Why Pick On ME? Read online

  Before the door closed, Corridon had a glimpse of another office, considerably larger than the one he was in.

  He rested his hips on the desk while he lit a cigarette. There was a faraway look in his eyes, and his ears were cocked, but he didn’t hear anything.

  Five minutes dragged by, then the door jerked open and Brett came out.

  “You can go in,” he said, waving towards the open door, and went out of the office.

  Corridon pushed himself off the desk and entered the inner room. It was luxuriously furnished, and a bright fire burned in the fireplace. There was a desk by the double windows, and behind the desk sat George Mainworthy.

  He hadn’t changed much since Corridon had last seen him. He was a little older perhaps, and stouter, and his dark, swept-back hair was growing thin at the temples. He was, Corridon guessed, in his early fifties. A man with a faded military appearance, a heavily dyed moustache and a slack weak mouth.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked, without moving. His small eyes were suspicious and watchful, his voice hushed like a sidesman whistling in church.

  “Why, yes,” Corridon said, plainly at ease. He shut the door and crossed the room. “I wanted to join this club.”

  “Then you don’t want to see me,” Mainworthy said, and reached across the desk to a bell push. “Brett looks after that side of the business.”

  “Don’t ring,” Corridon said, sitting down. “I’d rather deal with you. It’s not quite straightforward. I understand there are formalities, and a fifty guinea entrance fee. I haven’t fifty guineas, Major, but I still intend to join the club.”

  Mainworthy slowly withdrew his hand. He stared down at the snowy blotter.

  “Indeed? And you know someone who will put you up?”

  “There’s you,” Corridon said cheerfully, “and I dare say if I could find Ernie he would put in a good word for me. Remember him, Major? The last time I saw you with him was about four years ago. He tried to knife you.”

  Mainworthy sat very still, his face expressionless.

  “So it’s like that,” he said, and his voice was bitter. “I’ve heard about you, of course. You have a reputation for being dangerous and unscrupulous, haven’t you?”

  “I’m afraid I have,” Corridon said lightly, “but don’t rub it in. I’m not proud of it.”

  “Why do you want to join this club?”

  Corridon stubbed out his cigarette, reached for another from the gold box on Mainworthy’s desk.

  “Surely that is obvious. My contacts in my own territory no longer seem willing to trust me, and it is affecting my pocket. Here, the idle rich – what is left of them – spend their leisure. It would be an excellent hunting ground for me. You can see that, can’t you?”

  “So you intend to fleece my clientele?” Mainworthy said, drumming on the blotter with short, well-manicured fingers. “And you expect me to agree?”

  “It wouldn’t be wise not to agree,” Corridon said, with his jeering smile. “Let’s be frank with each other. Ernie was very talkative. At the time he was angry with you, and he told me a number of interesting facts about you. No one wants a scandal, and there could be a scandal, Major. Even these oddities who support your club would drop you like a hot potato if they knew about Ernie, and why you resigned so hurriedly from the Guards.”

  With a hand that shook a little, Mainworthy took a cigarette from the box, and lit it. He stared at the gold lighter he held in his hand, a sick look on his face.

  “So it’s blackmail. I should have known it.”

  “Why, yes. We agreed I was unscrupulous, didn’t we?”

  “And if I make you a member?”

  “Naturally I shall forget Ernie. Come now, Major, I see we understand each other. Don’t let’s waste any more time. You are quite safe in my hands. You can see, surely, I’m not likely to rat on you and spoil my own hunting ground.”

  “I can see that.” Mainworthy made an effort to control his suppressed rage. He jerked open a drawer, took out a card and wrote hurriedly on it. “There,” he said, tossing the card across the desk. “But I warn you, Corridon, if any member complains of your behaviour, the matter automatically passes out of my hands. We have a committee who dulls with complaints, and they’ll throw you out like a shot.”

  Corridon laughed.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t get any complaints. My technique is foolproof.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Mainworthy said.

