Slack had carefully noted all the names mentioned. Inquiries would be made, and it was possible some useful information might come to light. Otherwise the room had little to yield in the way of information.
Across a chair in the middle of the room was the foamy pink dance frock Ruby had worn early in the evening, with a pair of satin high-heeled shoes kicked off carelessly on the floor. Two sheer silk stockings were rolled into a ball and flung down. One had a ladder in it. Melchett recalled that the dead girl had had bare legs. This, Slack learned, was her custom. She used make-up on her legs instead of stockings, and only sometimes wore stockings for dancing; by this means saving expense. The wardrobe door was open and showed a variety of rather flashy evening dresses and a row of shoes below. There was some soiled underwear in the clothes basket; some nail parings, soiled face-cleaning tissue and bits of cotton wool stained with rouge and nail polish in the wastepaper basket, in fact, nothing out of the ordinary. The facts seemed plain to read. Ruby had hurried upstairs, changed her clothes and hurried off again where?
Josephine Turner, who might be supposed to know most about Ruby’s life and friends, had proved unable to help. But this, as Inspector Slack pointed out, might be natural. “If what you tell me is true, sir about this adoption business, I mean well, Josie would be all for Ruby breaking with any old friends she might have, and who might queer the pitch, so to speak. As I see it, this invalid gentleman gets all worked up about Ruby Keene being such a sweet, innocent, childish little piece of goods. Now supposing Ruby’s got a tough boy friend that won’t go down so well with the old boy. So it’s Ruby’s business to keep that dark. Josie doesn’t know much about the girl, anyway not about her friends and all that. But one thing she wouldn’t stand for Ruby’s messing up things by carrying on with some undesirable fellow. So it stands to reason that Ruby who, as I see it, was a sly little piece, would keep very dark about seeing any old friend. She wouldn’t let on to Josie anything about it; otherwise Josie would say, ‘No, you don’t, my girl.’ But you know what girls are especially young ones always ready to make a fool of themselves over a tough guy. Ruby wants to see him. He comes down here, cuts up rough about the whole business and wrings her neck.”
“I expect you’re right Slack,” said Colonel Melchett, disguising his usual repugnance for the unpleasant way Slack had of putting things. “If so, we ought to be able to discover this tough friend’s identity fairly easily.”
“You leave it to me, sir,” said Slack with his usual confidence. “I’ll get hold of this Lit girl at that Palais de Danse place and turn her right inside out. We’ll soon get at the truth.” Colonel Melchett wondered if they would. Slack’s energy and activity always made him feel tired. “There’s one other person you might be able to get a tip from, sir,” went on Slack. “And that’s the dance-and-tennis-pro fellow. He must have seen a lot of her, and he’d know more than Josie would. Likely enough she’d loosen her tongue a bit to him.”
“I have already discussed that point with Superintendent Harper.”
“Good, sir. I’ve done the chambermaids pretty thoroughly. They don’t know a thing. Looked down on these two, as far as I can make out. Scamped the service as much as they dared. Chambermaid was in here last at seven o’clock last night, when she turned down the bed and drew the curtains and cleared up a bit. There’s a bathroom next door, if you’d like to see it.”
The bathroom was situated between Ruby’s room and the slightly larger room occupied by Josie. It was unilluminating. Colonel Melchett silently marveled at the amount of aids to beauty that women could use. Rows of jars of face cream, cleansing cream, vanishing cream, skin-feeding cream. Boxes of different shades of powder. An untidy heap of every variety of lipstick. Hair lotions and brightening applications. Eyelash black, mascara, blue stain for under the eyes, at least twelve different shades of nail varnish, face tissues, bits of cotton wool, dirty powder puffs. Bottles of lotions — astringent, tonic, soothing, and so on. “Do you mean to say,” he murmured feebly, “that women use all these things?”