The Paw in The Bottle

  James Hadley Chase

  The Paw in The Bottle

  1949

  Synopsis

  HARD, RUTHLESS, AMORAL . . . that was Julie Holland - a good-time girl who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. And when the chance came to play a major role in a furs robbery she jumped at it. Luck smiled on her for even when everything went wrong with the plot and the gang-leader was arrested for a murder of which he was innocent, Julie still emerged from it with a thousand a year and a Mayfair flat.

  But she was not satisfied yet — and the inevitable fate of the over-greedy awaited her.

  Have you ever heard how they catch monkeys in Brazil, Julie ? Let me tell you. They put a nut in a bottle, and tie the bottle to a tree. The monkey grasps the nut, but the neck of the bottle is too narrow for the monkey to withdraw its paw and the nut. You would think the monkey would let go of the nut and escape, wouldn't you ? But it never does. It is so greedy it never releases the nut and is always captured. Remember that story, Julie. Greed is a dangerous thing. If you give way to it, sooner or later you will be caught.

  Genuinely tense.

  OBSERVER

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  CHAPTER ONE

  RAIN pounded down on the pavements, and water, inches deep, ran in the gutters as Harry Gleb came up the escalator of New Bond Street underground. He paused at the station exit and surveyed the night sky, heavy with sullen black clouds in dismayed disgust.

  “My infernal luck,” he thought angrily. Not a hope of a taxi. Damn and blast it ! I’ll have to walk. The old mare’ll be livid if I’m late.” He shot his cuff to look at his gold wrist-watch. “If this perisher’s right, I’m late already.”

  After hesitating for a few minutes, he turned up his coat collar and, still swearing under his breath, set off quickly along the wet, greasy pavement, his head bent against the driving rain.

  “This about rounds off a mucking awful day,” he told himself as he hurried along, rain dripping from the brim of his hat and splashing against his legs. “Cigarette deal falls through, blasted dog comes in fourth, forty quid down the drain, and now this mucking rain.”

  From habit he walked in the shadows and avoided the street lights. Half-way down New Bond Street he spotted the faint gleam of steel buttons. Automatically he crossed the road.

  “West End’s lousy with bogies,” he thought, hunching his broad shoulders as if he expected a heavy hand to fall on them. “That fella’s as big and strong as an ox. Doing nothing except making a nuisance of himself. He’d be a lot more useful down a mine.”

  He recrossed the road when he had put a hundred yards or so between the policeman and himself and turned down Mayfair Street. After he had walked a few yards, he looked over his shoulder. Satisfied there was no one to see where he was going, he stepped into a doorway next to an antique bookseller’s shop and entered a dimly lit lobby.

  A blonde woman in a leather jacket and flannel slacks, an umbrella under her arm, was coming down the stone stairs.

  She paused when she saw him and her hard, painted face brightened.

  “Why, hello, chéri, were you coming to see me?”

  “Not on your life,” Harry said shortly. “I’ve a lot better things to waste my money on than you.” Seeing the bitter twist of her lips, he went on in a kinder tone : “And listen, Fan, you might just as well put up the shutters. You won’t find any suckers on the streets to-night. It’s raining like hell, and there’s no one around except the bogies.”

  “There’s you,” the woman said, and smiled invitingly.

  Harry felt sorry for her. He was on friendly terms with most of the tarts in the West End, and he knew Fan was having a thin time. She was getting too old for the game and competi-tion was cut-throat.

  “Sorry, Fan, but I’m busy to-night.” He shook the rain from his hat, asked : “Anyone gone up yet?”

  “Bernstein and that stinker, Theo. The little swine offered me half a dollar.”

  Harry hid a grin.

  “Don’t worry about Theo. No one does. He’s got a dirty sense of humour.”

  The woman’s eyes gleamed angrily.

  “I’ll fix him one day. I’ve met some dirty rats in my time, but the things that little beast says to me turns my stomach.”

  “The look of him turns mine,” Harry said carelessly. “Well, so long, Fan.”

  “Come and see me when you’ve finished,” she urged. “I’ll give you a good time, Harry. I will—honest.”

  Harry suppressed a shudder.

