Why Pick On ME? Page 14

  “Ready?” Ames asked a little impatiently.

  “Yes.” Corridon adjusted his tie in the mirror, patted his handkerchief in his breast pocket and joined Ames at the door.

  “There’s a car parked at the back. “I’ll go first. If anyone spots you leaving, say you are going on an errand for me.”

  Corridon nodded.

  He waited a minute or so after Ames had gone, then stepped into the corridor.

  Kara came to her door. She gave him a sneering little smile.

  “Going out?” she asked.

  Corridon shook his head.

  “What on earth gave you that idea?” he said. “I’m going to sit on the roof and keep the pigeons company.”

  He walked on, not hurrying, and grinned a little uneasily when he heard her door slam. The woman, he thought, was a damned pest.

  Ames was sitting at the wheel of a black Humber car, drawn up outside the rear entrance. Corridon got in beside him, and was immediately aware of a strong smell of brandy coming from Ames.

  “Anyone see you?”

  “Only Olga from the Volga,” Corridon said carelessly. “She wanted to know if I was going out. I told her to mind her own business.”

  “She has taken a fancy to you,” Ames said, as he drove down the curving drive. He sniggered. “It might be wiser to be pleasant to her.”

  “Not on your life,” Corridon returned promptly. “She’s just a shade too powerful to get into a clinch with. Are you still sure you can trust her?”

  “Yes,” Ames said, slowing up as two guards appeared in the headlights of the car. He spoke to them and they opened the main gates and waved him through.

  Corridon was hoping he would recognize the countryside, but he didn’t. It was dark, and Ames drove only with the parking lights on. Corridon didn’t get the chance of reading a sign-post or recognizing a landmark until, shooting up a steep hill, they came out on the High Wycombe end of Western Avenue.

  From the time they had taken and the distance they had come, Corridon decided Baintrees was somewhere near the Bucks – Herts border. Nearer to that he could not get.

  Once on the broad arterial road, Ames drove like a madman. Corridon was thankful when they swung through the open gates of the White City and were forced to reduce speed. Not once during the run down Western Avenue had Ames driven below sixty miles an hour, and in some stretches he had reached ninety: a lot too fast, Corridon thought, with the dazzling headlights of the home-going traffic to contend with.

  Now that Ames had swallowed the hook he had dangled before him, Corridon had to decide what to do. The most obvious thing would be to knock Ames over the head and present him to Ritchie to work on. But Corridon couldn’t make up his mind if Ames knew enough to justify such action. Corridon’s job was to find out the identity of the Leader, and he couldn’t be certain Ames knew this. If he didn’t, then Corridon would be throwing away his only chance of finding this out for himself. At the moment he was getting established in the organization. Ames was beginning to trust him. If he worked with Ames, it was possible that sooner or later he would meet the Leader. So he had decided to play this little farce to a finish. It would serve a useful purpose, and give him the opportunity of talking to Ritchie on the telephone.

  Ames had been silent during the drive, but now, as he drove along Piccadilly, he said abruptly, “You can trust these two girls?”

  “There’s nothing to trust them with,” Corridon said. “They’re just a couple of sporty girls without a thought in their heads.”

  “One can’t be too careful,” Ames said, turning into Half-Moon Street. “I forgot to ask – what does it cost?”

  “Not a thing. I thought I made that clear,” Corridon said, hiding a grin. “They are friends of mine.” He went on to explain what Ames was to expect, and by the time they pulled up outside a tall building opposite the back of Shepherd Market, Ames’ face was incredulous and his eyes hungry.

  The flat door was opened by Babs, a dark, thin, intense girl in a sky-blue house-coat, who greeted Corridon by throwing her arms around his neck with a whoop that could be heard at the end of the street.

  Corridon pushed her firmly away.

  “Steady on,” he said good-humouredly. “Don’t strangle me. How are you? Here’s a pal of mine. Call him Gerry. Where’s Hildy?”

  “Here I am,” Hildy announced, appearing from behind the door. She was plump, red-haired and wicked-looking. She made eyes at Ames. “Hello, Handsome,” she went on. “Come on in, and make yourself at home.”

