Death in Saratoga Springs Read Online Free PDF Page A

they haul the trash.” Peter opened the door to the room and let them in. “It’s the only room we rent on this floor.”
    It was surprisingly large, furnished with a table and a couple of chairs. A bed was fitted into an alcove. There were no obvious signs of Crake. A clothes cabinet stood against a wall.
    â€œI want to look inside,” said Harry.
    â€œIt’s locked,” said Peter.
    â€œI can open it. I just want to look.” Harry held out a coin and gazed at the young man.
    For a few moments, he just stood there, his eyes dancing between Harry and the money. Finally, he took the coin and mumbled, “Yes.”
    Harry quickly picked the lock and opened the cabinet door. Pamela looked over his shoulder. A businessman’s suit hung on a hanger. A workman’s clothes hung on a hook. The beard was in a box on a shelf. A small traveling bag stood on the floor. Pamela fingered through underclothing until she came to a small, loaded pistol and a sheathed knife. She held up the weapons.
    Harry turned to the young man, who had begun to perspire. “Tell us about the man who rents this room.” Harry offered him another coin.
    He took it with a trembling hand. “He’s tall, broad in the shoulders, walks like he’s stiff in the hips, and calls himself Mr. Anderson. He’s used to bossing people. From time to time, he comes in the evening dressed up like a gentleman, changes his clothes, and goes out again. He comes back late and sometimes brings a young woman with him.” He hesitated. “Are you police?”
    Pamela spoke gently to him. “We’re only private investigators asking questions, not police. Just forget we were here and you won’t get into any trouble.”
    She put the traveling bag back in order. Harry locked the cabinet. As they were leaving, Pamela went back for a closer look at the bed. Nothing was hidden in the mattress. But when she pulled the bed from the wall, she found a fancy pink purse.
    â€œCrake could have overlooked it when he was leaving,” said Pamela, opening the purse. Inside were coins, a kerchief, and a photograph of a young, light-complexioned black woman.
    There was writing on the back side of the photograph. Harry read aloud, “ ‘Ruth Colt, Christmas 1893.’ It proves she’s been here after she left the Crawford household.”
    â€œWe’ll take the purse with us,” said Pamela to the young man. “It belongs with her aunt.”
    He started to object, then thought better of it.
    On the way out, Harry told the old man downstairs that their friend wouldn’t be interested in the room.
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    In a quiet coffee shop nearby, Pamela remarked to Harry, “That dressed-up gentleman who calls himself Mr. Anderson is certainly Crake. In his business clothes he is also the Mr. Johnson of the fictitious Madison Square address.”
    â€œAnd Ruth Colt was with him in that room.” He shook his head. “But we saw no blood, no other signs of struggle.”
    â€œCrake could have used his hands to strangle her or kill her with a single blow,” Pamela insisted.
    Harry looked irritated. “We need to find a body, or at least solid evidence of her murder. Otherwise, we have no case to give to the police. Where could she have gone?”
    Pamela offered a likely scenario. “Late at night, Ruth and Crake quarreled in the secret room and he strangled her. He wrapped her in a bedsheet, carried her down the back stairs to the alley, threw her into a cart, and pulled it through the alley to a side street off Fourteenth.”
    â€œPlausible, so far,” Harry agreed. “But, to avoid a police investigation, he had to permanently hide or destroy the corpse.”
    â€œThat would be difficult,” agreed Pamela. “He was alone, short of time, and probably unprepared—he might have killed Ruth on an impulse. Wouldn’t he go to a familiar place that was