Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

‘All right, Julie,’ he said, and kissed her. ‘I won’t hold you to it if that’s the way you feel. It won’t make any difference to us. I’m crazy about you, kid. I’ll find a way to getting into that tin box. But you quit. I’ll see you right.’

‘Honest, Harry? You really mean that?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘But why go through with it? Let’s go to the States now. Don’t take the risk, Harry.’

‘I’ve got to do the job,’ he said, a little impatiently. ‘Where do you think the money’s coming from? Listen, Julie, this job’s worth eight thousand to me. I’ve got to do it.’

Eight thousand!

For a moment she was tempted to stay and help him, then caution pushed the idea out of her head. Why should she? He could manage. He would find a way. And then he’d spend the money on her and there’d be no risk.

‘All right, Harry...’ she began.

‘What’s that?’ he broke in, stiffening. ‘Did you hear any-thing?’

Julie pushed away from him.

‘No... what do you mean?’

He went quickly to the door, opened it, closed it immediately.

‘Someone’s in the flat,’ he whispered.

Blanche!

Julie nearly fainted. To be caught in Blanche’s bedroom in her clothes! She stood paralysed with terror.

Quick steps sounded down the passage, coming towards the room.

‘It’s Mrs. Wesley!’ Julie gasped. ‘What am Ito do?’ She made a futile dart to the window. ‘I must hide...’

The door opened. She turned, clenching her fists and stifling a scream. A man came in: a man who wore black-lensed glasses that hid his eyes. He stood in the doorway, the black lenses looked right at her.

‘Is there anyone here?’ he asked, mildly. ‘Blanche, are you here?’

And Julie realized with sick relief that this was Howard Wesley who, of course, couldn’t see her.

Howard Wesley was not tall, although he gave Julie the impression that he was a big man. He was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, and he carried himself erect. In spite of his disfiguring black-lensed glasses she could see he had excellent features and his determined mouth and chin gave him an air of authority. His broad forehead was capped by dark, unruly hair, turning white at the temples. She was surprised later to hear he was only thirty-eight.

Both Julie and Harry stood staring at him, and as he moved into the room they silently gave ground.

‘Is anyone here?’ he repeated.

Harry waved at Julie and grimaced. She realized he was trying to tell her that she had to handle this, and she saw he was right.

She said in a husky little voice, ‘Oh, yes... me.’

Wesley frowned, continued to look in her direction as if he had known all along she was there.

‘And who are you?’ he asked. He took from his hip pocket a gold cigarette-case and selected a cigarette.

‘I’m Julie Holland, the new maid,’ she told him, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘I see.’ He patted his pockets and his frown deepened. ‘I wonder if you could give me a light? I seem to have left my matches in my overcoat pocket.’

She looked wildly round the room. Harry took out his lighter and put it on the table. He pointed at it, and jerked his thumb at Wesley. She was surprised to see how calm Harry was. He scarcely moved and was watching Wesley closely, his eyes hard and alert.

In a way his calmness annoyed Julie, who was shaking all over and had difficulty in breathing. She snatched up the lighter and moved towards Wesley. It was a relief to see that he continued to look at the place where she had been standing and did not turn his head as she approached. To her it was proof that he was blind and couldn’t see them.

She tried to operate the lighter, but her fingers were so shaky that she nearly dropped it.

‘Give it to me,’ he said, and held out his hand.

She gave him the lighter.

‘Where is Mrs. Wesley?’ he asked.

‘She’s away for the week-end, sir,’ Julie said, looked at Harry who had moved to the door. He shook his head at her, and winked.

‘I see.’ Wesley lit the cigarette, held the lighter out in midair. ‘Thank you.’

Julie took it from him, put it on the table. Harry picked it up.

‘Did she say when she was returning?’ Wesley went on, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets.

‘She didn’t expect you until Monday night. She’ll be back by then.’

‘And you didn’t expect me either?’ He smiled. ‘I hope I haven’t spoilt your evening.’

‘Oh, no, sir,’ Julie said hastily, wondering if he suspected anything. ‘I haven’t anything to do. I... I was tidying madam’s room.’

‘Were you? You smell as if you were going to a party.’ He laughed apologetically. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, but I have to rely on my nose and ears these days. That’s a very nice perfume you are wearing.’

Julie flushed scarlet and stepped back. It should be nice. It was Blanche’s perfume.

‘I... I wasn’t going out,’ she stammered.

‘Mr. Gerridge is seeing to the luggage,’ Wesley went on. ‘He’s my secretary. He should be up in a moment. Can you give us coffee?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, thinking. ‘I must get out of this dress at once.’

‘Let us have it in the study. I have some work to do.’ Wesley turned and appeared to look right at Harry who took a quick step back. ‘I have an odd feeling there’s someone else in the room.’ Wesley went on as he groped for the door handle. ‘Is there?’

He could have reached out and touched Harry. Julie caught her breath sharply, motioned Harry back.

‘Oh, no, sir, of course there isn’t.’

‘I get these feelings,’ Wesley said, frowning. ‘All right, let’s have the coffee as soon as you can,’ and he went out.

‘Phew!’ Harry whispered as soon as the door closed. ‘That was too damned close. Get out of that dress. This other bloke mustn’t see you.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Julie said, near tears. ‘I didn’t know he was coming.’

‘Never mind that. Get out of those clothes!’ Harry urged. ‘Go on, hurry!’

She ran to Blanche’s cupboard where she had left her uniform and then went into the bathroom. It didn’t take her a moment to change.

Harry was listening at the door when she returned.

‘Get their coffee,’ he whispered. ‘Hurry. I want to get out of here.’

‘When am I going to see you again?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I’m not staying here. This settles it.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. ‘Don’t go until then. I’ll be right opposite in the Park at three o’clock. Slip out and we’ll talk. Now, get off. I want to get out of here.’

She hesitated for a moment.

‘All right, but it’s no use trying to persuade me. I’m not going to stay.’ She left him, and went quickly to the kitchen.

When she took the coffee into the study, Wesley was sitting in an arm-chair, smoking a cigar. A young man, not much older than herself, whose lean, pleasantly ugly face lit up with a smile when he saw her, was sitting at the desk sorting through a pile of papers. She guessed he was Gerridge, Wesley’s secretary. He waved to a table near Wesley and went on with his work.

As she stooped to put the tray on the table, Wesley said: ‘I suppose you have only just arrived?’

‘I came yesterday, sir.’

‘Well, I hope you will be happy here,’ Wesley returned, as if he doubted it. ‘We didn’t expect to be back so soon. But don’t let us interfere with your week-end plans. You can go out if you want to. We shan’t need anything. I think we’ll spend the week-end at the factory. We’ll only bother you to give us breakfast to-morrow morning. You understand about that? You can order it from the restaurant. We shall be off about nine o’clock. Shall we say breakfast at eight-thirty?’