The Paw in The Bottle Read online

  When she returned, Blanche was lying back on her pillows, her lovely arms above her head : a picture of irresistible seductiveness.

  “What that little doll doesn’t know about make-up,” Julie thought enviously, as she stared at this miraculous transformation from a white-faced little drab to this frail, beautiful creature that now posed before her.

  “Let him come in now,” Blanche said in a waspish voice, “and stop gaping at me.”

  Julie found Benton in the lounge. He was smoking and pacing up and down, an irritable, bored expression on his thin face.

  “Is she ready?” he asked crossly as Julie came in. “You’ve been long enough.”

  “Will you come this way, please?” Julie said, and walking in front of him she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was able to see through her clothes. As she paused outside Blanche’s door, his hand touched her thigh : like a spider running down her flesh, and with a shiver she jerked round.

  He reluctantly withdrew his hand, stared at her in his pale way, stepped past her and wandered into Blanche’s room.

  “Ah, Blanche,” he said in his thin voice. “How lovely you look, and so early, too.” He pushed the door to, but not shut and Julie, her flesh still creeping, heard him say : “I have news. Howard won’t be back until Monday. He cabled.”

  “You opportunist,” Blanche exclaimed, and laughed.

  “Well, why not?” Benton drawled. “Shall we go? I could get away this afternoon. We could have the whole week-end together.”

  “Hadn’t you better close the door, darling?” Blanche asked archly. “You don’t have to shout our misdeeds all over the flat.”

  Julie moved quickly away. “Ugh! What a pair,” she thought. “They’re welcome to each other. Did this really mean that Blanche was going away this time for a whole weekend?” She thought immediately of Harry and her heart began to thump with excitement. Would he be hack from Manchester by to-morrow? It was no good making plans just yet. Blanche might not go. Harry might still be in Manchester, and she might easily be again stuck in this vast flat all by herself, and this time for a long, lonely week-end.

  Later, Benton came out of Blanche’s room. Julie, who was in the kitchen, heard him walk down the passage, pause, and then retrace his steps. He came into the kitchen, closed the door gently.

  Julie set her back against the table and faced him.

  “Is there anything you want?” she asked coldly.

  “Want?” he repeated, raised his pale eyebrows. “Yes . . . there was something. I wanted to speak to you.”

  She waited, hostile and nervous.

  Watching her closely, he took out his wallet, dipped into it with finicky fingers and drew out a five-pound note.

  “Yes,” he said, folding the note into a fine spill, “there was something.” He tapped the spill on his knuckles and grimaced at her. “You are Mrs. Wesley’s personal maid. You may hear and see things that are no concern of yours. A personal maid doesn’t tell tales. Do you understand?”

  Julie flushed scarlet.

  “I don’t need to be told that by you or anyone else!” she blurted out furiously.

  Again the pale eyebrows went up.

  “Please don’t be angry. Mrs Wesley can be very difficult. It’s seldom she keeps a maid longer than a week or so. I find it embarrassing. It is time, I feel, that I should establish a business association with her maid—with you. Do you follow what I am driving at?” He handed the five-pound note to her.

  For a moment Julie hesitated. She was in the game for what she could get out of it, wasn’t she? If this pale creature wanted to bribe her, why not take it? Five pounds! Perhaps he would give her more later. But she had to steel herself to meet the amber-coloured eyes when she said, “I think so.”

  “Ah. I thought I hadn’t misjudged you. You see, there are certain things I shouldn’t like Mr. Wesley to know about.” The grimace became strained. “He is blind, and blind people are very sensitive—and suspicious. I wouldn’t like to hurt his feelings.”

  “I understand,” Julie said, and felt a little sick.

  “So long as you see and hear nothing that goes on in this flat we’ll get along well together,” Benton continued. “For instance, I haven’t been here this morning. Do you understand?”

  Julie nodded.

  “And I think we’d better keep this little arrangement to ourselves. Mrs. Wesley mightn’t like it.”

  Again Julie nodded.

