'Most agreeable, Miss Everleigh.'

Minna allowed Dr Holmes to see her to the door, then walked to her Model A Ford, where Edmund was waiting to assist her into the seat.

As they drove away from Dr Holmes's Castle, Minna felt pleased. Dr Holmes was a professional, a gentleman, and her instinct told her he would be trustworthy in protecting the Club against Mayor Harrison's incursions.

As the Ford continued away from the doctor's Castle, Minna glanced back at it. The third storey could still be seen from a half-mile's distance. The chimney was visible also, and it was odd that the chimney was emitting smoke.

Crazy, Minna thought, to be using a furnace in the spring. Still, admittedly, there was a chill in the air, and whatever he was doing to warm himself, Dr Holmes certainly knew what was best for his own health as well as theirs.

The minute Dr Herman Holmes was certain that Minna Everleigh had departed the area, he hurried to his office, reached under a drape beside the fireplace, and pressed up a lever on a concealed panel to release pent-up gas.

After a while, he strode into the hallway to a metal wall with a wood grain finish over it, reached behind a thick-leafed rubber plant, pressed a button, and watched the door slide open to his secret soundproof chamber in the rear. He went inside the dimly illuminated, gloomy room, sniffed to be sure the gas had cleared, and found his sixth wife, Georgianne, still sprawled on the floor where he had left her.

He had decided at noon, after he had learned Minna Everleigh was coming to interview him, that once he had the job, Georgianne would no longer be useful to him. She would be in the way when Minna appeared, and create too many problems when he had access to the Everleigh Club and its fantastic girls. As Georgianne had bent her thick head of hair over her lunch, Holmes had come up behind her and whacked her on the back of the head with a crowbar. He had caught her before she slumped to the floor, dragged her into his gas chamber, stripped off her clothes, then sealed the windowless chamber lined with sheet iron. From his office he had turned on the gas.

Minna had arrived punctually and – as expected – he'd earned the job at the Everleigh Club. Getting the job thrilled him. It would be a feast. He would have all those flawless young women to choose and pick among – some for love, some for money – and when necessary, he would dispose of them too.

Now, staring down at Georgianne's corpse, Holmes suffered no remorse. She had served her purpose, given him her money and many nights of acrobatic love-making. Alive, she would have been in the way. Georgianne was just another corpse. There had been so many before her, a few men, mainly women, whom he had bilked of their savings or used for the pleasures of his body. One human being more or less meant nothing to Holmes. There was pleasure in taking advantage of stupid human beings, using them, and getting rid of them when they became burdensome. He had read in a medical book that all serial killers were insane. Holmes felt positive that he was totally sane. He simply derived happiness from what he did. It was, perhaps, a strange but wonderful kind of lust.

Without wasting any more time, he lifted Georgianne's limp corpse off the floor, carried her across his shoulder to the first trap door, pulled the door open with his free hand, and dropped her down a greased chute to the basement.

Closing that trap door, he tugged at a second trap door which opened to a narrow stairway that also led down to the basement.

Once in the seven-foot high basement, Holmes worked efficiently. He carried Georgianne to a fourteen-foot cedar tank lined with zinc and filled with quicklime. He dropped her body into the quicklime, which rapidly began to dissolve her flesh.

After a short time he emptied the tank, drew on his rubber gloves, removed what was left of Georgianne and settled her remains on his surgeon's table. He found his scalpel, lancet, other knives. He was proud of his skills with a scalpel, which he had first learned in his youth at the Medical School of the University of Michigan. Expertly, he began to dissect Geor-gianne's remains. There was a little blood, not much, and when his wife lay in seven parts on the table, Holmes went to his large kiln, revived the fire, methodically took the seven parts of Georgianne and threw them on the flames. In half an hour, there would be no more of Georgianne except the smoke coming out of his chimney and a few charred bones among the ashes.

After that, Holmes washed his hands, then climbed back up to his asphyxiation chamber to put everything there in order.

With everything neat and in place, Holmes left his secret chamber, closed it, and returned to the office.

He surveyed his office, his expression as innocent as when the crafty yet gullible Minna Everleigh had sat there to question him.

He settled down behind his desk and enjoyed a pipeful of Dutch tobacco. He was now a free man once more, free to enjoy and profit from the Everleigh Club's harem of pleasures.

It was early evening when Gus Varney entered the foyer of the Everleigh Club. Although well dressed, from bow tie and waistcoat to striped trousers, he felt awkward and strange. He tried to give no sign of nervousness as he removed his derby hat. He patted his pockets to reassure himself that he had no means of identification except for a wallet bulging with the money the mayor had given him and his beautifully embossed but fake calling-cards.

A rather plump, brown-haired, plain young woman approached him. She extended her hand. 'I'm Aida Everleigh,' she said. 'I can't remember seeing you before. Have you ever been here?'

'No, I haven't, but many of my friends in St Louis have, and they insisted I not leave Chicago without dining at the Everleigh Club.'

'That's lovely,' said Aida. 'May I ask your name?'

Varney fumbled inside his jacket for his wallet, and tugged it free. He made a show of displaying the fifty-dollar bills in his wallet as he searched for his packet of business cards. He withdrew one card and handed it to Aida Everleigh. 'I'm Jack Simon, president of the Quality Beer Company.'

Aida studied the card, surveyed Varney carefully from head to foot, then smiled and pocketed his card. 'We're pleased to receive you, Mr Simon. What do you have in mind for this evening? Have you had supper yet?'

'As a matter of fact, I haven't had a bite all day. A good meal would sit well with me, along with some wine.'

Aida turned to lead Varney into the Club. 'Do you have anything else in mind?'

'I… I heard you have some rather attractive girls here. I wouldn't mind having one join me for dinner.'

'That can be arranged right now. There are three or four young ladies in our Blue Room. It's early and the other girls will be down later. But I'm sure you'll find someone available who will be suitable to your taste. Follow me. I'll introduce you.'

When they entered the Blue Room, what Varney saw was utterly unexpected. The parlour was furnished with three blue divans appointed with leather pillows on which were attached attractive pictures of Gibson Girls. On the walls all around were hung college pennants – Yale, Harvard, Dartmouth, Princeton – giving the chamber a decidedly youthful and lively appearance. The nearest blue divan held three young women, each smartly dressed in stylish variations of mousseline blouses and voile skirts. They ceased their chatter as Aida took Varney by the hand and approached them.

'Girls,' Aida said, 'I want you to meet Mr Jack Simon, who heads one of the most famous beer companies in St Louis, Missouri. Jack, I want you to meet three of our loveliest entertainers. This is Fanny… Avis… Margo.'

Varney acknowledged their friendly greetings.