“Private.” Shayne took out his wallet, showed his card, and extracted a ten-dollar bill. “Let’s get going.”
The bill disappeared, and the clerk turned to pluck a key from a box behind him. A bellboy was dozing on a bench near the desk. The clerk nudged him awake as he went by and said, “Watch the desk a minute, Ned,” then led the way to the elevator.
Shayne followed him down a musty, dimly lit hall to a door on the left. After a perfunctory knock he inserted the key and eased the door open. The shade was drawn at the single window and the room was quite dark. The clerk switched on an overhead light, grunted, and stepped back with a gesture for Shayne to look inside.
Wearing only a pair of shorts, the occupant of the room lay sprawled face downward on the bed. There was a strong odor of whisky in the tightly closed room. “Reckon he’s dead?” the old man asked impassively. Shayne brushed past him to the bed. He touched the man’s bare shoulders and, finding the flesh warm, flopped him over on his back. He stood looking down at a thin, sallow, unshaven face sparsely whiskered, wide-open mouth, and closed eyes.
“Dead drunk,” Shayne told him shortly. “Thanks. I’ll take care of him.”
“Well, I do declare,” the old man said. “So that’s how come he didn’t answer.”
Shayne caught the clerk’s arm, propelled him out the door, closed and locked it after him, then turned to look swiftly around the room. A corked fifth of cheap whisky, about one-fourth full, lay on the floor beside a pair of shoes and socks. A brown suit and white shirt were piled on a chair.
When he lifted the coat to examine it he saw the Argus flash camera in a leather case. He found a shabby billfold in the inner coat pocket. It contained John P. Ludlow’s business card, and he didn’t look further. He went to the window and raised the shade to the top, opened the window as wide as it would go, then stalked into the bathroom and turned cold water into the tub.
Returning to the bed, he leaned over and shook Ludlow vigorously, but all he got was a slobbery mumble. The eyes stayed shut and the body limp.
He stepped back and surveyed the photographer with a frown of disgust. He was thin to the point of scrawniness, with sharp elbows and big-boned wrists, lean shanks, knobby knees, and splayed feet. Cords stood out on either side of his sunken throat, and his open mouth showed yellowed teeth with two lowers missing in front.