Why Pick On ME? Page 21

  Ritchie shook hands.

  “Sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked. “You’ll get sick of Paris before long.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” Corridon said, and moved to the door. “But perhaps Paris will get sick of me.” He grinned at Rawlins. “So long, copper. Mind who you’re arresting?”

  When he had gone Rawlins said, “I have a feeling he’s up to something. He’s lost interest in Mainworthy a shade too quickly. I think I’ll have him watched.”

  “A waste of time,” Ritchie said and smiled. “He’s far too smart to be watched unless he has nothing to hide. But I think you’re right: he is hatching up something. If you want Mainworthy and the money, you’d better buck up. I have a feeling Corridon is going to look for him himself.”

  “Yes,” Rawlins said, and got heavily to his feet. “I’ll take damn good care if he does get his hooks on the money he won’t take it out of the country.”

  ***

  As Corridon descended the stairs, he caught sight of Marian, hovering in the hall.

  “Are you taking the job, Martin?” she asked, coming up to him.

  He looked down into the serious grey eyes and shook his head.

  “No. It’s not in my line. I’m not cut out for routine work. Besides, I’m off to Paris.”

  Her eyes showed her disappointment.

  “I suppose you know best,” she said. “I’m sorry. We’ll miss you.”

  “It wouldn’t work,” Corridon said uneasily, and held out his hand. “I’ll let you know where I get to. You might feel like a trip to Paris one of these days. I don’t want to lose sight of you.”

  She slipped her hand in his.

  “Don’t you?” she said. “Well, I suppose that’s nice to know. I’ll think of you, Martin.”

  Corridon suddenly felt depressed.

  “There’re a lot of people who run after the gilt when the gold’s right under their noses. I’m one of them. So long, Marian. We’ll meet again.”

  He bent and kissed her. Then as she began to say something he gave her a crooked little smile, patted her arm and went hurriedly down the steps to the street.

  V

  The hands of the dashboard clock stood at twenty minutes to three. A big, cold-looking moon lit up the flat road that led through Robertsbridge to Baldslow and then on to Hastings.

  Corridon yawned. He would much sooner be in bed, but his business was urgent. He kept his foot down on the accelerator, and the car rushed along at high speed, its big, glaring headlights cut into the shadowy road ahead, making the hedges sharp-etched against the night sky.

  He had the road to himself, but from time to time, he glanced into the driving mirror to satisfy himself no one was following him. He wouldn’t put it past Rawlins to have him shadowed. Rawlins was no fool. Corridon guessed by the suspicious looks he had given him that Rawlins had an idea what he was up to.

  Well, it was a long chance. If it didn’t come off, he would have to revise his plans. When he heard Mainworthy had bolted, he had searched his memory for a clue to where he had gone, and he remembered Ernie had mentioned a bungalow in Fairlight, just outside Hastings.

  “Nice little place,” Ernie had said with a leer. “On the cliffs, overlooking the sea. The Better “Ole it was called. “E took me there once. Not another “ouse within miles.”

  Corridon remembered the sneering little grin on Ernie’s white urchin face as he described the cottage. It was a long chance, but if Mainworthy was going to escape by sea, it was probable that was where Corridon would find him.

  Corridon’s mind switched to Marian. Ritchie had given him the hint. Ritchie wouldn’t have objected if he married her. He shook his head, frowning. It wouldn’t do. He knew he wouldn’t settle down. The idea of going to the War Office day in and day out, returning to a flat, living a life of respectable routine was out of the question. At least he was honest with himself. It was a pity. Marian attracted him. An understatement, he thought with a crooked smile, but he wasn’t going to admit anything deeper than an attraction.

  He drove down the long Cambridge Road that led to the Hastings clock tower. The town was empty and silent. The lighted face of the clock showed three. A solitary policeman appearing out of the shadows looked sharply at the car that moved a little too quickly past the Queen’s Hotel to the sea front.

  Twenty minutes’ driving brought Corridon onto the Fairlight Road. It took him over an hour to find the cottage, and then he came upon it more by luck than judgment.