  As he spoke, the door opened and a girl came in. Corridon turned to look at her.

  She stood in the doorway, making an attractive picture in her white evening dress. She was small and dark and slight. Her glossy hair fell to her shoulders, framing a narrow, lovely little face, brought alive by dark, glittering eyes.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, pausing. “I thought you were alone.”

  “Come in, Miss Feydak,” Mainworthy said, rising to his feet. “I’m free now. Is there something I can do for you?”

  The girl looked quickly at Corridon. He knew by the expression that came into her eyes he interested her.

  He stood up as she smiled at him.

  With a sudden quickening of his pulse he managed to give only the briefest glance at the white jade archer’s thumb ring that held the tulle at her throat in a neat little knot.

  II

  “There is nothing else, is there?” Mainworthy said looking pointedly at Corridon. “If you want to know about the rules of the club, Brett will help you.”

  “Thank you,” Corridon said, and picked up the card. As he slipped it into his pocket, he again looked at the girl. In the past he had had a lot of experience with women. He knew she was drawn to him, that he had for her a strong physical attraction.

  “Are you a new member?” she asked, smiling up at him. She had a slight foreign accent, and he guessed she was Austrian.

  “Just this moment joined,” he said. “Do you think I shall regret it?”

  “Oh no, it is a good club,” she said. “You will find the members very friendly.” She glanced at Mainworthy expectantly. Corridon thought it was very neatly done.

  Against his will, Mainworthy said coldly, “Mr. Martin Corridon – Miss Lorene Feydak.”

  “How do you do?” Corridon had to make a conscious effort not to look at the jade ring at her throat. “Are you included among the friendly members?”

  “I think so – why do you ask?”

  “I was hoping you might take compassion on me and show me round. But of course, you will be with someone?”

  She laughed.

  “I’ll be delighted to show you round. I am waiting for my brother. He is never punctual…”

  “Excuse me, Miss Feydak, did you want to see me?” Mainworthy broke in curtly.

  “I’m sorry. Yes, I wanted to cash a cheque.” She opened her bag and took out a folded slip of paper.

  “I will wait for you in the other room,” Corridon said, and moved to the door. As he opened the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Mainworthy was staring after him. The girl had her back turned to him. He closed one eye in a heavy, jocular wink and went into the outer office.

  The girl joined him a minute or so later.

  “Shall we have a drink?” she asked.

  “Just what I was going to suggest.” He opened the outer office door and stood aside. She moved into the bar. He noticed how lightly and supply she walked: like a professional mannequin. Perhaps that was what she was, he thought.

  He asked her as she sat down at a low, round table in an isolated corner.

  “You walk so well, I wondered,” he said, excusing his question.

  The compliment pleased her.

  “I have done a little modelling, but I am too small to be taken seriously,” she told him, and went on to explain that she had been a dress designer in Vienna.

  Corridon nodded. So many people had changed their countries and professions since the war.

  “I guessed you were Austrian,” he said. “A r
efugee, of course?”

  She was a refugee because of her brother, she told him. He had been mixed up in politics and had been fortunate to escape from Vienna. He had been sentenced to death in his absence. Both of them were now naturalized, and intended to make England their permanent home.

  While she was talking, the barman came over and Corridon ordered champagne.

  “I am in a mood to celebrate,” he explained when he saw the surprised look on her face. “A beautiful woman and a good wine are the complements to each other. Are you happy in England?”

  Yes, she was happy, but her brother missed Vienna.

  “And what do you do?” Corridon asked.

  “I design clothes for Dumas in Bond Street, and my brother is a director of Better Travel, the travel agency in Mayfair Street.”

  The barman returned with the champagne in an ice bucket. Corridon examined both the cork and the label before tasting the wine. It was very good, and he paid the enormous price without a pang.

