No Business Of Mine Read online

  “Who was it then?”

  “Selma Jacobi, the wife of George Jacobi who was murdered by

  Jack Bradley,” I said.

  Netta sat up, glared across at me.

  “It’s a lie!” she screamed. “Jack didn’t kill him. It was Peter

  French.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no, it wasn’t,” I said gently. “Let’s go back a

  bit.” I slid off the table, began to pace up and down. Let’s go back to

  the time when the American soldiers were being repatriated. Before

  then, Bradley had been content to make a big profit by selling bad

  hooch and fleecing the boys in any other way he could think up. But

  when they began to leave, his profits shrank. He had to think up some

  other way of making money. Apart from running gaming-tables, he

  also decided to go in for large-scale robbery. George Jacobi was an

  expert in this line. Bradley hooked up with him, and the Allenby

  robbery was planned. About this time Netta was married to Bradley

  and Jacobi married Selma. Allenby’s place was near Lakeham, and

  Bradley killed two birds with one stone by buying the cottage at

  Lakeham. The robbery was organized from the cottage, and he also

  had a love nest for Netta and himself. Mrs. Brambee, Jacobi’s sister,

  undertook to run the cottage for them. The robbery was successful,

  and the next move was to find some way to sell the loot. The stuff was

  too hot; neither Bradley nor Jacobi had the nerve to put it on the

  market. They sat on it, hoping that it would cool off. While waiting,

  they quarrel ed over the split, and one night Bradley killed Jacobi in

  the Club, and dumped him in a Soho street.”

  “Is this guess-work or have you proof?” Corridan asked.

  “It’s guess-work,” I admitted, “but she’ll talk before long. They

  always do.”

  Corridan glanced at Netta, grunted. “Go on,” he said.

  “We’ll leave Jacobi’s death for a moment and talk about

  Littlejohns,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “It’s important because it

  decided me that Netta wasn’t the Netta I used to know, and that I

  couldn’t let her get away with murder. I liked Littlejohns. He had guts,

  and besides, he was working for me. I had told him all I knew about

  the case, and he had spotted something I missed. He realized that

  Selma Jacobi figured somewhere in the case, and that she could very

  well be the dead girl in Netta’s flat as well as the dead girl in the

  cottage at Lakeham. He hadn’t seen Selma, but I had seen the dead

  girl. He wanted to surprise me, poor little guy. He found out where

  Selma used to live and went there in the hope of finding a photograph

  of her. He had planned to present me with the photograph, and when

  I had identified it as the dead girl, he was going to spring his surprise.

  He found the photograph. A scrap of it remained in his fingers when I

  found him. But Netta caught him. She realized that he was on to her,

  and to save her skin, she killed him. That’s something I can’t forgive,

  so I trapped her into thinking I was going to get her out of the

  country, knowing she’d try to smuggle Allenby’s loot out with her.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how you knew she had the loot,”

  Corridan said, frowning. “You say this Peter French killed Selma

  Jacobi?”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t say that. Netta told me Peter

  French killed Selma. But that’s a lie. Peter French knows nothing

  about this business at all. He was a stooge, put up to lead me away

  from the real killer.”

  Netta got slowly to her feet, her face ghastly. Corridan took a step

  forward.

  “Then who killed Selma Jacobi?” he demanded.

  “The same person who killed Madge Kennitt,” I said, moving

  across to the kitchen door. “Let me introduce you.” I jerked open the

  door, stood aside. “Come on out,” I said. “You’ve been in there long

  enough.”

  Detective-Inspector O’Malley and three plain-clothes dicks moved

  into the room. They looked at me, at Corridan, at Netta.

  “That’s the guy who killed Selma Jacobi and Madge Kennitt,” I

  said, jerking my thumb at Corridan.

  Chapter XXV

  “I EXPECT you to exercise tact and control with Harry Bix,” I told

  Crystal as I piloted her across the Savoy lobby to where Fred Ullman

  and Bix were examining the latest novels on the bookstall. “He’s the

  kind of wolf who knows al the ankles. Don’t encourage him, and if

  you don’t stray away from me you should be safe enough.”

  Crystal said, “Shouldn’t you have brought your poke bonnet and

  tambourine? Who wants to be safe, anyway?”

  By this time Harry Bix had seen us, and nudging Ullman, he

  fingered his tie, giving us a loud hello.

  “Well, well,” he said, advancing to meet us. “Bluebeard does it

  again. How you collect these juicy dames beats me. You must have a

  fatal attraction or something.”

  I sighed. “Crystal, this is Harry Bix. Don’t trust him. Even the wool

  he’ll try to pull over your eyes is half cotton. Harry, this is Miss

  Godwin. I’ll trouble you to keep your hands in your pockets while you

  talk to her, and just to keep the record straight, she is my property.

  The gentleman with the bags under his eyes, lurking in the

  background, is Fred Ullman. Fred, Miss Godwin.”

  Ullman said how do you do, looked a little bored, but Bix elbowed

  him farther into the background, beamed at Crystal.

  “This is the most exciting moment in my life,” he said, taking her

  hand. “You’re not real y his property, are you? A dish as lovely as you

  wouldn’t waste herself on a half-dead numskull like him, surely?”

