Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

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 began 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.

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 the 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.’