  He believed in setting the stage. That he should have had the fantastic luck to meet one of the organization so soon, put him in the mood to celebrate. But he was aware that this meeting could be too much of a coincidence, and he decided to move warily. Ritchie had warned him about these people. They may have been watching Milly’s flat and seen him with Rawlins. They may have followed him to the War Office. This apparent chance-meeting might easily be a trap.

  “As we seem in the mood for confidences,” Lorene said, as she watched Corridon pour the wine, “tell me what you do.”

  “I am a soldier of fortune,” Corridon said.

  “And what does that mean?”

  “A soldier of fortune is a man who hires himself out for profit, adventure, and pleasure,” Corridon said with a smile.

  “But surely there is little scope for such a profession?”

  “There’s not a great deal of scope, but I manage to keep myself fairly busy. When I work, I make enough money to see me over the quiet periods. I’m having a quiet period now, so I buy champagne and talk to you. What could be more pleasant. Salud!”

  They drank.

  “But I won’t be able to stay long,” she said regretfully. “I am expecting my brother. It is his birthday, and I promised to have dinner with him.”

  “That’s quite touching,” Corridon said, leaning back in his chair and examining her smooth, creamy skin that made him think of the lustre of pearls. “It is not usual to hear of a brother and sister keeping a date together. Hasn’t your brother any girl friends?”

  “No.” She made a little grimace. “He is very serious and has no time for girls. When he wishes to go out, he invites me.”

  “And you are not so serious, and have lots of men friends, and find your brother a little tiresome, although you are very fond of him?”

  “That’s it exactly,” she said, laughing. “I can see you are a judge of character.”

  “Perhaps I am, but I must warn you I’m not used to entertaining women. There was a time when I had good manners, and, so women have told me, a certain amount of charm. The war changed all that. Life is too short; so much time can be wasted in being subtle. If a woman attracts me, I told her so, then if she reacts badly, I am free to find someone else.” He locked directly into the dark, sparkling eyes. “You attract me enormously.”

  “Should I feel flattered?” she asked, and laughed.

  He brushed this aside.

  “Can’t you get rid of your brother?”

  “But that’s quite impossible. It’s his birthday.”

  “Yes, that is reasonable,” Corridon said, frowning. “Then I shall have to wait. A pity, of course. You might not be in the mood when next we meet. Women are moody creatures.”

  “And you think I am in the mood now?”

  “I am sure of it.”

  “Perhaps it is a pity,” she said smiling.

  “When do we meet?”

  “Sunday?

  “Not before?”

  “Can’t you wait three days, Mr. Corridon?”

  “Call, me Martin. If we are going to be immoral, let us begin by being informal.”

  “You say the most terrible things.”

  “I know. Then we meet on Sunday. Where and what time?”

  “I have a flat in Bayswater Crescent, No. 29, on the top floor. Come and see me at seven.”

  “And you will be alone?”

  “You are determined not to be subtle, aren’t you?”

  “I live by my rules. You will be alone?”

  She smiled.

  “If I am in the mood.”

  Corridon nodded.

  “That’s the right answer. There should always be an element of doubt in such matters.”

  While he filled their glasses, she said, “We seem to have some a long way since we first met, don’t we? Do you usually rush your fences so successfully?”

  “It needs co-operation,” Corridon said, giving her his quick, jeering smile. He leaned forward and peered at the white ring at her throat. “That is a curious thing. From here it looks like an archer’s thumb ring from China.”

  His cold sea-green eyes looked directly into hers, searching for any reaction, but there was none.

  “How clever of you! That’s exactly what it is. How did you know?”

  “In my moments of leisure I haunt the British Museum,” he told her, a little disappointed she gave no sign the ring was of importance. “It’s an excellent place to increase one’s store of general knowledge. You will find several of these rings in the Museum. Is this genuine? May I see it?”

  “Why, yes.” She undid the tulle at her throat and pulled off the ring. “It’s been in my family for generations.”

  As she made to give it to him, a hand came from behind her shoulder and took it.

  They both turned sharply.

