No Business Of Mine Page 21

  the murders of Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns would be solved.

  I had scarcely time to run through my plans in my mind to be sure

  that nothing had been overlooked before a tap sounded on my door

  which told me Julius Cole had arrived.

  I levered myself out of my chair, opened the door.

  There he was, eyeing me expectantly, waggling his head. He had

  smartened himself up. Some of the grease stains had disappeared

  from his coat; he had changed the grubby white tie to a less grubby

  yellow one. In his buttonhole was a faded sprig of lilies of the val ey.

  “Hello, baby,” he said. “I’m not too early, am l?”

  “Come in,” I said, holding open the door.

  He sauntered in, looked around the room.

  “You know, I like it,” he said. “The more I see it, the better it

  looks.” He eyed me hopefully. “Have you the money, baby?”

  “Sure. It’s right there in that desk.”

  He wasn’t able to control his excitement, although he made an

  effort to do so. His face brightened, his eyes gleamed, he giggled.

  “Five hundred pounds!” he exclaimed, rubbing his big, grubby

  hands together. “I can scarcely believe it.”

  “Sit down, Fatso,” I said, closing the door. “You haven’t got it yet,

  so don’t get steamed up.”

  His smile slipped, but he jerked it up with an effort, eyed me

  cautiously.

  “But you’ve made up your mind, baby?” he asked. “You’re going

  to be sensible?”

  “How do I know that after you’ve got the money you won’t come

  back for more?” I asked, lighting a cigarette.

  “Please don’t talk like that,” he said, giving me an arch look. “I

  assure you I don’t do business that way. I like to think I’m an honest

  blackmailer. It may sound absurd to you, but I have my principles. I

  make a fair price, and I stick to it.”

  “I wouldn’t trust you farther than I could throw you,” I said. “Sit

  down. I want to talk to you.”

  He hesitated, then lowered his great flabby body into the arm-

  chair.

  “I wish you wouldn’t be so suspicious, baby,” he complained,

  pouting. “My terms are straightforward. You give me five hundred

  pounds, I keep quiet; you leave the country. That’s simple enough,

  isn’t it? I can’t do you any harm if you’re not here, can I?”

  “I haven’t gone yet.” I said, “There’s nothing to stop you from

  double-crossing me while I’m waiting to leave, is there?”

  “But I wouldn’t do that,” he protested. “It’s not in my nature to do

  mean things.”

  “Remind me to cry over that lovely sentiment sometime,” I said.

  “Suppose Corridan makes things hot for you? How do I know you

  won’t tell him it wasn’t Netta but her sister who died?”

  “Don’t be silly, baby,” he said. “If I told Corridan that, I’d get into

  trouble, wouldn’t I?”

  “It was her sister who died, wasn’t it?”

  He blinked. “Of course.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever seen her sister?”

  “Of course,” he repeated, picked his nose, stared at me

  thoughtfully.

  “Why did you say it was Netta?”

  “I don’t think we have to go into that, baby,” he said, shifting

  uneasily. “I had my reasons.”

  “How much is Peter French paying you to keep quiet?” I shot at

  him.

  For a moment he looked startled, then he recovered himself,

  giggled.

  “There’s not much you miss,” he said. “I can’t tell you that. It’d be

  a breach of confidence.”

  “All right,” I said, shrugging. “Let’s get down to business. You’re

  demanding five hundred pounds from me or you’ll give Corridan false

  evidence that will incriminate me with two murders. That is the

  position, isn’t it?”

  “That’s the idea,” he said, smirking. “I’m afraid I couldn’t put that

  in writing. But between you and me that’s the general idea, baby.”

  I nodded, satisfied.

  “You can have your money,” I said, “and God help you, Fatso, if

  you try to double-cross me. I’ll come after you, and I’ll pound you to a

  jelly.”

  “You have my word,” he said with a pathetic attempt at dignity.

  “That should be enough. You’re an American, of course, so you can’t

  be expected to appreciate that an Englishman’s word is his bond.”

  “Get off your high horse, you fat louse,” I snapped, sick of him.

  He waggled his head. “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time

  already? Where’s the money?”

  I went to the desk, opened it, took out the packet of pound notes

  I had meant to give Netta. I tossed them into his lap.

  “There you are,” I said, watched him.

  He stared down at the money, his eyes popping out of his head.

  He touched them, patted them.

  “Take them and get out,” I said.

  “Do you mind if I count them, baby?” he asked, a catch in his

  voice. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but it’s more businesslike.

  Besides, you might have given me too much.” He giggled explosively.

  “Go ahead, but be quick about it. I can’t stand the sight of you

  much longer.”

  There was a long pause while he counted the notes. He was

  trembling with excitement, and completely absorbed in the sound the

  notes made as they rustled in his fingers.

  Finally he straightened, nodded. There was a gleam of incredulous

  triumph in his eyes. “Well, baby,” he said, “I didn’t think you’d be so

  easy. I thought I was going to have a lot of trouble with yon.” he

  stuffed the notes into his hip pocket, smiled his secret smile. He

  wasn’t pleasant to look at.

