Chapter XX
I RETURNED to the Savoy the following morning soon after eleven
o’clock. As I asked the clerk at the Inquiry Desk for my key, I felt a
hand touch my arm. I took the key, glanced around.
Corridan, looking very massive and dour, was standing at my side.
“Well, well,” I said, with what I hoped was a friendly smile. “My
old pal again, always turning up like Boris Karloff. What brings you
here? Lost your way?”
He shook his head. His eyes were frosty, his mouth set in a hard
line. “I want to talk to you, Harmas,” he said. “Shall we go to your
room?”
“Let’s go to the bar,” I returned. “It’s just on opening time. You
look as if I need a drink.”
“I think we’ll go to your room.”
“Well, if you insist. Come along then. You don’t look your usual
sunny self. What’s troubling you? Don’t tell me you’ve fal en in love,
or is it indigestion?”
“This isn’t a joking matter,” he returned, walking with me to the
elevator.
“That’s the usual trouble with you,” I said. “You haven’t a sense of
humour.”
We entered the elevator, rode up to the second floor.
“If you did have a sense of humour you’d be a truly great man.
Take me for example,” I said, as we walked along the corridor to my
room. “Where should I be if I couldn’t crack a gag now and then? I’ll
tell you. I’d be in the depths of despair. And why? Because I’d think
you were going to arrest me.”
He shot me a sharp look. “What makes you say that?” he
demanded, pausing outside my door while I unlocked it.
“You have the appearance of a well-meaning flatfoot about to
make an arrest,” I returned. “Only you’re going to be disappointed.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, entered the room, took off his hat,
faced me.
I noted the livid bruise on his temple where I had hit him with the
table leg, hoped he hadn’t any proof to connect me with the assault.
“Hello, hello,” I said, eyeing him. “My turn to gloat now. How did
you get that bruise? Trying to beat your head against a brick wall, I
suppose.”
“We’ll cut out this fooling if you please,” Corridan said. I had
never seen him so serious before. “Where were you last night? “
Here it comes, I thought, and wandered over to where I kept a
bottle of whisky.
“That is no business of yours,” I returned gently. “Have a drink?” I
unscrewed the cap, poured whisky into a glass.
He shook his head. “It is my business, and you’d better realize that
this is a very serious matter for you.”
I sipped the whisky, eyed him.
“Now I wonder what’s got into your head, Corridan?” I asked. “In
other words, what the hell’s biting you?”
“Ever heard of Henry Littlejohns?”
I nodded. “Sure. He’s a private dick. Why?”
“You employed him, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes. I still employ him for that matter. What’s it to do with
you?”
“Quite a lot. He was murdered last night.”
I gave what I hoped was a surprised start, put down my whisky,
said, “Murdered? Good God ! Littlejohns murdered?”
It wasn’t particularly convincing, and I could see it didn’t convince
Corridan.
“I warned you, Harmas, the next time you were connected with a
murder it was going to be unpleasant for you. Well, you know what to
expect, don’t you?”
“Now don’t let’s forsake our sense of humour,” I said. “You can’t
scare me, Corridan, or can you? I’ve nothing to do with Littlejohns’
death, and you know it.”
“I think you have,” he said, watching me closely.
I stared at him, and experienced a little difficulty in meeting his
penetrating eyes.
“Now wait a minute. You aren’t serious about this?” I asked,
managed a laugh. It sounded pretty ghastly even to me, so I cut it out.
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” Corridan replied. “I’d advise you to be serious about
this, too.”
“All right, let’s be serious. Suppose you explain what you’re
talking about?”
“When did you last see Netta Scott?” he shot at me.
I wasn’t quite prepared for that one, and hesitated. He was quick
to spot that, and I saw his face tighten.
“I guess it must have been two years ago,” I said slowly. “You
didn’t see her last night?”
“Last night?” I repeated. “You crazy or something? She’s been
dead a week. Or do you mean you’ve found her body?” He wandered
to the arm-chair, sat down.
“Look, Harmas, this won’t do,” he said quietly. “We both know
that Netta’s alive.”
I looked down at my hands, saw they weren’t too steady, shoved
them in my trouser pockets.
“I haven’t seen Netta for two years,” I said steadily.
He studied me, nodded. “Where were you last night?”
“That’s something I can’t very well tell you,” I said, looking away.
“It involves a question of honour.”
Corridan control ed his temper with an effort. “Look, Harmas, if
you don’t tell me where you were last night, I’ll have no alternative
but to take you to the station. I don’t want to be official about this,
but if you’re going to act the fool and lie to me I damn well will be!’ ‘
“You’re not seriously suggesting that I killed Littlejohns, are you?”
I asked, staring at him.
