No Business Of Mine Page 18

  “Was he the guy who gave you the Luger pistol?”

  “Luger pistol?” she repeated blankly, then nodded. “I’d forgotten

  that. I promised to keep it for him, but when he went we both forgot I

  had it. How do you know about it?”

  “Corridan has it,” I said. “We both thought it was the gun that had

  killed Jacobi.”

  She went white. “But they know now it isn’t?”

  “Sure, they know,” I said, patting her knee. “I’m nearly through.

  Why did you go to Bradley?”

  “I had to. I hadn’t any money. Bradley has always been decent to

  me after our first fight. I had no one to turn to. I was scared to come

  to you. Ju told me you were always going around with the police. I

  wanted to come to you, but Ju said it was too dangerous. So I went to

  Bradley. I told him the whole story.

  He was decent and gave me two hundred pounds. Then you

  arrived; I got in a panic and ran.”

  I stroked my nose. “Go on,” I said.

  “I came back here,” she went on, suddenly gripping my wrist. “I

  let myself in, came upstairs. I heard someone moving about in the

  sitting-room. I thought it was French. I swear I thought it was French.”

  She broke off to stare into my face. “Steve! You must believe me.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “I thought he had come to kill me. I was crazy with fear. I didn’t

  know what I was doing. I grabbed the poker, waited in the dark.

  Something moved, came at me. I—I lost my head . . . hit out.” She hid

  her face in her hands. “Steve, you must help me. I’m so frightened.

  Say you believe me. Say you’ll help me. Please. . . .”

  I got to my feet, walked the length of the room. “How the hell can

  I help you?” I asked. “They’ll find him here sooner or later. They’ll find

  out he was working for me. They’ll find out you’ve been hiding here.

  The only thing we can do is to tell this story to Corridan. It’s the only

  way, Netta. He’ll understand. He’l help you.”

  She stood up. “No! French will kill me before the police can do

  anything. If he doesn’t, they won’t believe me. I know they won’t. No

  one would believe me except you.” She put her arms around my neck,

  held me close. “Steve, I’m asking you to help me. I know you can do it.

  You can get me out of the country the way Peter Utterly got Selma

  out. We can go in a day or so. Before they find him.” She looked

  shudderingly over her shoulder. “Peter took Selma back in one of his

  friends’ aircraft. Can’t you do the same for me? Can’t you get me out

  of this after what we’ve been together?”

  “Let me think,” I said, sat on the bed, lit another cigarette. I

  stayed like that for several minutes. Then I said, “Okay, Netta, I’ll do it.

  I’ll get you out of the country and then I guess we’re quits. I owe you

  something, but I didn’t think the price would be as steep as this. But

  I’ll do it.”

  She fell on her knees beside me.

  “But how will you do it?” she asked, gripping my hand.

  “Harry Bik will get us out. Do you remember him? I brought him

  to the Club the night I first saw you. He’s shipping kites back to

  America every week. He’ll do it. He’s that kind of a guy. We’ll smuggle

  you on to the airfield, and get you across to the other side somehow.

  We’ll do it, Netta, don’t worry. When I say I’ll do it, I’ll damn well do

  it.”

  She began to cry again, her face against my knee.

  I played with her hair, stared at the framed picture of a cutie in

  yellow pants above the bed. The look in her eyes cal ed me a sucker.

  Maybe I was.

  Chapter XIX

  WHILE Netta was packing a bag, I washed the glasses, wiped them

  free of finger-prints, put them and the bottle of Scotch back into the

  cupboard. With my handkerchief I picked up the blood-encrusted

  poker, washed it, put it back beside Littlejohns.

  I entered the bedroom again to find Netta cramming her things

  into a big Revelation suit-case.

  “There mustn’t be one thing left here that could lead them to

  you,” I said.

  “I’ve packed everything,” she returned, closing the lid. “Sure?”

  She looked around the room, nodded. “Yes.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Now we have to think where you can go until I’ve

  fixed the plane. It may take a couple of days.”

  “I know where to go,” she said. “I’ve been thinking while you were

  out of the room. I know now.”

  I looked at her. “Where?”

  “Madge Kennitt’s flat.”

  I gaped at her. “What’s that?”

  “Made Kennitt’s flat. No one would think of looking for me there.”

  “For God’s sake!” I exclaimed. “Didn’t you know? She was

  murdered. You can’t go there.”

  “Yes, I can. The place is empty, and the police have finished with

  it. Mrs. Crockett wouldn’t try to let it until the murder’s forgotten. It’ll

  be perfectly safe for the next three or four days. But that’s not the

  only reason why I’m going there. Madge laid in a stock of tinned food

  at the beginning of the war. I know where she hid it. I’m sure it’s still

  there. I’ve got to eat, and if I go there I don’t have to go out at all until

  you call for me.”

  “You sure the food’s still there?”

  “I think so. At least, I can go and see.”

  I didn’t much like the idea, but agreed the food question was

  difficult.

  “But how will you get in?”