  I laughed at him.

  “Get out, you fat louse,”

  He looked down at the faded sprig of lilies in his buttonhole. He

  took it out, laid it on the table.

  “Something to remember me by, baby,” he said, giggled. That was

  too much for me.

  “And here’s something to remember me by, Fatso,” I said, hauled

  off and landed him a sock in his right eye.

  He reeled back against the wall, his hand to his eye. For a moment

  he remained there, stunned, then he cringed away, moaning.

  “You beast!” he whimpered. “Oh, you beastly, rotten cad!”

  I made a threatening move towards him. He rushed to the door,

  yanked it open. Waiting for him in the passage outside was an over-

  sized, plain-clothes dick.

  Cole blundered into him, received a violent shove which sent him

  staggering back. The plain-clothes dick smiled at him.

  “Hello, dear,” he said.

  Cole, still holding his eye, stared at him for almost a minute, then

  his face crumpled and his knees sagged.

  The dick advanced on him. Cole retreated.

  I kicked the door shut when the dick was in the room.

  “So you anticipated you were going to have trouble with me, did

  you?” I said grimly. “Boy! Is that an understatement.”

  I crossed over to the bathroom, opened the door. “Okay,

  O’Malley, you can come out now.”

  D
etective-Inspector O’Malley came out, followed by another

  plain-clothes dick who had a note-book in his hand.

  “Did you get it all down?” I asked.

  “Every word,” O’Malley said, rubbing his hands. “The sweetest

  little statement I could wish for. If he doesn’t get ten years, may I be

  hung for a liar.”

  The three dicks grinned at Cole. O’Malley walked up to him,

  touched his arm.

  “I’m Detective-Inspector O’Malley of Bow Street, and these are

  police officers,” he said, waving his hand to the two plainclothes dicks.

  “It’s my duty to arrest you and charge you with attempted blackmail.

  And I have also to caution you that anything you say will be written

  down and may be used in evidence at your trial.”

  Cole’s face turned green.

  “You can’t do this to me,” he squeaked. “That’s the man who

  must be arrested. He’s a murderer.” He pointed a trembling finger at

  me. “He killed Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns. I saw him do it!

  You can’t arrest me. I’m an honest citizen.”

  O’Malley grinned.

  “You can tell that to the judge,” he said soothingly. “You come

  along with me.”

  The two plain-clothes dicks closed in on him. One of them

  whisked my money from Cole’s pocket, handed it to O’Malley.

  “We’ll have to keep this,” O’Malley said to me. “But you’ll get it

  back after the trial.”

  “I hope so,” I returned with a grin. “I’d hate to think it might go to

  your sports fund.”

  The three dicks laughed.

  “Come on,” O’Malley said to Cole. “We’ll make you nice and snug

  in a cell.”

  Cole started back. “He’s a murderer, I tell you,” he shouted

  frantically. “Arrest him! He’ll leave the country if you don’t. Do you

  hear? He’ll leave the country.”

  “Now don’t excite yourself, dear,” one of the plain-clothes dicks

  said. “If you come quietly I’ll give you a nice cup of cocoa at the

  station.”

  Cole took his hand away from his eye which was closed and

  swollen.

  “He assaulted me,” he shrilled. “I wish to charge him with assault.

  Arrest him!”

  O’Malley looked pained. “Did you do that?” he asked me, shaking

  his head sadly.

  “Me?” I said, shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. He

  was so anxious to spend his money, he hit his poor eye against the

  door handle as he rushed out.”

  O’Malley guffawed.

  “You must have been in a hurry,” he said, winking at Cole.

  I walked up to Cole, smiled. “So long, louse,” I said. “The next time

  you try blackmail, don’t pick on a newspaper man. See you in ten

  years’ time.”

  They took Cole away. He went speechless, dazed, stupefied. At

  the door, O’Malley looked over his shoulder.

  “See you to-night,” he said.

  “Sure. Corridan’ll be back then,” I returned. “I wouldn’t miss

  seeing his face when I spring my little surprise for all the Scotch in

  London.”

  “Speaking as a teetotaller, nor would I,” O’Malley said piously.

  Chapter XXIII

  THE clock in Mrs. Crockett’s hall was striking the half-hour after

  seven as I crept up the stairs to Madge Kennitt’s flat. No one saw me

  enter the house. It was a relief to know that Julius Cole wouldn’t

  appear on the landing to waggle his head at me.

  I listened outside Madge’s door, heard nothing, tapped gently.

  “It’s Steve,” I said.

  There was a pause, then the door opened. Netta, in a red and

  white silk dress, let me in.

  I entered the room, closed the door.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “You’re early, Steve,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “Is it

  all right?” Her eyes were deep set in dark sockets. She seemed

  anxious, nervy.

  I nodded. “I think so, I said. “I’ve talked to Bix. He wants to see

  you.”

  “Wants to see me?” she repeated, frowning. “But, why?”