  “Splendid.” He stood over her, very tall, smelling of lavender water and cigars. He slipped the note into her hand and patted her arm. It was more of a caress than a pat and his touch made Julie shiver. She tried to draw back, but she was already pressed against the table and he hemmed her in. For a horrible moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. He moved away, showed his teeth as he opened the door. “There’s more where that came from, Julie. See nothing; hear nothing. It’s simple, isn’t it?” He went out and as he closed the door Blanche’s bell rang.

  When Julie entered Blanche’s room she noticed immediately that the cupboard that had been hidden by the quilted wall stood open. Inside the steel-lined recess, lit by two powerful electric lights, were several fur coats, hanging in a row. Julie, who loved fur and had spent many hours staring enviously at the fur displays in the West End, longing to own a fur herself, recognized them. There was a chinchilla, a mink, a beaver, a sable, a white fox and an ermine. The other side of the cupboard was given up to a steel chest of drawers in which Julie guessed Blanche kept her jewellery.

  Blanche was sitting at her dressing-table, rolling on gossamer-like stockings. She glanced up, saw Julie’s staring eyes, followed their direction and smiled.

  “That’s something every burglar in London is talking about,” she said, with an arrogant movement of her head. “No one could ever break in there, Julie. It’s the most perfect foolproof safe ever invented. My husband designed it. I believe as many as six burglars—or is it eight?—I can’t remember, but a number of them have tried to break into that safe. We’ve caught every one of them. They don’t try any more. They know it’s hopeless. Anyone tampering with it in any way causes a bell to ring in the Kensington police station and along comes the Flying Squad in two minutes.”

  “So this is what Harry is interested in,” Julie thought. “What a lesson it’d be for this little beast if she does lose her furs.”

  Blanche was saying, “Only Mr. Wesley and myself know the combination and where the locks are concealed.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you, madam?” Julie said, deliberately changing the subject. She didn’t want Blanche to think she was in any way interested in the safe.

  “I’m going away for the week-end. Mr. Wesley won’t be back until Monday. I want you to pack. Here’s a list of things I’ll take with me. I’ve jotted them down for you.”

  Expecting a repetition of her last packing experience, Julie took the list and began to lay out the clothes Blanche had chosen. Even when she had packed and Blanche showed no inclination to have the suitcases unpacked, she still waited for Blanche to begin her baiting, but she didn’t. She seemed occupied with her thoughts and, as she dressed, she hummed under her breath and seemed scarcely aware that Julie was in the room.

  Suddenly she said : “What will you do over the week-end, Julie?”

  “I—I don’t know, madam,” Julie returned, not expecting this.

  “Well, you mustn’t be idle. You’ll find plenty of sewing to do and you’d better clean the silver. Do make yourself useful and don’t let me have to tell you what to do. There are the flowers, and my shoes want attention and—oh, there’s plenty to do if you look around.”

  “Yes, madam,” Julie said.

  “You can go out on Sunday, but I don’t want this flat left empty at night. You understand that? And for goodness’ sake don’t bring any strange men in here. I know what you girls are like. The porter knows you are here alone and he’ll keep an eye on you.”

  Julie, f
lushed and furious, turned away.

  “Now don’t get into a pet,” Blanche said, frowning. “I’m not saying you’d do it, but I want you to know it’s something I just won’t have. Come here, Julie.”

  Julie went up to her, her face sullen and rebellious.

  “What a pretty figure you have, and what lovely skin.” Blanche’s fingers, like dry little sticks, touched Julie’s cheek and Julie, shuddering, started back. “You mustn’t be afraid of me,” Blanche said, her eyes lighting up. “You’re not, are you?”

  “No madam,” Julie said uneasily.

  “That’s right,” Blanche laughed. “It’s so silly, but some people do seem afraid of me. I try to be kind to everyone. Of course, I do play practical jokes, but that’s only my fun.” She was now watching Julie closely. “Did the old man in the cupboard frighten you?”

  “Not very much,” Julie said indifferently.

