James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

He remembered Cora’s promise. Women made promises lightly, he warned himself, but looking at her he was inclined to believe her. Anyway, if he became suspicious he had his gun… and he’d use it, too!

“Well, thanks,” he said. “I think it’s awfully decent of you,” and he opened the cab door for her.

“Has she my colouring?” the girl asked, sitting on the little turn-up seat so that she could talk to George as he drove. Cora had her colouring all right, but that was as far as the resemblance went. She had a better figure, more character in her face than this girl—not that this girl wasn’t nice looking. In a way, George preferred her to Cora. She hadn’t Cora’s sulky expression, nor the lines near her mouth. She had a better skin than Cora’s, and her hair was more beautiful. But that didn’t mean she was more exciting than Cora: she wasn’t. There was something about Cora which tortured George. He knew this girl would never torture him. "Yes,” he said. “She’s about your size, and she’s got hair like yours.”

“What do you think she’d like?” the girl asked. “Would she like a frock, or a costume, or a coat and skirt?”

Was she pulling his leg? George wondered. Had she got so many things to give away?

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “I thought something like you’re wearing.”

She laughed. “Of course, that’s why you picked on me, wasn’t it? I think I’ve got something that’ll do. I don’t mind parting with clothes. It’s money I hate parting with. You see, Daddy pays for my clothes, and gives me pocket money for extras. He doesn’t seem to mind how many clothes I have, but he just won’t part with any more cash.”

George drove on, bewildered.

“We’re just here,” she called after a few minutes. “The gate’s on the right.”

George hesitated. Should he drive in? Should he risk a trap? Before he could make up his mind, he had reached the gates and had turned into a long, winding drive. But when he sighted a vast house through the trees, he slowed down and stopped the cab.

She jumped out. "Stay here,” she said. “I won’t be long.”

“All right,” he said uneasily, and watched her walk swiftly towards the house.

As soon as she was out of sight, George left the cab and moved off the drive into the garden. He couldn’t afford to trust her. He would give her ten minutes, and then he’d go. From where he stood, in the shadow of a big magnolia tree, he could see the house. He could see her run up the broad, white steps, open the door and go in. The ground floor was in darkness, but the windows of both the wings on the two upper floors showed lights.

He stood still, watching the house, his hand on the butt of his gun. A moment or so later a light sprang up in one of the centre windows, and he caught a glimpse of the girl as she passed to and fro before the window.

He relaxed slightly. Anyway, she wasn’t telephoning, he thought. How astounding! He was sure if anyone had tried to hold him up, he would have given them over to the police at the first possible opportunity.

Scarcely ten minutes had gone by before he saw her coming down the steps again. She held a bundle under her arm, and George, convinced of her sincerity at last, went to meet her.

“I bet you had a bad ten minutes,” she said, smiling at him. “I hope I haven’t been too long. You’ll find everything there. I duplicated the underclothes. The hat’s the only thing I wasn’t sure about. Does she wear hats?”

George blinked. “No,” he said. “How did you know?”

“I somehow felt she didn’t.” She pressed the bundle into his arms.

George stood gaping at her, a prickly sensation behind his eyes. “I—I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t really.”

“I’ve got to get in now. Good night, and please don’t hold up any more girls. You know, we don’t really like it.”

He watched her go, then he turned and stumbled hack to the taxi. People were kinds he thought. He would never have believed it. Never! To think that a girl like that, so rich, who had everything, should have been so damned decent, especially after the fright he had given her. It was terrific of her! It really was marvellous.

Driving back across the Heath, George had this girl Babs more in his mind than Cora. Cora had never been kind to him. She had always jeered at him. Babs was the only girl who had ever been decent to him except, of course, Gladys; but Gladys didn’t count. It was her job to be decent to everyone. But Babs—why, she could have called the police, she could have trapped him easily enough; but instead, she had given him the impossible. She had done more for him—a complete stranger—than Cora would ever do for him, even though Cora knew he loved her.

He wouldn’t wait for the morning, he decided. He would go into her bedroom and wake her up and lay the clothes on the bed for her to admire. He would stand over her and grin. It was something to grin about, wasn’t it? “You cheap bluffer!” she had called him. Well, this would show her whether he was a bluffer or not.

A sudden stab of desire caught him. She might be so pleased that—well, it was no good thinking along those lines just yet. But she might feel that she could be nice to him. She might be very nice to him After all, few people would have done what he had done. He wouldn’t tell her about Babs. He’d just say he kidnapped a girl and stripped her of her clothes. That’d startle her. That’d show her he had guts!

He was so excited at the thought of bursting into Cora’s room that he threw caution to the wind and drove right through the West End to Hanover Square. There was no difficulty in leaving the cab on the cab rank there. It was nearly one o’clock and the Square was deserted. He hurried down George Street, across Conduit Street and into Clifford Street. He ran up the stairs to the top flat. There was a light on in the hall, and he could hear Eva’s voice coming from the sitting-room. A moment later, Little Ernie answered. He wondered if Cora was with then; then he remembered she said she was going to bed. Well, he’d look in her bedroom first. He went down the passage very quietly, and opened the door. The room was in darkness, but the heady, exciting smell of sandalwood greeted him.

“Cora?” he called softly. “Are you awake?”

“Who is it?” Cora’s voice asked sleepily, then she said more sharply, “What is it?”

“It’s me, George.”

“What do you want?” She sounded irritable, and a moment later she snapped on a light over her bed.

George looked at her, feeling a great rush of love and tenderness to his heart.

She’s wonderful, he thought, looking at her. She was wearing a pair of satin, peach-coloured pyjamas he guessed she must have borrowed from Eva.

“What is it?” she repeated, looking at her wristwatch. “Why, it’s after one. Haven’t you been to bed?”

“May I come in?” -George asked, still standing awkwardly in the doorway. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Instantly a quick, calculating expression jumped into her eyes. "A surprise? What is it?”

“I’ve got you some clothes,” George said, showing her the bundle. Now he was in the light he saw that Babs had put the clothes in a pillowcase.

“Are you mad?” she said blankly. “What clothes?”

“You wanted an outfit,” George said patiently. “I—I’ve got you one.”

Cora sat up in bed. “You’ve got me one?” she repeated.

It was just as George had hoped it would be. He had staggered her. She was excited. She had never looked at him like this before.

He nodded. “I said you had only to ask and I’d get it for you.”

“But how?” Cora demanded. “Don’t stand there like a dummy. Come in, shut the door.” She slid out of bed, now thoroughly awake and excited. “How did you do it?”