  Ames entered the sitting-room, rather like a cat in a strange house. He prowled around, satisfying himself that the four of them were alone in the flat. He opened doors, looked into the two bedrooms, glanced in the bathroom and even inspected the kitchen.

  At a sign from Corridon, the two girls ignored Ames, and while he prowled, they prepared drinks. Satisfied, he returned to the sitting-room and sat down.

  “Like it?” Babs asked, as Hildy went over to him with a large brandy. She sat on the settee beside him and gave him the drink.

  Ames said it was very nice. He now turned his attention to Hildy.

  Corridon was nursing Babs on his knees, drinking whisky.

  “Is that your only telephone?” Ames asked suddenly, pointing to the receiver.

  Corridon gave Babs a slight, warning nudge.

  “Yes,” she said, looking surprised. “Did you want to use it?”

  “No,” Ames said. “I just wondered.”

  Hildy kept his brandy glass full, and after some minutes of aimless talk, he began to show signs of restlessness.

  “Shall we leave those two?” Hildy whispered in his ear. “I think they want to be alone together.”

  Ames nodded.

  Corridon, who was watching him out of the corners of his eyes, guessed the telephone was worrying him.

  He stood up.

  “We’re going in the next room,” he announced. “Babs wants to show me her etching. We’ll join forces later. Okay?”

  “Which room is that?” Ames demanded, also getting to his feet.

  “Show him, Babs,” Corridon said with a grin. “He’s nervous I’ll run away.”

  “Why?” Hildy demanded. “Martin’s a lovely man. Why should he run away?”

  Babs had opened a door. Ames crossed the room and glanced into the bedroom beyond. He didn’t see the telephone on the lower shelf of the bedside table as it was out of sight from where he stood.

  “Come on,” Corridon said to Babs. “Let’s go.”

  They went into the bedroom and shut the door, leaving Ames and Hildy together.

  “Lock it,” Corridon said, lowering his voice. “And keep your voice down.”

  Babs looked startled.

  “Who’s your friend, Martin? I don’t like the look of him.”

  “Nor do I. Never mind who he is. Come and sit here. I want to talk to you.” He sat on the bed which was well away from the door.

  Babs came over and sat by his side.

  “Now look, kid,” Corridon said, “all I want to do is to use your phone. I’m in a spot of bother, and this meeting was the only way I could reach a phone without our pal outside knowing about it.”

  “Well, I like that!” Babs said in disgust. “Don’t tell me I’m not going to make anything out of this.”

  Corridon grinned.

  “Twenty quid: half to you and half to Hildy. An expensive telephone call. Got a piece of notepaper? I’ll fix it for you.”

  Babs stared at him.

  “Twenty pounds? Honest?”

  “Come on, kid, you’re wasting time,” Corridon said curtly.

  She fetched some notepaper, and he scribbled a few lines on a sheet and handed it to her. She read what he had written and gaped at him.

  “The War Office? You’re pulling my leg.”

  “I’m not. Take that along to a bird called Miss Fleming, and she’ll pay you twenty of the best. She’ll be a little sour, but take no notice. You’re working
for the Government now.”

  Babs continued to stare at him.

  “What is he – a spy?”

  “Something like that. Now look, I’ve got to talk to my chief. Try not to listen. The less you know about this the safer it’ll be for you.” He reached for the telephone and dialled Ritchie’s number. “This is big time, Babs. You’re not getting twenty quid for nothing.”

  Ritchie’s voice came over the line.

  “This is Corridon reporting,” Corridon said. “I have a lot to say and most of it is for the record. Do you want Miss Fleming to take it down?”

  “Glad to hear your voice,” Ritchie said warmly. “I was getting worried about you. How’s it going?”

  Corridon grinned as he exchanged glances with Babs.

  “Pretty good, Colonel. Right now I’m having the time of my life. It’s going to cost your department twenty pounds.”

  “Sounds like a woman’s involved,” Ritchie said. “Well, all right, but let’s have value for money.”