  “One of these days, but not to-night. I’m taking Dana home. Here, get your little paws on this.” He held out a couple of pound notes. “Buy yourself a keepsake.”

  “Thanks, Harry.” The woman took the money eagerly. “You’re a nice boy.”

  “I know I am,” he returned, grinned, and went on up the stairs. “Poor mare,” he thought. “She’s getting fat and old. Give me a good time—ugh!”

  At the head of the stairs he paused outside a door on which was the inscription:

  Mrs. French

  Domestic Agency

  Enquiries

  He waited a moment, then tip-toed to the banisters and looked into the lobby below. The blonde woman was standing in the doorway, staring up at the falling rain. As he watched, she put up her umbrella and moved into the street. He shook his head, shrugged, and rapped on the door.

  A light flashed on inside the room and the shadow of a girl appeared on the frosted panel of the door, a key turned in the lock and the door opened.

  “Hello, it’s me,” he said cheerfully. “Last to arrive as usual.”

  “Come on in, Harry. They’re waiting for you.”

  “Let them wait.” He pulled the girl to him and kissed her. Her lips felt warm and yielding against his. “You’re looking swell. How do you do it, and after last night, too?”

  “Don’t talk about last night.” She smiled up at him. “I had an awful head this morning.”

  “As hard and as beautiful as a diamond,” he thought, “and as expensive.”

  “Come on, Harry, they’re waiting. You know what Mother is.” She touched his face with slender caressing fingers.

  He put his arm round her.

  “What’s she want? I haven’t seen her for weeks, and I’m damned if I want to see her now. Every time I see her there’s trouble.”

  “Don’t be silly, Harry. Do come on, and don’t do that! You’re getting too free with your hands.”

  He grinned as he followed her across the small office into an inner room, lit by a desk lamp, its bright beam focused on a white blotting pad on the big desk. The room was full of cigarette smoke and dark shadows.

  Mrs. French sat at the desk. Sydney Bernstein and Theo sat facing her. They all looked up as Harry came in.

  “You’re ten minutes late,” Mrs. French said sharply. She was a bulky woman with a sallow complexion and sharp, bright eyes. She wore jet ear-rings that bobbed and flashed in the lamplight.

  “Couldn’t help it,” Harry said airily. “It’s raining cats and dogs. Hark at it. No taxis. Had to walk.” He stripped off his overcoat, tossed it on a chair. “Hello, Syd, boy; how’s things? Blimey ! Is that young Pimples biting his nails in the dark? How are the spots and boils, Theo, my beauty?”

  “Get stuffed,” Theo snarled from out of the darkness.

  Harry laughed good naturedly.

  “What a lovely boy!” He rested his big hands on the desk and beamed at Mrs. French. “Well, here I am; better late than
never. What’s cooking?”

  “Yes, let’s get it over, Mother,” Dana said impatiently. “I want to go to bed.”

  “Sit down, Harry.” Mrs. French waved to a chair near her. “It’s time we did another job together.”

  Harry sat down.

  “Is it? Well, I don’t know.” He took out a packet of Players, lit one and tossed the packet to Bernstein. “The bogies are getting a bit hot, Ma. Look at the way they picked up Parry last night. The poor mutt hadn’t left the house before they nabbed him. They’re right on their toes just now. That mucker who shot Rawson’s done it. Start shooting coppers and there’s trouble. I don’t know if this is the right time for a job.”

  Mrs. French made an impatient gesture.

  “Parry’s a fool. He just wanders around looking for an open window. This is a good job, Harry; a planned job. There’s no risk to it.”

  Harry snatched up his cigarettes as Theo’s dirty hand reached for them.

  “No, you don’t!” he snapped. “You buy your own damned fags.”

  Theo cursed him under his breath.

  “Shut up!” Mrs. French barked. “I’m talking.”

  “Sorry, Ma; go ahead,” Harry said with an apologetic grin. “What have you got in mind?”

  “How would you like to take a crack at the Wesley furs?” Harry stiffened. His breath whistled down his nostrils. “Hey! Now, wait a minute. Are you trying to get me put away for five years? I’m not all that wet, you know.”

