dead silence inside the room. No light showed around the door or through the keyhole. The muted infusion of merriment drifting up from revelers in the night club below was irritating.
Shayne frowned and knocked again, loudly. Phyllis shivered. The high corridor reeked with the musty smell of disuse during most of the year. Until now the smell had been ghostly and alluring, a part of choosing Central City for a vacation spot. But now it chilled her as ominous, portentous, when Shayne’s knock was unanswered.
Sweat formed little rivulets on Shayne’s gaunt cheeks when he fumbled for his key-ring. He dropped to his knees and went to work on the lock with a sliver of tempered steel.
Casey stood aside and chewed on his cigar butt, his eyes round and owlish. Phyllis held her breath when Shayne finally opened the door and switched on a light to reveal an enormous, high-ceilinged room with antique furnishings.
Shayne made a quick circuit of the room, looking in the closet and under the four-poster walnut bed. He came to an abrupt stop in front of a marble-topped walnut chest of drawers in the far corner. Planting his hands on his hips, he stared somberly at a note.
Phyllis hurried to him, her heart panting violently again after recovering from the expectancy of seeing Nora Carson’s body in the room. She pressed against her husband and read the note in a small, awed voice: “Frank darling, I must find the sheriff at once. I’m writing this so you won’t worry if I should have to miss tonight’s performance. Nothing matters now but Father. Lovingly, Nora.”
Brooding silence held the trio. There was stark, uncompromising bitterness in Shayne’s gray eyes.
“Mike — don’t look like that,” Phyllis cried. “Nora wasn’t looking for you. She went to find the sheriff.”