  He had driven far along the cliff road, and was on the point of turning back when he caught sight of a light away to his right. He pulled up and turned off his headlamps. Getting out of the car, he set off across a field that led him through a spinney. He could hear the sound of the surf beating against the foot of the cliffs, and once through the spinney he came out onto the cliff head.

  He stood for a moment looking down at the moonlit sea. There was a thirty-foot motorboat moored to a breakwater immediately below him: a fast, trim craft of mahogany, steel, and glittering brass. Corridon smiled. Well, he hadn’t gone yet, he thought, turned, and made his way towards the light.

  Coming out from behind a row of poplar trees, he saw the squat cottage. A light burned in one of the downstairs rooms, and as he moved quietly forward, he saw a man’s shadow pass across the blind.

  Was it Mainworthy?

  His hand went inside his coat and came out holding an automatic. He advanced slowly, careful to make no sound. Remembering the precautions taken to guard Baintrees, he wondered if this little cottage was similarly protected, and decided against opening the garden gate and going up the path. Instead he moved round to the back, swung himself over a low brick wall and dropped into a neat, well-laid-out garden.

  He moved along the grass that divided two vegetable plots and led directly to the lighted window. He stood by the window, listening, but heard nothing, then he moved away, following the path that brought him to the back door.

  He turned the door knob gently, expecting the door to be locked, but it moved inwards at his touch, and he held it open a few inches to listen. Again he heard nothing. The moonlight fell directly through the opening of the door and lit up the small kitchen. He made sure there was nothing standing on the floor over which he might fall, then stepped inside and shut the door.

  In pitch darkness, he crept over to another door, opened it and looked into more darkness. His hand groped for the electric light switch and gently turned it down. The room was well furnished and appeared to be the dining-room. Opposite him was another door. Moving silently, his gun thrust forward, he crossed the room and listened outside the door. He heard movements in the room beyond: something dropped on the floor and a man cleared his throat.

  Corridon’s fingers closed round the door knob, turned it and eased the door open. He looked into a lighted room, lined with book-cases.

  Mainworthy, wearing a trench coat and slouch hat, was standing by a desk, his back turned to him.

  Silently Corridon pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

  “Don’t move,” he said quietly.

  A shudder ran through Mainworthy’s square-shouldered frame. Very slowly his head turned. He stared at Corridon, drawing in a quick, hissing breath.

  “Sorry to give you a fright,” Corridon said smoothly. He held the gun pointing at Mainworthy’s feet. “Sit down. It’s high time we had a talk.”

  Mainworthy didn’t move. He appeared to be trying to hide something on the desk with his body, and levelling the gun, Corridon moved forward, circling Mainworthy and watching him closely.

  Mainworthy’s hand covered something lying on the blotting pad.

  “Stand away and put up your hands,” Corridon ordered.

  Still Mainworthy didn’t move.

  “You’ve no right to break in like this,” he said through dry lips. His voice sounded like the rustle of leaves.

  “Don’t act the fool,” Corridon said curtly. “Homer’s given you away. Th
e future stops here for you. Stand away.”

  Mainworthy stared at him for a long moment, then his shoulders drooped and he took his hand from the blotter. A small heap of diamonds flashed and glittered in the light of the desk lamp.

  Corridon smiled.

  “Sit down,” he said. “We haven’t much time.”

  Mainworthy dropped into a chair. He rested his hands on the desk, a few inches from the diamonds.

  “They’re mine,” he said, still in the strange whisper. “I’m getting out. We could do a deal, Corridon.”

  “Could we?” Corridon said, pulling up a chair opposite Mainworthy. He sat down. “What sort of deal?”

  “There’s fifteen thousand pounds tied up in those stones,” Mainworthy said. “I’ll give you half. All I want is an hour’s start.”

  Corridon rested the gun on the desk so the barrel was in line with Mainworthy’s face. His left hand reached out and he pulled the blotter away from Mainworthy to his side of the desk.