  “You don’t know Bix. He’s a crazy guy,” I returned. “He says he

  won’t risk his job to fly some dumb-belle to the States. I told him you

  were the ace of pin-ups, but he thinks the women I go around with

  wear over-shoes and red flannel. The only way to convince him is for

  you to meet him. If you kid him along he’ll take us. It’s just his way of

  making things difficult. I’ve fixed for us to have a drink with him right

  away.”

  “But there isn’t time,” she said, worried. “And it’s dangerous; the

  police may see us. I don’t like this, Steve. Why didn’t you bring him

  here?”

  “I couldn’t,” I said. “He had to do things. There’s nothing to worry

  about. We’re meeting him at a pub off Knightsbridge. I have a car

  outside. We’l talk over things with him; then he’ll go on back to the

  airport, we’ll come back here, pick up your luggage and fellow on. The

  plane doesn’t leave until ten- thirty. There’s plenty of time.”

  I could see she didn’t like the idea, but there was nothing she

  could do about it.

  “All right, Steve,” she said. “You know best. I’ll put on a hat and

  I’m ready.”

  I waited for her, wandered around the room, thought of Madge

  Kennitt, felt spooked.

  Netta came out of the bedroom after a moment or so. Her hat

  looked like a saucepan lid, but it suited her.

  “He’ll fal for you all right,” I said, regarding her. “You look swell.” I

  slipped my arm through hers. “Come on. On your toes. We don’t want

  Mrs. C. to jump us on our way out.”

  We sneaked down the stairs and into the Buick I had rented for

  the evening.

  As we drove along the Cromwell Road, Netta said, “What’s been

  happening, Steve? Did you give Ju the money?”

  I was expecting that one, and had my lie ready.

  “Yeah,” I said. “he got it, the rat, and I only hope he won’t double-

  cross us before we get out of the country.” I gave her a quick look,

  saw she had turned pale, was tight-lipped.

  “When did you give it to him?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

  “Three-thirty this afternoon,” I told her. “Five hundred pounds.

  It’s a lot of money, Netta.”

  She didn’t say anything, sat staring straight ahead, a hard look on

  her face.

  As we pulled up outside a small pub in a back street off

  Knightsbridge, she said, “And Jack Bradley? Have you heard anything

  from him?”

  “No,” I said. “There was nothing I could do about him. Corridan

  was out of town. I couldn’t get the rings without asking him first.

  Bradley’s ultimatum expired at four o’clock. For al I know the cops

  are looking for me right now. If they are, they’re too late. I pulled out

  of the Savoy this afternoon. All my stuff is in the back of the car. I’m

  ready to go.”

  We got out of the Buick.

  Netta looked up and down the street. “You’re sure it’s safe,

  Steve?” she asked, hanging back. “It seems madness to me to
come

  here where we can he seen.”

  “Take it easy,” I said. “It’s safe enough. This pub’s as dead as a

  dodo. They’d never think of looking for us here.” I hurried her across

  the pavement into the pub.

  Harry Bix in his leather flying-blouse on which was painted a

  diving albatross, his squadron insignia, was propping up the counter, a

  Scotch and soda in his hand.

  There were only two other men in the bar. They sat in a far

  corner, and didn’t even look up as we entered.

  Bix, fleshy, powerful, good-natured, straightened when he saw us.

  He took one look at Netta, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

  “Hel-lo!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “You certainly

  picked yourself a pippin. Pin-up girl ! I’ll say!”

  “Netta, this is Harry Bix,” I said, pushing her forward. “Shake

  hands with Army Air Corps No. I pilot. And if he doesn’t always act as

  if he was used to wearing shoes, forgive him. He’s just out of the

  jungle.”

  Netta slipped her hand into Bix’s large paw, gave him a dazzling

  smile which rocked him back on his heels.

  “Lady, what makes you go around with a heel like him?” he asked

  earnestly. “Didn’t you know he has two wives, and eighteen children,

  and he’s clone a ten-year stretch for criminal assault?”

  Netta laughed, nodded. “That’s why I like him,” she said. “I’m that

  sort of a girl.”

  “For God’s sake!” he said, startled. “Do you really like him or is it

  his dough you’re after?”

  “A little of each,” she said, after pretending to consider his

  question.

  “Well, I guess that calls for a drink. How’s about starting a famine

  in whisky or would you prefer something more fancy?”

  “Whisky’s al right with me,” she said.

  Bix waved to the barmaid, ordered two double whiskies. He

  turned back to Netta.

  “Where’ve you been hiding yourself all this time? I thought I knew

  all the juicy dames in London.”

  “And I thought I’d met all the lovely Americans until now,” she

  replied.

  Bix blew out his cheeks, punched me in the ribs.

  “Brother, you’re through. Go outside and oblige me by breaking a

  leg.”

  “She’s just kidding,” I said. “That girl’s got an ice-cream cone

  where her heart’s supposed to be. Why, ten minutes ago, she told me

  all Army Air Corps personnel were jerks, didn’t you Netta? “