  “Didn’t he?” The forget-me-not blue eyes hardened. The other maid had hysterics. It was too funny. And the snake? Didn’t that startle you ——” She laughed gleefully. “The snake’s my favourite joke. My husband loathes it. I put it in his bed sometimes.”

  Julie turned away. She didn’t want Blanche to see the hatred she felt for her, nor the longing she was sure showed plainly in her face to lay hands on her and shake her.

  “Do you like furs, Julie?” Blanche asked abruptly as she put the finishing touches to her make-up.

  “You’re not going to catch me with that trick again,” Julie thought, said, “Yes, madam, I suppose I do.”

  “Well, look at mine. Touch them, Julie. I want you to like them.”

  Julie didn’t move.

  “Thank you, madam, but I’m not interested in other people’s furs.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Blanche said with a gay laugh. “Look at them. There’s no woman alive who wouldn’t give her eyes to possess them. That mink cost five thousand and the white Arctic fox . . . I wouldn’t like to tell you what that cost. Go in and look at them.”

  Julie drew near the safe, tried to look disinterested, but the beauty of the coats was too much for her.

  “Take the mink off the hanger,” Blanche said casually. “You can put it on if you like.”

  Julie stepped into the cupboard, reached for the mink coat. There was a sudden swishing sound and the steel walls slammed to, shutting her in with a soundless rush of air.

  For a moment or so she was too surprised to move or think and a tiny spark of panic bcgan to expand inside her, but she quickly controlled herself.

  “You asked for it,” she thought. “You should have guessed she was up to something. You’ve got to keep calm. She can’t keep you in here for long. She’s catching a train. But I wish there was a little more room. These beastly furs make it so hot and there doesn’t seem to be much air. I suppose she thinks she’ll scare the life out of me. Well, she won’t! I’m not going to lose my head. I’ll sit down and wait until she lets me out.”

  Still keeping the threatening panic under control, Julie squatted on the floor. The skirts of the fur coats touched her head and face and worried her.

  “But suppose she goes off and leaves me here? Suppose she really is cracked and doesn’t care?” she thought suddenly. “I can’t last long in here without air. It’s getting difficult to breathe now.” Then, suddenly, the light went out and hot, choking darkness descended on her.

  She heard herself whimper and she struggled to her feet, the soft furs clinging to her. She had always been afraid of confined spaces. This awful breathless darkness made her feel that she was buried alive. She lost her head. Screaming wildly, she hammered on the cold, steel wall; tore, kicked and scratched at the shiny surface like a mad thing. The furs twined round her, impeding her movements, suffocating her. Her hands were as useless as rubber hammers as she beat on the door. She felt she was drowning in a sea of choking darkness and fell on her knees, still screaming. Disturbed by her violence one of the fur coats slipped off its hanger and enveloped her.

  III

  Consciousness returned slowly, like the awakening from a heavy and uneasy sleep, and she found herself lying on her bed, alone. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time and she cried. She had no idea why she cried except perhaps she had been very frightened and she still had no control over her shaken nerves.

  Later, when she could cry no more, she wondered who had carried her from the cupboard to her bed, and immediately thought of Hugh Benton. That his hands had touched her filled her with a shivering disgust.

  “This settles it,” she thought. “I’m not staying. She’s mad and dangerous. I might have died.”

  She got off the bed and walked unsteadily along the passage to Blanche’s room. She had a vague idea that Blanche would still be there and she would tell her that she was leaving at once. But Blanche had gone. The big, luxurious room seemed strangely empty without her. The blue-quilted wall once more concealed the doors of the steel-lined cupboard. There was a faint smell of lavender water and cigars in the air, and Julie shuddered. So Benton had been there.

  She went to the bedside cupboard and took out a bottle of brandy and a glass. She sat limply on the bed and drank some of the brandy. The silky liquor took instant effect : the unsteady faintness went away.

  “But I’m not going to stay,” she thought. “I’ll pack and get out to-night. There’s no point in waiting. It won’t matter how careful I am she’ll always outwit me. I’ll never have a moment’s peace from her. No, I’m going. I don’t care what Harry says. I’ve had enough.”