  “I said your future stops here,” he said quietly. “The rest of them are under lock and key. You’re joining them.”

  “If you give me away, you won’t get the diamonds,” Mainworthy burst out, clenching his fists. “I’ll tell the police. I know you, Corridon. I know your tricks. You came here to fleece me. You’re not going to get away with it!”

  Corridon smiled.

  “Of course I’m taking the diamonds,” he said mildly, “and I shall get away with it. I’m taking the boat, too. And that’ll put you in a hopeless position. Without funds or the boat you’re sunk. The police are on their way here now. You may perhaps dodge them for tonight, but it won’t be very long before they catch you. Tell them about the diamonds by all means. It’ll be your word against mine. I’m not saying they won’t believe you, but believing a story and proving it are two very different things. By the time they have caught you, I shall be in France. They won’t find the diamonds, and until they do, they can’t act against me, so your deal isn’t a very sound one, is it?”

  Mainworthy didn’t say anything. He watched Corridon sweep the diamonds off the blotter into his cupped hand.

  “Still, I don’t want to be too hard on you,” Corridon went on. “If the police catch you, you’ll get twenty years, and I doubt if you’ll live that long. You’re not equipped to live behind bars, Mainworthy. You’re a little too soft.” He dropped the diamonds into his pocket and stood up. “I can offer you an alternative. Perhaps you’ve seen these little things before.” He rolled a white capsule across the desk towards Mainworthy. “Other undesirables have used them to save themselves years of misery. They have the great advantage of being instantaneous and painless. If you want to take that way out, you’re welcome, but you’ll have to be quick to make up your mind. They’ll be here in half an hour.” He began to back slowly to the door. “So long Mainworthy. You can’t grumble. You’ve had fun, now you’ve got to pay for it.”

  Mainworthy didn’t look at him. He sat staring at the capsule, his face drawn, his fingers twitching.

  Corridon went quickly out of the cottage, ran along the garden path, vaulted over the wall and went down the steep path to the sea.

  He found the motorboat ready for immediate departure. The electric starter brought the engine roaring into life. He cast off and headed out to sea, keeping the engine at full throttle so its noise could be heard by Mainworthy as he sat in the silent little cottage.

  When he was out of sight of land, he swung the tiller and brought the boat around in a wide circle, cutting down the engine to a gentle tick-over. He headed back to the breakwater, and half an hour later he drifted silently up to the mooring, tied up the boat and climbed the steep path to the cottage.

  The light still burned in the window. He walked up the garden path, paused at the front door, and lifting the knocker he hammered on the door.

  Nothing happened. He waited, then knocked again. Still nothing happened. Stepping away from the door he approached the lighted window and peered into the room.

  Mainworthy was standing by the desk. He was like a man turned to stone.

  Raising his voice, Corridon shouted, “Open up! This is the police!”

  As if mesmerized, Mainworthy’s hand reached out for the capsule lying on the desk. He picked it up and carried it to his mouth.

  Corridon watched him without pity. He saw him shudder, take two staggering steps forward, his hands outstretched and groping. Then he dropped to the floor, rolled over, his hands going to his throat.

  Corridon went round to the back door, gun in hand. Entering the front room, he turned Mainworthy’s body over with his foot, satisfied himself he was dead and stepped away. He looked at the desk. On the blotter was a sheet of paper. He read what Mainworthy had written, picked up the paper and slipped it into his pocket. He saw no reason why Rawlins should be told he had given Mainworthy the capsule and taken the diamonds.

  Then without looking at the lifeless body on the floor, he left the cottage, got into the car and headed back to London.

  IV

  Corridon was packing a bag, whistling cheerfully, when he heard a knock on his front door. He went down the stairs and looked with bland surprise at Rawlins’ scowling face.

  “You’re always turning up when you’re not wanted,” he said with his jeering smile. “Now what do you want?”

  “Whatever it is, I don’t suppose I’ll get it,” Rawlins said sourly. “Anyway, I’ll come in. I’ve something to say to you.”