“If you want me to caution you, and make this official, I will,”
Corridan said. “At the moment I’m treating you like a friend. If you can
convince me that you couldn’t possibly have been on the scene of the
crime, then- I shall be satisfied. If you can’t convince me, I’m going to
arrest you.”
I sat down, pretended to be shocked.
“Well, if it’s like that,” I said, “I suppose I’l have to tell you. I was
with Crystal Godwin.”
His face hardened. “Oh, were you? What time did you meet her
and what time did you leave her?”
I considered the question, said, “I picked her up outside the Blue
Club at-now, what time was it?-at ten-ten. I remember looking at my
watch when she turned up. We’d arranged to meet at ten, and I was
impatient because she was late. Then we went on to her flat.”
“What time did you leave?” Corridan snapped.
“Now this puts me in a difficult position. Strictly between you and
me, I left this morning.”
He studied me for an uncomfortable moment. “A very obvious
alibi, Harmas. That girl would tel any lie to save your skin.”
“I believe she would,” I returned, hoisting a stiff smile to my face.”
After all, I did give her six pairs of silk stockings. I’d expect her to
repay me somehow. All the same, Corridan, it’s an alibi. If you think
your old pal would tell a lie like that, then I’m sorry. I’m more than
that — I’m hurt.”
“We’ll see about that,” Corridan retur
ned grimly. “I might be able
to shake that young woman. It’s not the first time I’ve persuaded
someone against perjury. Perhaps I’ll succeed again.”
I hoped that Crystal had more backbone than I thought she had,
mentally crossed my fingers.
“Well, if you don’t believe me,” I said, shrugging, “you’d better
talk to Miss Godwin. She’ll convince you even if I don’t. Look me up
after you’ve seen her and apologize nicely. It’ll cost you a bottle of
champagne.”
“I don’t think it will,” Corridan said, leaning back in the chair. “You
once said Netta Scott’s favourite perfume was lilac,” he went on,
changing the subject abruptly. “Do you remember?”
“Did I?” I said. “I say a lot of things and don’t mean half of them.
Why bring Netta’s perfume into this sordid topic?”
“There was a strong smell of lilac in the flat where Littlejohns was
murdered,” Corridan returned. “You know, Harmas, you’d be advised
to tell the truth. We know for certain that Netta Scott’s alive. We’re
looking for her now, and it won’t be long before we catch her. We
know she’s connected with the Allenby robbery, that she was present
when her sister was murdered, and that makes her an accessory. We
know too that she was in the flat when Littlejohns was murdered.”
I raised my eyebrows, didn’t say anything, but I was badly shaken.
I’d thought Corridan had been running around in circles, but it now
seemed that he knew as much as I did about this case.
“What do you know about a yellow and black Bentley?” he
suddenly shot at me.
He’d got that from Merryweather, I decided, lifted my shoulders.
“Only that Littlejohns reported that it was seen outside the
cottage at Lakeham. Why?”
“We’re looking for the car,” Corridan said. “The owner we think is
connected with Anne’s murder. Do you know where the car is?”
I hesitated, then decided it’d be too dangerous to tell him about
Peter French. I could have only got the information from Netta, and it
was the kind of trap he’d’ve liked to see me walk into.
“No idea,” I said.
He grunted. “I think, Harmas, you are behaving like a blind fool,”
he said. “You’re trying to protect Netta Scott because you and she
were lovers in the past. I’m sure you were trying to protect her last
night when Littlejohns surprised you both. And what is more, you hit
him, and killed him. How do you like that?”
I was beginning to sweat. “I love it,” I said, with a fixed grin.
“What an imagination you’ve cultivated.”
He waited hopefully to see if I was going to say anything more,
then, seeing I wasn’t, went on, “This is a serious matter for you,
Harmas. You could also be tied to the Kennitt murder.”
“Could I?” I said, startled.
“Yes, the motive’s there all right. You could have killed Madge
Kennitt because she knew Netta Scott was alive. You were the last
one to see her, and if I can find Julius Cole he might be able to tell me
what happened while you and Madge were together. I only want one
good witness, Harmas, and your goose is cooked.”
I finished my whisky. I felt I needed it. This had turned out far
worse than I expected.
“You’d better have your head examined, Corridan,” I said, a little
feverishly. “You’ve been working too hard or something.”
“Don’t worry about my head,” Corridan returned coldly. “You’d
better start worrying about your neck. Ever since you arrived in this
country you’ve been mixed up in murder. I warned you to mind your
own business, now perhaps you wish you had.”