  “My key fits her lock. It fits Ju’s as well. They have all more or less

  the same locks on all the flat doors.”

  “Well, al right,” I said. “But you’ll have to be damned careful.”

  I suddenly realized that if Cole’s key opened Madge’s door, then

  he might have killed her; might have wiped out the name, Jacobi, that

  had been written in the dust. I filed that piece of information away for

  future reference.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  “Okay, then that’s settled. When I’ve fixed things, I’ll come for you

  in a car. Be ready any night to move quick.”

  She came to me, put her hands on my shoulders. Terror still

  lurked at the back of her eyes, but she was quieter, had a grip on her

  nerves.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Steve,” she said. “Maybe I have been a

  fool since last we met, but I’m not bad — not really bad, and I never

  forgot you.”

  I patted her shoulder, turned away.

  “We’re both now in a hel of a mess,” I said soberly. “If we aren’t

  smart, and if we play our cards badly, we’re going to be in a real tough

  spot. Make no mistake about it. I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you,

  Netta.”

  She slipped her hand into mine. “I know, and I shouldn’t let you

  do it, Steve,” she said. “I lost my head just now, but I’ve got over that

  now. If you want to back out, I shan’t blame you, and I’ll manage

  somehow. All my life I’ve had to manage. I can still go on fighting

  alone.”

  “Forget it,” I said shortly. “We’re in this togeth
er. But there’s one

  thing that bothers me . . .”

  She looked searchingly at me. “What, Steve?”

  “Peter French. If we quit, he’s going to get away with it.”

  She gripped my ann. “Then let him get away with it. We can’t do

  anything to him without getting ourselves in a mess. Don’t start

  anything like that, Steve. It’ll only come back to us.”

  I nodded. “I guess you’re right, only I hate to think a rat like

  French . . .”

  Her grip on my arm tightened, her eyes opened wide. “Listen,”

  she whispered.

  “What is . . . ?” I began, but her hand flew to my mouth.

  “Someone’s in the flat,” she breathed. “Listen!”

  That gave me a hell of a jar. I froze, looked towards the door.

  She was right. Very faintly from downstairs I heard footsteps.

  With my heart leaping like a salmon caught on a line, I stepped to

  the electric light switch, snapped out the light.

  “Wait here,” I whispered. “Don’t make a sound. Watch your

  opportunity. Get out if you can, but don’t leave that bag here. Do you

  think you can carry it?”

  I could feel her body trembling against mine.

  “I’ll try,” she said. “Oh, God! I’m scared. Who is it, do you think?”

  “I’m going to find out,” I whispered back. “But don’t wait for me.”

  I crept over to the back window, looked down on a sloping roof,

  into a yard.

  “That’s your way out,” I said, my lips close to her ear. “Give me a

  couple of minutes, then get on to the roof, slide down, and into the

  yard. Go to Madge’s place. I’ll get in touch with you in a day or so.”

  Her fingers touched my hand.

  “Darling Steve,” she said.

  “Bolt the door after me, kid,” I returned, pressed her hand,

  peered into the passage. I listened, heard nothing, stepped from the

  room, shut the door.

  I heard Netta slide the bolt. I crossed the passage, entered the

  sitting-room, groped my way across to the lamp. I found it after a

  moment’s fumbling, removed the bulb, put it carefully on the floor. I

  remembered finger-prints, took out my handkerchief, picked up the

  bulb, wiped it, laid it down again.

  I moved back to the door, stood listening, sweat on my face, my

  heart pounding.

  For some seconds I heard nothing, then a faint creak came to my

  straining ears, followed by another creak. Someone was coming up

  the stairs.

  I stood against the wall on the far side of the door, waited. I heard

  a door handle turn and knew the intruder had reached the top of the

  stairs, was trying Netta’s door. I hoped she had the nerve not to

  scream. I felt like screaming myself.

  More silence. You could cut the stillness in the flat with a knife.

  Then suddenly I felt rather than saw the door behind which I was

  standing, opening. My mouth went dry, the hair on the back of my

  neck moved. Inch by inch the door opened, then stopped. I saw a

  white shape, a hand, groping down the wall for the electric light

  switch, find it.

  The click the switch made as it was snapped down was like a pistol

  shot in the silent room. The room stayed dark, and I thanked my stars

  I had thought of removing the bulb. I flexed my muscles, clenched my

  fists, waited.

  There was a long pause, the door didn’t open farther; there was

  no sound except my own thumping heart. I waited, my nerves

  stretched, my breathing controlled. To my straining ears came a new

  sound; someone breathing. I wondered if whoever it was could hear

  my breathing, and if that was what made him hesitate.

  The door began to open again. I crouched against the wall, ready

  to spring.

  A dark shadow appeared around the door: the head and

  shoulders of a man. I could just make out his blurred outline against

  the blind. I knew I was invisible in the darkness, waited to see what

  he’d do.

  He peered around the room, took another step forward. Then I

  heard a new sound, a sharp creak from Netta’s window, as she

  pushed it up.