  “Have you talked with Lorene?”

  “She doesn’t know much, but we’re keeping her out of sight and reach. They are looking for her, of course?”

  “Yes. You’d better get your niece to break the news to her. Her brother shot himself. Ames was going to question him, but he preferred the other way out. Better give me Miss Fleming. I haven’t much time.”

  “I’ll see she’s told,” Ritchie said. “Did you have to kill Bruger? Rawlins is in a flap about that.”

  “He’s always in a flap,” Corridon returned. “It had to be done. If he’d got away, I would have been sunk. It’s no loss.”

  “Perhaps not. Well, all right, I’ll straighten it out somehow. Hold on for Miss Fleming.”

  After a moment or so there was a click and Miss Fleming’s curt, efficient voice said she was ready.

  Corridon began to dictate his report. He spoke rapidly and concisely, covering everything that had happened to him since he had left Marian Howard’s flat and had arrived at Baintrees. He gave a detailed account of the journey from Lorene’s flat to Baintrees, a description of Homer and Ames, and of the two engineers who were to wreck the generators at the power station. When he had finished he asked Miss Fleming to put Ritchie back on the line.

  While he had been dictating, he was aware of Babs’ breathless excitement. She drank in every word he was saying, her eyes round with surprise.

  “I told you it was big time, didn’t I?” he said.

  Ritchie’s voice broke in.

  “Aren’t you alone?”

  “Certainly not,” Corridon said. “I’m in the bedroom of a very charming little brunette, and she’ll be along with a chit from me tomorrow morning asking payment for twenty pounds. Pay her promptly, Colonel, or my line of communication is closed for good.”

  Ritchie chuckled.

  “Trust you to combine pleasure and business. Have you anything else for me? The report is excellent.”

  “They plan to get rid of you.” Corridon said airily. “I’m to be in charge of the operation. It can happen any time, so keep your eyes open. When it is definitely fixed, I’ll try to tip you off, but if I can’t, I’ll do my best to see you aren’t hurt. Whatever happens, the news must get around you’re dead. It’s vital the operation should appear to have succeeded. If I pull it off, I’ll be accepted as a full member.”

  “All right,” Ritchie said. “Have you any idea how it’ll happen?”

  “Probably as you are leaving home in the evening. There’ll be two gunmen, a woman driving and me. The gunmen know their business, so watch out and carry a gun from now on.”

  “Right,” Ritchie said. “Anything more?”

  “How’s your pretty niece?”

  “She’s all right, and out of harm’s way. She was asking after you.”

  “She was? Well, keep an eye on her. So long, Colonel. You’ll be hearing from me. If you can, try and locate Baintrees. It shouldn’t be difficult. But don’t try to get anyone inside. It’s too dangerous. Okay?”

  “I’ll find it. Watch yourself. You’re doing a fine job.”

  “So long,” Corridon said, pleased. Ritchie rarely gave praise. He replaced the receiver.

  “You mean all that stuff’s true?” Babs asked. “That man out there is really a spy?”

  “You’ve heard nothing,” Corridon said. “Now look, kid, this is dynamite. One whisper from you and the whole setup will be blown sky-high, and me with it. These people are dangerous. They stop at nothing. If he suspects what we’re up to, he’ll wipe you out and Hildy too. You’ve got to keep your mouth shut. Understand?”

  The hard look in his eyes frightened her.

  “I won’t say a thing.”

  “You’d better not. Not even to Hildy. You’re working for the Government now. I told you this is big time, and it is. These people are causing a lot of trouble. They’re out to upset our recovery, and if they keep on the way they’re going, they can do it. I’m sorry to have dragged you into this, but I had no alternative. You’re in it, and you’ve got to accept the responsibility. Otherwise you and Hildy and I will get our throats cut. And I’m not footing.” He stood up. “Come on. Don’t look so bewildered. It’s all right so long as you don’t talk. Let’s have a drink.”

  He crossed the room, unlocked the door and looked into the sitting-room. It was deserted.