“And to think we called each other by our Christian names, and
you ate the food I paid for,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, my mother
always told me not to trust a policeman. Go ahead, Corridan, and try
to hang something on me. I don’t think you’l succeed, but you can
try. The trouble with the British law is that the onus is on you to prove
me guilty, not for me to prove myself innocent. Until you have a few
reliable witnesses I don’t think you should get too inflated with your
cock-eyed theories.”
He got to his feet, turned to the door. “When I lay my hands on
Netta Scott and Julius Cole I shall have all the witnesses I want,” he
said quietly. “Those two, I think, will talk fast enough for me to get my
hands on you. Don’t forget I haven’t yet failed to solve a murder
case.”
“The exception always proves the rule,” I said hopefully. “Maybe
you’re heading for your first great failure.”
He took from his pocket a small cardboard box. I recognized it
immediately. It was the box I’d borrowed from Crystal the previous
night, and in which I had sent Corridan the four diamond rings I’d
taken from Bradley. The rings had worried me. If they weren’t
connected with the Jacobi case, I was on a spot. I had decided to send
them to Corridan anonymously in the hope he would identify them.
“Seen this before?” he asked abruptly.
I shook my head. “Don’t tell me one of your fans has sent you a
present?”
He opened the box, shook the four rings into the palm of his
hand.
“Or these?”
Again I shook my head. “No, what are they? Part of Jacobi’s loot?”
“I still have my Ouija board,” I said, smiling. “You’d be surprised at
the surprises it gives me.”
“They’re not part of Jacobi’s loot,” he returned, fixing me with a
hard look. “They came to me anonymously through the post this
morning. Did you send them?”
“Me?” I repeated, blank. “My dear Corridan, as much as I like you,
I think I should be able to resist sending you four diamond rings. “
“You’d better cut out this fooling,” Corridan said, his face growing
red. “I have an idea these rings came from you.”
“Quite, quite wrong. What gives you that idea?”
“It won’t be difficult to trace them to you,” he went on, ignoring
my question. “The box and wrapping will tell me what I want to
know.”
“If you ask me,” I said, beginning to get worried, “some lag stole
those rings, had a change of heart, and sent them to you to return to
their rightful owner.”
“I thought so until we checked the rings,” Corridan returned. “But
we have no record of them being stolen. Try another yarn, and make
it a better one.”
“I must say you’re damned unpleasant this morning,” I said.
“Suppose you try. Why should I send you diamond rings? Tell me
that.”
“You might have stuck your nose into something that doesn’t
concern you, found the rings, and taken them, thinking they were part
of Jacobi’s loot. You had no means of checking them, so you sent
them to me, knowing I’d recognize them if they belonged to Allenby.
Well, they don’t. I’m now going to look for the original owner, and if I
find him, I’m going to persuade him to prosecute the thief. Maybe he
knows who the thief is, and if he turns out to be you, my friend, I’ll do
my best to get you a stretch.” He turned on his heel and stamped out.
I drank my whisky at a gulp, blotted my brow. And I thought
Corridan didn’t know his business! If Bradley talked it looked as if I
was going to be in a nice jam. The first thing to do was to warn Crystal
to be prepared when Corridan produced the box. Since it was her box,
he might easily shake her if she wasn’t forewarned. I called her
number, explained what had happened.
“He’s on his way right over,” I said. “And he’ll spring that box on
you. Look out for it.”
“Leave him to me, precious,” Crystal said. “All my life I’ve wanted
to be grilled by the police. I’l handle him.”
“Well, don’t be too sure of yourself,” I warned her. “That guy’s
nobody’s fool.”
“Nor am I,” she returned, “only over you. Did you enjoy yourself
last night?” she added coyly.
“Enjoy is an understatement,” I returned, grinning. “It was an
experience that’s marked me for life. I’l be back for an encore in a
little while.”
I hung up, lit a cigarette, brooded. I’d have to watch my step now.
Corridan was after my blood, and if he couldn’t hang a murder rap on
me, he might easily get me a stretch in jail.
I began to pace up and down. A gentle tap sounded on the door. I
crossed the room, opened up, gaped.
Julius Cole stood in the doorway, his eyebrows raised, his head on
one side.
“Hello, baby,” he said, moving into the room. “I want to talk to
you.”
Chapter XXI
A WAITER passed, pushing a table on wheels before him. The
table was set for someone’s belated breakfast: a simple meal of
coffee and rolls. He eyed Julius Cole; I noted his look of snobbish
contempt. He went on, disappeared around the bend in the corridor,
but Julius Cole didn’t disappear. He sauntered into my room, smiling
his secret smile, wagging his head, very sure of himself.
“Nice to see you again, baby,” he said.
I let him in because I was too surprised to exert the effort to keep
him out. Somewhere in my sub-conscious mind an alarm bell was
ringing, warning me that trouble was on the way.