  I unfastened their hands, took Crystal firmly by her elbow.

  “Paws off,” I said. “This is the one blonde I intend to keep for

  myself. Away to your own hunting-ground.” I convoyed Crystal across

  the lobby into the grill-room. “Come on, let’s eat,” I continued. “And,

  Fred, keep that woman-snatcher out of range.”

  “Why you fellows make such a fuss about women defeats me,”

  Ullman said sourily. “All my life I’ve kept away from women, and look

  at me.”

  “You look; I’ve seen you,” Crystal said tartly.

  When we had all settled down at a corner table and had ordered a

  meal, Harry Bix said, “We are gathered together here to-night, not to

  be fed from any charitable reasons, but because Arsene Lupin here,”

  he waved in my direction, “wishes to shoot off his mouth on the

  subject of his own cleverness, and has naturally to bribe us to listen.”

  Crystal tugged at my sleeve, asked me in a whisper why Bix called

  me Arsene Lupin, and wasn’t Lupin French for rabbit?

  I whispered back that the French for rabbit was lapin, and that

  Arsene Lupin was one of the world’s greatest detectives.

  She then wanted to know what that had to do with me.

  “Shush, woman,” I said, annoyed. “You’re showing your

  ignorance.”

  “As a newspaper man I have to make sacrifices,” Ullman said

  wearily. “I am prepared to eat his food and to suffer the sound of
his

  voice so long as he’ll explain in detail the story behind Corridan’s

  arrest. That is something the great British public wish to know, and it’s

  my painful duty to tell them.”

  “Not in detail,” Bix pleaded. “There’re so many more interesting

  things to do than to listen to details,” and he leered suggestively at

  Crystal, who leered back.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. “That blonde is my property,” I

  reminded him. “If it wasn’t in such an inaccessible spot I’d show you

  where I’ve branded her with my personal seal, so paws off and I’ll

  trouble you to keep your dirty looks to yourself.”

  Crystal said she liked his dirty looks, and could she have a few

  more please?

  “Can’t you control these two?” Ullman demanded. “I want the

  story if they don’t. Why you bring a blonde to a meeting like this beats

  me. Blondes are a menace to society.”

  “That’s not very polite,” Crystal said, a little hurt.

  Ullman eyed her coldly. “The only woman I’ve ever been polite to

  was my mother,” he told her.

  Crystal said she was surprised to hear he ever had a mother, and

  did the old lady die of a broken heart?

  “Quiet,” I said hurriedly as Ul man began to grow hot.

  Bix said would it be an idea if Crystal and he went for a walk along

  the hotel corridor while Ullman and I bored each other to death?

  “Will you please pipe down,” I growled, thumping the table.

  “Well, come on,” Ullman said impatiently. “You’ve run me ragged

  these last days digging up information. How did you get on to

  Corridan?”

  “Suppose I tell you the set-up from the beginning?” I suggested.

  “Then even Crystal, dumb as she is, will be able to follow. Ouch!”

  I massaged my shin, told Crystal to behave herself, hurried on

  before there were more interruptions.

  “As you know, Jack Bradley, to recoup his losses, installed two

  roulette tables in the Club,” I began. “There’s no future in that kind of

  racket unless you have adequate protection. Bradley was smart

  enough to realize that, and he looked around for a likely bird in the

  police force who’d give him this protection.”

  “And he picked on Corridan?” Ullman said.

  “Don’t interrupt,” Crystal reproved him. “My father says that

  people who interrupt . . .”

  “Never mind your father now,” I broke in hastily. “Just pipe down,

  honey, and let me do the talking.” I looked over at Bix. “And that’s my

  knee you’re fondling under the table just in case you thought it was

  Crystal’s.”

  Bix snatched his hand away, had the grace to blush. He looked at

  Crystal reproachful y. She giggled.

  “Yes, he picked on Corridan,” I went on as Ullman began to scowl

  again. “Corridan was, at that time, a rising star at the Yard, and was

  handling the club rackets. Bradley offered him a big cut of his profits if

  he’d tip him when a raid was likely to be made. It was easy money;

  Corridan fell for it. Then George Jacobi appeared on the scene . . . .”

  “How much better this’d be if it was illustrated with lantern

  slides,” Bix said regretfully. “Imagine a slide depicting the arrival of

  George Jacobi in a snowstorm. How gripping that’d be.”

  “Especially if the slide was upside-down,” Crystal said, giggling

  over the hors d’oeuvre.

  “I’ll turn you upside-down and . . .” I snarled.

  “Never mind these cretins,” Ullman said. “Go on, for God’s sake.”

  “Jacobi was an expert jewel thief and was planning to steal

  Allenby’s anti-invasion nest-egg, worth fifty thousand pounds,” I said,

  scowling at Crystal, who made faces at me. “But Jacobi knew he

  couldn’t handle a job as big as that on his own. . . .”

  “The weak sister!” Bix said in disgust. “If it’d been half that

  amount I’d’ve done it.”

  “So would I,” Crystal chimed in. “I’d’ve done it for a quarter the

  amount.”