  Instantly the man whipped around, dashed across the passage,

  tried Netta’s door again.

  “I hear you,” he shouted. “Open up! Come on! Open up.”

  It was Corridan!

  For a moment I was in such a panic I couldn’t move. Then I heard

  Corridan throw his weight against Netta’s door, heard the door groan.

  I didn’t dare hesitate a moment longer. I kicked over a chair which fell

  against a small table. The racket the two things made as they went

  over sounded to me like a mine going up.

  I heard a startled exclamation from Corridan. A moment later he

  entered the sitting-room. I saw him grope in his hip pocket, and I

  crept towards him, crouching, prayed he wouldn’t hear me.

  A second after the bright beam from an electric torch he had

  taken from his pocket fell on Littlejohns.

  I heard Corridan catch his breath. In that hard light Littlejohns was

  enough to shake the toughest nerve. For a moment Corridan seemed

  paralysed with surprise and shock. In that moment, I jumped him.

  We went down together like a couple of buffalo, smashed the

  small table to matchwood. I slammed my fist in his face, caught the

  torch from his hand, flung it with all my strength at the wall. It went

  out.

  Corridan twisted under me, hit me a sledge-hammer blow in the

  chest. I grabbed him, tried to hold him down, but he was much too

  strong for me.

  For two or three seconds we fought like animals. Both of us were

  half crazy with fear, and we punched, bit and kneed each other in a

  frenzy of waving arms and legs. Corridan was tough all right. He knew

  every dirty trick there was to know in fighting. If I hadn’t had a Ranger

  training as a war correspondent, I wouldn’t have lasted two minutes

  with him.

  I got a head lock on him after a moment, tried to throttle him by

  squeezing his throat with my forearm, but he hit me so heavily about

  the body, I couldn’t hold him. I broke from him, jumped to my feet.

  He had me around the legs before I could step clear, and I came

  down on my back. My breath whistled out of my body, and for one

  second I was helpless. That was a lot of time to a guy like Corridan. He

  was kneeling on my arms by the time I had my wind back, and it was

  like being sat upon by St. Paul’s Cathedral.

  “Let’s look at you, you bastard,” he panted.

  I heard a rattle of matches. If he saw who I was I was done for. I

  hadn’t a chance being caught with Littlejohns.

  I made a terrific effort, brought my legs up, managed to boot him

  at the back of his head. He fell forward on top of me and I got my

  arms free. But he came back, grabbed at my head, tried to smash it

  down on the floor. By keeping my neck stiff I defeated this move, sank

  a punch into his belly that went in a foot.

  He gasped, gagged, fell off me. My hand closed around one of the

  table legs. I swung blindly at him, felt a jar run up my arm as the table

  leg connected, heard him flop.

  I lay
gasping for breath, feeling as if I’d been fed through a

  mangle. I knew I couldn’t waste a moment ; I struggled up kicked his

  legs off mine, reached out and touched him. He didn’t move. For one

  horrible moment I thought I’d killed him, but then I heard him

  breathing. Any second now he’d come to the surface. I had to get out

  while the going was good.

  I got to my feet, staggered out of the room, peered into Netta’s

  room. The window was open. She had gone. I grabbed hold of the

  banister rail, nearly fell down the stairs. Reaching the front door, I

  waited a moment while I pul ed myself together, opened it, stepped

  into the dark cul-de-sac. The night air helped me to come to the

  surface, but I was still groggy as I half ran, half walked to the main

  road.

  I kept on, found myself in Russell Square, then Kingsway. I

  reached the Strand, and by that time I was walking steadily. I had to

  get myself a cast-iron alibi; an alibi so good that Corridan couldn’t

  even suspect it. I wondered if he had recognized me. I hadn’t made a

  sound while we fought, and it had been almost pitch dark. With luck,

  I’d get away with it.

  I passed a telephone booth, hesitated, entered, called Crystal. I

  didn’t expect she’d be back from the Club as yet. It was only eleven-

  fifteen, but to my relief she answered.

  “It’s Steve,” I said. “No, don’t talk. This is serious. How long have

  you been back from the Club?”

  “An hour. I had a headache and thought I’d come home. Why?”

  “Anyone see you come home?”

  “No. What’s the matter, precious?”

  “Plenty,” I said grimly. “I’m on my way over. I’ve been with you for

  the past hour, and I’m spending the night with you. Is that all right?”

  “Is it all right?” Her voice shot up a note. “You bet it’s all right!

  You come right over.”

  “I’m coming,” I said, hung up.

  As I turned to leave the booth I had an idea. I put in two more

  pennies, cal ed Fred Ul man of the Morning Mail.

  When he came on the line, I said, “Pin your ears back, Fred. I’ve

  got the biggest story that’s hit the head-lines for years! It’s exclusive

  and all yours. Will you earn it?”

  “I’ll earn it, if it’s as good as that, but you’ll have to convince me.

  What do you want me to do?” he returned.

  I leaned up against the wall of the booth and told him.