JAMES HADLEY CHASE - A COFFIN FROM HONG KONG

Wayde’s secretary, the one with the glasses and the mousey look was bending over the tape recorder I had already noticed on Wayde’s desk. The band was running through the playback head and from the loudspeaker came the busy sounds of an aircraft landing and taking-off.

“For a moment I thought you had turned into an airport,” I said.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Hastily turning off the recorder, she spun around, her pale washed-out blue eyes wide with shock.

I smiled disarmingly at her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said. “I heard the noise and I was curious.”

“Oh. . . .” She relaxed a little. “I—I shouldn’t be doing this. I—I wondered what was on the tape. Mr. Wayde has gone home.”

“Play it again ... it sounded a good recording.”

She hesitated.

“No . . . I—I don’t think I’d better. Mr. Wayde might not like it.”

“He won’t mind.” I wandered over to the desk. She gave ground, moving away from me. “Nice machine.” I pressed the rewind button. When the tape was ready to play again I pressed down the playback button. The sounds of a busy airport came clearly through the loudspeaker. I stood listening for maybe a couple of minutes, then I switched off the machine and smiled at her.

I was pretty excited for I was sure now I had at last found the mysterious John Hardwick. I had found him by a fantastic stroke of luck and by this scared-looking girl’s curiosity.

“Mr. Wayde won’t be back until tomorrow?” I asked.

“No.”

“Well, okay, I’ll see him tomorrow then. Good night,” and I went out and into my office where I sat at my desk and lit a cigarette with hands that shook a little from my excitement.

I sat there for half an hour. Then a few minutes after six I heard the girl leave the office, lock up and walk away down the passage. I waited for the whine of the descending elevator as it took her down to the ground floor. I waited until I heard the sounds of the other workers leaving the offices along my corridor. I waited until there was no sound to tell me anyone remained up there. Then I got to my feet and went to my door, opened it and looked out into the passage. No lights showed behind any of the glass-panelled doors. I had the floor now to myself.

I went back to my desk and opening a drawer, took out a bunch-of skeleton keys. It took me less than a minute to unlock Jay Wayde’s office door. I entered and locked the door after me. I stood looking around. There was a big green steel and fireproof cupboard against one of the walls. I examined the lock. None of my keys would open it. I went back to my office and collected a few tools, returned and once more locked myself in Wayde’s office.

I spent fifteen minutes trying to open the cupboard, but the lock beat me. I hesitated, wondering if I should bust open the cupboard, but decided against it. I looked in the other room. It contained a desk, a typewriter, a chair and a filing cabinet. I looked into the filing cabinet but there was nothing in there but papers.

If what I was looking for was in the office at all, it would be locked in the steel cupboard.

I took the airport recording off the tape recorder and put another tape I found in the desk drawers onto the machine. I turned off the lights and leaving the door wide open I went into my office.

I locked the tape away, then I turned up Wayde’s home address in the telephone book. His apartment was on Laurence Avenue, a ten-minute drive from his office. I called the number, but there was no answer.

I wondered if I should call Retnick, but I wanted to sew up this case on my own. I could still be wrong, but I didn’t think so. I decided there was time to call Retnick after I had talked to Wayde.

I kept calling Wayde’s number. Finally, a little after nine o’clock, he answered.

“This is Nelson Ryan,” I said.

“Why, hello!” He sounded surprised. “Anything I can do for you? Did you have a good trip?”

“Fine . . . I’m in my office. I looked in to pick up something I’d forgotten. I found your office door wide open and the lights off. Your girl’s gone. Looks like she’s forgotten to lock up. Do you want me to get the janitor to lock up for you?”

I heard him catch his breath sharply.

“That’s damned odd,” he said after a long pause. “Maybe I’d better come down.”

“Doesn’t look as if you have had a burglar.”

“There’s nothing to steal in there except my recorder and the typewriter. I guess I’d better come down all the same.”

“Suit yourself. I can get the janitor to lock up if you like.”

“No, it’s all right. I’d rather come down. I can’t understand her forgetting to lock up. She’s never done that before.” “Maybe she’s in love,” I laughed. “Well, I’m leaving now. Sure you don’t want me to do anything?”

“No, thanks, and thanks for calling.”

“Think nothing of it ... so long.”

I hung up and turned off the lights. I locked up my office and then went into Wayde’s office. I went into his secretary’s room and sat on the desk. I took out my gun and clicked back the safety-catch. I put the gun on the desk beside me.

I had about ten minutes to wait before I heard the whine of the ascending elevator. I got off the desk and stood behind the door, gun in hand. I heard quick footfalls then movements in Wayde’s office. The light turned on, the door closed. I peered through the door crack. Wayde stood looking around. He walked to the room in which I was, pushed the door back against me and looked in, then he stepped back into his office. I heard a jangle of keys, then a lock snap back. I guessed he had opened the steel cupboard.

I stepped out from behind the door. He was kneeling in front of the cupboard. The double doors of the cupboard stood wide open. The cupboard was packed with bottles, boxes, glass files and other chemist’s samples.

“Is the heroin still there?” I asked quietly.

He gave a shudder, then looked slowly over his shoulder to stare at me. I lifted the gun slightly so he could see it. His face went chalk-white and slowly he rose to his feet.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I tried to open the cupboard but the lock beat me,” I said, watching him. “So I thought it was an idea if you came down and opened it for me. Move away and don’t start anything.”

“Why should I?” he said and walked unsteadily to his desk and slumped down into his chair. He buried his face in his hands. I glanced into the bottom of the cupboard. There were about fifty small, neatly packed parcels lying on the floor of the cupboard.

“Those the drugs Jefferson hijacked?” I asked, coming over to the desk and sitting on the edge of it.

He leaned back, rubbing his white, sweating face.

‘Yes. How did you know I had them?”

“You forgot to take the tape recording of the airport off the machine. Your girl played it

back. I heard it. The whole set-up fell into place,” I told him.

“I’ve always been forgetful. If there’s a mistake to be made, I make it. I knew when you said you were going to Hong Kong I was sunk.” He looked wearily at me. “I knew somewhere along the line you’d come across a loose thread that would lead you to me. When you told me you were going, I was insane enough to hire a junkie to kill you. That’s how desperate I was! When that didn’t work, I knew it was only a matter of time, but I was so hopelessly involved there was nothing else I could do but hang on and hope.”

“If it’s any satisfaction to you, you nearly got away with it,” I said, “I thought Jefferson’s secretary was the one. She had the motive and I’m a sucker for motives.”

“I hoped you would pick on her,” he said. “That’s why I told you about her affair with Herman, but I knew if you ran into him in Hong Kong and you talked to him you were certain to get onto me.”