  It wasn’t only Blanche. She pretended it was, but the sight of those expensive fur coats had frightened her, for all her bravado. It was too risky. The police would suspect at once that she had had something to do with the robbery. As soon as they found out (and they would find out) that she had worked for Hewart, they’d know she was the inside plant. No, she wasn’t going to have anything more to do with Blanche nor with the fur coats.

  She heard a bell ringing somewhere in the flat, and for some seconds she didn’t move, then she realized it was the telephone bell and she reached out, picked up the receiver by the bed.

  “Julie?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “Where are you, Harry? I was thinking about you. I must see you. I’m so glad you “phoned. It’s extraordinary . . . just when I was thinking of you.”

  “What’s up?” His voice was sharp.

  “I must see you,” she said hysterically. “I don’t care how busy you are. I must see you, Harry.”

  “All right, all right. Don’t get excited. I can see you in an hour. Can you get away?”

  “She’s gone for the week-end. Oh, Harry, it’s good to hear your voice.” An idea dropped into her mind. “Come round here. There’s nobody here but me. You can see the place. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Not over the “phone,” he said, raising his voice. “Are you sure no one will come?”

  “Oh, no, no one will come. Mr. Wesley won’t be back until Monday night.” She looked at the bedside clock. It was half-past four. “When will you be here?”

  “Six; a little after, perhaps. Say six-fifteen.”

  “And Harry, be careful when you come in. The porter’s watching the flat.”

  There was a short silence on the line.

  “Maybe I’d better not come,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to box this up after all the trouble I’ve taken.”

  “You must come. Take the lift to the top floor and walk down. The owner of the top flat is a Mrs. Gregory. Pretend you’re calling on her.”

  “You’re getting smart,” he said, and laughed. “All right, I’ll be along.”

  “It’ll be wonderful to see you again, Harry.”

  “You bet.”

  But as soon as she had hung up she became uneasy, wondering what he would say when she told him she was not going to stay. Then an idea came to her that brought her off the bed and sent her running to Blanche’s wardrobe.

  “I’ll give him t
he surprise of his life,” she thought, delighted with the idea. “I’ll make myself look so beautiful he won’t be able to resist me.”

  It took her some time to choose an evening gown from Blanche’s vast collection, but at last she was satisfied. The gown she had chosen was the colour of a wild poppy, low cut and with a full sweeping skirt. She dressed her thick, dark hair to her shoulders, and, by a quarter to six, she was ready.

  Studying herself critically in the mirror she knew Dana couldn’t hold a candle to her as she looked now. She was prettier, younger, less cynical and more seductive. The dress accentuated her beauty as no other dress had ever done. She scarcely recognized herself.

  A few minutes after six the front door bell rang, and there was Harry, his grey felt hat at a jaunty angle, his hands thrust into his overcoat pockets. For a moment he didn’t recognize her, then he took a quick step forward, a bewildered smile lighting his face.

  “Julie! You look wonderful! In borrowed plumes ! Well I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed, and meant it. He couldn’t believe she was the same girl. “She’s absolutely terrific,” he thought, bowled over. “A real smasher, and I didn’t know it.” He caught hold of her, but she pushed him away.

  “No, don’t touch me,” she said sharply. “I’m not going to be messed about.”

  Startled by the hard expression in her eyes, he became awkward and a little embarrassed.

  “You’re lovely, Julie,” he said, still gaping at her. “Cinderella’s nothing on you. You’re an absolute knock-out. One of her dresses?”

  “Of course. You don’t suppose I could afford to buy this for myself, do you? But come in. I want to talk to you.”

  He followed her into the lounge, and for the first time in his life he felt at a disadvantage. Her beauty and her surroundings shook his confidence in himself. He found himself falling in love with her as he stood staring at her. It was something he had never experienced before, and he didn’t know how to cope with it.

  Julie was quick to see the impression she had made on him, and exploited it. She stood before the big fireplace and looked at him steadily, her face cold and set.