  “You’ll have to buck up,” Corridon returned, leading the way upstairs. “I’m catching the boat train in about an hour.”

  “You hope,” Rawlins said. He stood with his back to the window, his brows drawn down, and his eyes annoyed.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Corridon asked as he continued to toss things into his bag. “Not your usual bright, sunny self. Liver out of order?”

  “We’ve found Mainworthy.”

  “Well, that’s something to rejoice about, isn’t it?”

  “He’s dead: cyanide.”

  “All the more reason for you to be happy. You won’t have to waste time in court.”

  “Homer said Mainworthy had fifteen thousand pounds on him,” Rawlins said heavily. “We can’t find it.”

  Corridon glanced round the room to see if he had left out anything.

  “Well, of course, you have only Homer’s word for it. He may be making it up,” he said as he crossed the room to collect a silver cigarette-box. “My regiment presented me with this when I left,” he went on. “I don’t know why unless they were pleased to see me go.”

  “Never mind your regiment,” Rawlins snapped. “I have reason to believe you went down to Fairlight last night and found Mainworthy.”

  “But whoever takes you seriously?” Corridon asked, slipping the cigarette-box into his bag. “You get the wildest ideas into that bullet head of yours.”

  Rawlins breathed heavily.

  “Did you go to Fairlight last night?”

  “Good Lord, no!”

  Rawlins sat down.

  “Mainworthy had a boat. He was packed to go. Then suddenly he changed his mind and committed suicide. Why?”

  “How do I know?” Corridon said. “Maybe he didn’t like French cooking. Maybe his conscience was worrying him or he thought it was time to talk things over with his ancestors. I wouldn’t know.”

  “If he suddenly lost his get-away money, he might decide suicide was the way out,” Rawlins said. “I think he did lose his money.”

  “Very careless of him,” Corridon said and locked the bag. “Well, if that’s all, old boy, perhaps you’ll buzz off. I’m in a hurry.”

  “Would you object to me searching your bag?” Rawlins asked. “I think you have the money on you.”

  “The ideas you get,” Corridon said and laughed. “Search it by all means, if you have a search warrant.”

  “I haven’t,” Rawlins said gloomily. “But at least you can show me a little co-operation.”

/>   “I’m right out of it this morning,” Corridon said cheerfully. “Besides, if I did happen to have the money, is it likely I’d have it with me, knowing you were certain to call? Give me credit for a little intelligence.”

  “So you have got it?” Rawlins said, getting to his feet.

  “I said if I had…” Corridon put on his overcoat and picked up his hat. “Never jump to conclusions. The trouble with you is you don’t trust anyone. It’s a pretty nervous failing. Well, I’m off.”

  “I’ll have a little party for you at the Custom’s shed,” Rawlins exploded angrily. “We’ll strip you to the skin!”

  “I took a bath this morning so I’ll have nothing to be ashamed of,” Corridon said, grinning. “So long. I don’t suppose you’ll see me for a year or two. Don’t get into mischief while I’m away.”

  Rawlins followed him down the stairs. As Corridon locked the front door, he said, “I’m giving up this hole. I feel it’s time I lived in better surroundings. When I come back I’ll set up like a gentleman. I hope to make a pot of money in Paris.”

  “You’re not there yet,” Rawlins growled. “I’m hoping to fix you up with free board and lodgings with bars at the windows.”

  “To hear you talk one would think you smoked opium,” Corridon said. “Go and buy yourself a nice cup of tea. You’re getting into a tizzy.”

  As Rawlins’ red face began to turn purple, Corridon patted him patronizingly on his shoulder and walked off, whistling a gay tune as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  Three members of the Special Branch were at the Custom’s shed when Corridon arrived at Newhaven. He greeted him with an expansive smile and submitted to an exhaustive search both of his luggage and his person.

  “I’m afraid poor old Rawlins is slipping,” he said, as he began to dress while the three detectives stood around and glowered at him. “He ought to retire. Look at the extra work he makes for you boys.”