  “Why, Slade, dear,” she said, frowning. “You startled me.” She turned to Corridon. “This is my brother; Slade,” she went on, laying her hand on the arm of the man who had come so silently upon them. “Slade, this is Martin Corridon. He has just joined the club. He tells me he is a soldier of fortune.”

  III

  Slade Feydak was a masculine edition of his sister. He was slightly built, dark, thin featured with the same dark eyes. His wide thin-lipped mouth was inclined to droop at the corners, giving him a disillusioned expression that marred an otherwise pleasant face. He had a broad, high forehead and his eyes were set wide apart: a studious, intelligent face, Corridon thought, a face of a plotter, perhaps, and certainly a fanatic.

  “A soldier of fortune,” he said, looking curiously at Corridon, “that’s interesting. May I join you?”

  While he was speaking, he slipped the jade ring into his waistcoat pocket.

  “Certainly,” Corridon said. “Have some champagne?” He signed to the barman to bring another glass. “Lorene was telling me it is your birthday.”

  Feydak nodded.

  “What does a soldier of fortune mean?” he asked, sitting down between Corridon and Lorene.

  “I’m in the market for any job that pays well,” Corridon said. “I have managed to acquire a reputation in certain circles, and quite a number of jobs fall into my lap.”

  “A reputation for what, Mr. Corridon?” Feydak asked as Corridon filled his glass.

  “For not being too particular,” Corridon returned, and grinned.

  “I see. That’s interesting. You will excuse me if I seem curious. May I ask how you acquired this reputation?”

  “Don’t be so inquisitive,” Lorene put in, frowning. It was obvious to Corridon she didn’t welcome her brother’s interest. “Really, Slade, you’ve scarcely met Mr. Corridon. Do you have to cross-examine him like this?”

  Corridon laughed.

  “Don’t worry about that. I don’t mind a scrap. It pays sometimes to advertise.”

  Feydak made a little, impatient movement, signalling Lorene not to interrupt.

  “Then tell me, Mr. Corridon. I shall be fran
k and say I am inquisitive.”

  “People have the impression I like taking risks, that I am not fussy about ethics, that I will twist the Government if I have the opportunity,” Corridon said. “In a way they are right. I am a man with a grudge against authority, and I make no bones about it.”

  “Would it be tactless to ask why you have a grudge?” Feydak asked, smiling. “You see. I am still inquisitive.”

  Corridon said. “It’s quite a well-known tale, but perhaps your sister is getting bored.”

  “She is as interested as I am,” Feydak said before Lorene could speak. “Please go on,” and once again he made the little movement with his hand to Lorene.

  “I was one of the in-and-out boys during the war,” Corridon said. “My job was to go into Germany and find an agent, a traitor or someone who was helping the enemy in a specialized way and kill him. My people selected the victim. I hunted him out and stopped his activities.”

  “That must have been terribly dangerous,” Feydak said, his eyes glittering. “Were you caught?”

  “I was in the hands of the Gestapo for a while, but I was lucky to escape.” Corridon lit a cigarette, went on: “Without bragging, I think I can say I served my country pretty well. When the war finished I was posted to London as an agent. I was sent on a difficult mission. I had to steal papers from a certain Embassy. While I was opening the safe I was surprised by one of the secretaries who happened to be working late. I had to act quickly. He was about to raise the alarm. I killed him. I got the papers and took them to headquarters. The police tracked me to the door and grabbed me as I came out. My people in the true tradition disowned me, and I had to fend for myself. I very nearly went to the scaffold. Since then, I have been shunned by authority and I’m inclined to be revengeful. I feel anything I can do to even up matters is justifiable. I don’t make any excuses. That’s the way I happen to feel.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Feydak said. “Actually something like that happened to me. I was forced to leave my country. I can sympathize with you.” He took out his wallet and produced a card. “This is my business address. Perhaps you would care to call on me? I believe it is possible we might be useful to each other.”