  Ames, apparently, was still preoccupied.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I

  Two days later, as Corridon was making his way to the class-room, he ran into Homer.

  “I was looking for you,” Homer said, showing his big, yellow teeth. “There’s to be a meeting in my office in ten minutes. I’d be glad if you would attend.”

  “Certainly,” Corridon returned. “I’ll get my class going, and then I’ll be along.”

  Homer continued to beam.

  “We are very satisfied with your work, Mr. Corridon,” he said. “Ames speaks highly of you, and I don’t have to tell you he is an exceedingly difficult man to please.”

  Corridon concealed a grin. Ames had every reason to be pleased with him. Hildy had been a big hit. Already Ames was making plans to visit the flat in Curzon Street with Corridon on the following Saturday. Corridon wondered how long it would be before Ritchie objected to the expense. Twenty pounds a week was a tall price for the new pleasure of hearing Corridon’s voice. So far he had nothing new to report. He hoped the meeting would provide some information that would justify the expense: otherwise he would have to find other means of communicating with Ritchie.

  He gave his class a complicated code to decipher, and then went along to Homer’s office. On his way he met Kara who joined him.

  “So at last we have work to do together,” she said, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes.

  “Have we?”

  “So I hear. It is an experience I look forward to,” she said “I see very little of you these days.”

  Corridon made no comment. He rapped on Homer’s door, pushed it open and stood aside to allow her to enter first.

  Homer sat at his desk. Diestl stood by the fireplace. Ames prowled about the room, his hands in his pockets. Two men Corridon hadn’t seen before, stood by the wall opposite the door.

  “Come in,” Homer said, “and shut the door.” He waved to Kara to take her place beside the two men, and then motioned Corridon to a chair by his desk. “Sit down, Mr. Corridon. We have work for you to do.”

  Corridon sat down. He glanced curiously at the two men. One of them was short and thickset with a lean, small-featured face and a mop of black hair as stiff and straight as the bristles of a broom. His deep-set eyes peered at Corridon through a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. There were little clumps of bristles on his badly-shaven face and his flannel suit was threadbare and baggy.

  His companion was younger: probably not more than eighteen. He too was shabby and unkept, and a lock of his long, lank black hair hung over his left eye. He was tall, thin, and weedy. His round
suet-pudden of a face, his small shifty eyes, his weak, vicious mouth stamped him as a typical loafer you see any day in the amusement arcades in the West End.

  Neither of these two were prepossessing, Corridon thought, and wondered what they were doing in Homer’s office. He soon learned.

  Homer said, “We have decided Ritchie must go. Are you still prepared to do the job?”

  Corridon nodded.

  “Certainly.”

  “Then ten days from today: May 20th, on the terms we have agreed. Is that all right?”

  Again Corridon nodded.

  “And the method?” Diestl asked. “I take it you have been giving this matter some consideration.”

  “Yes,” Corridon said. “The method is simple enough. What is difficult and dangerous is putting the method into operation.”

  “These three will help you,” Homer said, waving to Kara and the two men. “That is Charles MacAdams,” he went on indicating the man in the steel-rimmed spectacles. “And that is Chicho.” He waved to the youth. “Both of them are first-class revolver shots. You couldn’t have a better couple, and Kara, of course, will handle the car.”

  Corridon nodded to the two men who stared at him, expressionless. MacAdams inclined his head, but Chicho gave no sign of recognition.

  “Before I accept these three,” Corridon said smoothly, “I should have to satisfy myself they are as good as you say. This is a far too dangerous and important job to fool with. If they pass my tests, I’ll take them with me, but if they fail – I’ll want others. That is understood?”

  “Certainly.” Ames said. “The responsibility is yours. You are at liberty to choose who you like, although we are satisfied these three are the best we have.”

  Corridon nodded.

  “I’ll test them this afternoon.”

  “I should like to hear your plan,” Diestl said. “How do you propose to do the job?”

  “Until these three have been tested it isn’t necessary for them to hear the plan,” Corridon said. He looked at the three. “Please go to the lounge and wait for me.”