  “And he suggested Bradley should come in on it with him,” I went

  on, ignoring the interruption. “Bradley thought it’d be an idea to get

  the police on his side, and he put the proposition to Corridan, offering

  him a third of the spoils if he acted as inside man after the robbery,

  steering suspicion from Jacobi.”

  “That was smart,” Ullman said approvingly. “I suppose you got all

  this from Netta?”

  “Yeah. She talked. Boy! How she talked. Well, Corridan was after

  as much money as he could get his claws on, so he agreed to play.

  Netta now comes on the scene. Nine months ago, she and Bradley

  married. Bradley couldn’t get her any other way, but he kept the

  marriage quiet. This arrangement suited Netta as she could continue

  to live on her own supported by Bradley, and if Bradley ever got tired

  of her she would be taken care of in the divorce settlement. Bradley

  bought the cottage at Lakeham for his robbery headquarters and as a

  love nest for Netta and himself.

  “The gang consisted of Bradley, Mrs. Brambee, Jacobi, Julius Cole

  and Corridan. The robbery was successful, but Bradley and Jacobi

  quarrelled over the split. Bradley killed Jacobi. Netta was present at

  the shooting.”

  “This is improving,” Bix said, brightening. “Don’t rush over the

  gory details.”

  “Jacobi was killed with a Luger pistol which Bradley had brought

  back as a souvenir of the First World War. His name was engraved on

  the pistol butt, and although the name had been erased, Bradley

  knew the police would be able to read it under ultra-violet rays. If the

  gun was ever found, he’d swing for the killing. Netta was by now tired

  of Bradley and had fallen for Corridan. She took the Luger while

  Bradley was dumping Jacobi’s body in a Soho street, and decided to

  make capital out of it.”

  “What some women will do for money,” Crystal exclaimed,

  shocked. “Why is it I never have a chance to show how unscrupulous I

  could be?”

  “Netta was scared to approach Bradley direct,” I went on, “so she

  suggested to Corridan that he should blackmail Bradley, and the two

  of them share the proceeds. Corridan agreed, but he wanted the gun.

  He was using Netta for his own profit, and he didn’t trust her. Netta

  wouldn’t let him have the gun. It was her security in case Corridan

  tried to gyp her.”

  “I’d trust you with everything of mine, precious,” Crystal said,

  fondling my hand.

  “I’ll have that down in black and white when there’s a spare

  moment,” I said, patting her. “But keep quiet and let me get on. Eat

  up your nice chicken, and don’t spill any down your pretty dress.”

  “When you two have stopped drooling over each other,” Ullman

  said in disgust, “you might get on.”

  “Corridan put the screws on Bradley, who paid up,” I continued..

  “As Corridan didn’t dare show his face at the Club in case he was seen,

  and as Netta wasn’t supposed to be in this blackmailing racket, Mrs.

  Brambee was detailed to
collect the money each week.

  “Well, that was the set-up until Selma Jacobi discovered that

  Bradley killed her husband. Cole told her this because he wanted to

  get even for not receiving a cut from the money Corridan was getting

  from Bradley. But Cole didn’t tell Selma that Corridan was hooked up

  with Bradley. He was scared of Corridan. Selma went to Corridan,

  knowing he was in charge of the Jacobi investigation, and told him

  what Cole had told her. Imagine Corridan’s feelings. If he took action,

  he’d dry up his own source of income, and Bradley would squeal on

  him. If he didn’t, then Selma would go to a higher authority at the

  Yard, and he’d get caught that way. His only way out was to get rid of

  Selma. He took her along to Netta’s flat, drugged her, and between

  the two of them they set the stage for suicide.”

  By this time we had reached the coffee stage of the meal.

  “For the love of Mike let’s have some whisky with this,” Bix

  implored. “Listening to you gives me a thirst.”

  I ordered whiskies, and a brandy for Crystal.

  “Before Selma was murdered,” I went on, after the drinks had

  arrived, “Bradley had found out that Netta and Corridan were lovers.

  Bradley told Netta he had given orders to Frankie to lay for her and

  splash her with vitriol. Whether this was Bradley’s idea of getting

  even, or whether Frankie was really going to do it, I don’t know. Netta

  swears he would have done it, and knowing Frankie I think it’s likely.

  Anyway, Netta was terrified and she decided it’d be safer to drop out

  of sight. Selma’s body offered the opportunity. Corridan agreed to

  help, and they dyed Selma’s hair the same shade as Netta’s, bribed

  Cole to identify her as Netta, passed the news on to Bradley that

  Netta had killed herself. Do you follow all that up to now?” I asked,

  looking around.

  “Keep going,” Bix sighed. “My brain’s numbed, but the sound of

  your voice has a soothing effect on it.”

  “Now I turn up,” I continued. “Bradley was going to the mortuary

  to identify the body, so was I. Corridan had to work fast. He arranged

  for one of his men to move the body from the mortuary to the

  cottage at Lakeham. This was for my benefit as I had found the

  envelope addressed to Anne Scott, and had jumped to the conclusion

  that Anne was Netta’s sister. I was allowed a glimpse of the body,