  “That’s what I say,” Bernstein broke in vehemently. He was a little man with a face as brown and as wrinkled as a monkey’s. His hands were covered with fine black hairs, and hair grew in coarse tufts on his wrists and showed above his shirt collar. “Be reasonable. It’s no use running your head against a brick wall. The Wesley furs! It’s madness !”

  “But you’ll take them if we get them?” Mrs. French asked, her eyes hardening.

  He nodded.

  “Yes; but you haven’t a hope of getting them. Why don’t you be reasonable?”

  “Are you serious?” This from Harry. “You know what we’d be up against?”

  “I know.” Mrs. French tapped ash from her cigarette on to the floor. Her mouth was a hard line. “It won’t be easy, but it can be done.”

  “I say not !” Bernstein said and thumped his small, hairy fist on the desk. “Four have tried it. Look what happened to them. It’s too dangerous.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Harry said, pulling a face. “But it would be a sweet job if we could pull it off. Still, I don’t fancy our chances, Ma.”

  “You’re talking like a fool,” Mrs. French said angrily. “You don’t know anything about the job; only what you’ve heard. All right, four fools have tried to get the furs. None of them took the trouble to find out how the safe operates. They didn’t use their brains because they hadn’t any brains to use.”

  “You’re wrong,” Bernstein said, shifting forward on his chair. “Frank took a lot of trouble. He spent four months casing the place, but he was nabbed before he even opened the safe. What do you say to that?”

  “We can learn from the mistakes of others. It means there’s an alarm on the safe that rings if the safe is touched. We’re going to find out about that. That’s the first thing we’re going to do.”

  “And how are we going to do that?” Harry inquired.

  “Mrs. Wesley wants a maid. She’s tried all the other agencies, and now she’s come to me. I’ve been waiting a long time for this chance.”

  “And we put in a plant?” Harry looked interested. “That’s an idea, Ma. It might even work.”

  “It will work. if we can get a girl in there who’ll keep her eyes open she might find out how the safe operates. If she does, will you take on the job?”

  “I might.” Harry scratched his head. He thought of Parry. Only the night before last they had played snooker together. Now Parry was in a cell. A job as big as the Wesley furs would carry a five year stretch. He flinched at the thought. “It’ll be some job, Ma. I’d like to know more about it first. Is Theo coming in?”

  Theo stopped biting his nails to say, “Course I am. I ain’t windy if you are.”

  “One of these days I’m going to flatten those pimples of yours, you little ape,” Harry said amiably, “and I’ll flatten your face with them.”

  “We can’t do anything without the girl,” Mrs. French broke in. “Know anyone who’d do the job, Harry?”

  “Well, I know a lot of girls,” Harry said, and looked out of the corners of his eyes at Dana. “Depends on what kind of girl you want.”

  “I want someone smart and young with good appearance and who wants to pick up some quick money,” Mrs. French said promptly. “I’ll take care of the references.”

  Harry tilted back his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Well, there is a girl,” he said, after a pause. “She’s a smart kid. Her name’s Julie Holland. She works for Sam Hewart at the Bridge Café. Syd’s seen her. Think she’d do, Syd?”

  Bernstein shrugged. A scowl darkened his wrinkled face.

  “I don’t know. She might, but she’d have to watch her temper. She’s a bad-tempered little bitch.”

  Harry laughed.

  “He’s prejudiced, Ma. He pinched her bottom the other night and she caught him a slap in his puss. Laugh! I nearly bust my truss. Don’t listen to him. I think she’d do. She’s got the looks and she’s nobody’s fool. Hewart thinks a lot of her and you know how careful he has to be.”

  “Do the police know her?” Mrs. French asked.

  “No, nothing like that. She’s kept clear of trouble, but I know she’s after big money. She’s told me a bit about herself. She’s ambitious and fed up with scraping along on a few quid a week. I think she’s reckless enough to take a chance if the money’s good enough.”

  “We can’t tell her anything. It’s too risky. And when the job’s done, we’d have to be sure she keeps her mouth shut. The police will guess it’s an inside job and they’ll pick on her. We’d have to make very sure she won’t talk if things went wrong.”

  Theo leaned forward so the light fell on his face.

  “Let him find the bride. I’ll see she doesn’t talk,” he said.

  Theo was a short, stocky youth with long, dark hair that fell in lank, greasy strands over his ears and on to his coat collar. His round, pasty face was inflamed with blackheads and pimples, and his green eyes were close-set and cruel. He wore a shiny blue serge suit, baggy and shapeless, and his wreck of a hat, resting far back on his head, looked like a dead, furry animal that had been left in the gutter. There was something horribly vicious and spiteful in his expression and they looked at him, startled. There was a sudden uneasy tension in the room.

  “No violence,” Bernstein said quickly. “I don’t stand for violence.”

  “Get stuffed,” Theo said, and withdrew into the darkness again.

  “And that goes for me, too,” Harry said sharply. “You’re a bit too keen on bashing girls, Pimples. One of these days you’ll get a bash yourself, right in your ugly snout.”

  “Cut it out!” Mrs. French snapped. “We must have the girl or we can’t do the job. Does she like you, Harry?”

  Harry grinned.

  “Well, she doesn’t exactly hate me. It’s a rum thing, but girls do go soft on me. Don’t ask me why.” He hastily moved his leg as Dana kicked out at him. “Present company excepted, of course,” he went on, winking. “But this kid goes all dewy-eyed when she sees me, if that means anything.”

  “Work on her,” Mrs. French said. “She won’t talk if you handle her right; not if she’s soft on you.”

  “You and your damned women,” Dana said angrily. “Why don’t you grow up?”

  “I’m getting along fine as I am,” Harry said, patting her hand. “They mean nothing to me. You know that.”

  “Why don’t you two go somewhere and have a nice cry together? You make me spew,” Theo sneered.

  “I’ll bash this fat ape in a m
oment,” Harry said wrathfully. “Work on this girl, Harry,” Mrs. French said, scowling at Theo. “We can’t do anything until we’ve got her. I’ll want her in about a week. Can you manage it by then?”

  “Now, wait a minute. I didn’t say I was going to do the job. What’s in it for me? It’s got to be convincing or I’m not interested.”

  Mrs. French was expecting this. She picked up a pencil and pulled a pad of paper towards her.

  “The furs are insured for thirty thousand. Suppose we say we’ll get seventeen for them?” She looked inquiringly at Bernstein.

  “It’s no good looking at me,” Bernstein said sharply. “I don’t know what they’re worth until I’ve seen them. But seventeen’s too much, anyway. More like ten if they’re as good as you say they are. But I want to see the stuff before I talk prices.”

  “Then there’s the jewellery,” Mrs. French went on, deciding to ignore Bernstein. She began scribbling on the paper while the others watched her, “Your cut, Harry, shouldn’t be less than eight thousand. It might be more.”

  “Gripes!” Harry exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “Now you’re talking. For eight thousand . . .”

  “This is crazy!” Bernstein cried. His hands fluttered over the desk like two frightened bats. “You can’t make such promises. You want me to take the stuff, don’t you? Well then, I make the price. You can’t say they’ll be worth this and that. I must see the stuff first.”

  “If you can’t talk figures, Syd, someone else will,” Mrs. French said mildly. “You’re not the only fence who’d like to handle the Wesley’s furs.”

  Theo nudged Bernstein.

  “Stuff that up your vest and see how it fits,” he said, and laughed.

  Rain splashed against the windows and ran in gurgling little rivers in the gutters. The lone policeman, walking down Mayfair Street, snug in his rainproof cape, had no idea that a robbery was being planned within a few yards of him. He wasn’t interested in robberies. He was thinking of the spring cabbages he had planted that afternoon. The rain, he reckoned, would give them a fine start.

  II

  If you happen to look for them, you will find an odd assortment of cafés, restaurants and clubs that somehow manage to conceal themselves in the jungle of brick, stone and dirty windows along King’s Street, Fulham Palace Road and Hammersmith Bridge Road. You may wonder how such derelict-looking places keep open; who amongst the teeming crowd of shoppers and loafers converging from Hammersmith Broadway are likely to go to such places for a meal. But it is only at night, and in the small hours of the morning, that these particular cafes and restaurants come to life. If you happened to be in the district after eleven o’clock, you would find them crowded with a rather sinister-looking collection of men and women who sit over their tea or coffee talking in low tones, and who glance up suspiciously whenever the door opens and relax when the newcomer is recognized.