Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

As soon as Dawson and Wesley had gone into the sitting-room Julie fled to her bedroom, thankful Wesley had given her the excuse not to see Dawson again.

Alone, she began to work herself into a panic. Would she get into trouble for not telling the police about Wesley? Was Dawson bluffing? There was such a thing as being accessory to murder, although she had only the vaguest idea what it meant. Could they send you to prison? Should she tell Dawson the truth? If she did perhaps he wouldn’t take any action against her. But he might. He didn’t like her. He might be glad of the chance to get her into trouble.

She thought of Harry. It was cruel and beastly of Dawson to have told him she was living with Wesley. And it wasn’t true. Not in the way Harry would think they were living together. But why was she getting into such a state about Harry? She didn’t love him, or did she? Thinking about him she knew she would rather have Harry with her than Wesley. What fun they would have had! She was always thinking about Harry now. Because she couldn’t have him, she wanted him, and it wasn’t long before she believed she was once again in love with him. She began to make plans. There was no reason why Harry and she shouldn’t get together when Wesley had given himself up and the money was hers. With the money Wesley had promised to settle on her, she and Harry could go to America. She supposed they would send Harry to prison for breaking into Blanche’s flat, but it couldn’t be for long and she would wait for him. Suddenly all the old feeling for him was back. She realized now she had always loved him, and he loved her. He had said so. Hadn’t he pleaded with her to join up with him again? And, like a fool, she had turned him down for Wesley.

Dawson’s deep voice in the passage outside interrupted her thoughts. She heard him walk to the front door. A moment or so later Wesley came into her room. He stood just inside the door looking pale and tired.

‘He’s gone, but it was a near thing, Julie; a very near thing.’

She started to her feet.

‘Why? What did he want?’

‘Asking questions. I wasn’t quite as clever as I thought. But he’s satisfied now.’

‘What questions?’

‘Checking my statement. I avoided the obvious trap, but if he hadn’t been so sure I was blind I might have been in a mess.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. Julie hadn’t ever seen him look so anxious. ‘I don’t feel like doing any more work to-night. This has unsettled me. Let’s go somewhere and enjoy ourselves.’

But Julie was worrying about herself.

‘Dawson said I could get into trouble if I held hack any evidence. I want to know what he means. I’m not going to get into trouble for anyone.’

‘You do worry about yourself, don’t you? They can’t do anything to you unless you talk. There’s nothing to be alarmed about.’

‘It’s all very well for you, but suppose they find out?’

‘How can they unless you tell them? For goodness’ sake stop worrying about yourself. I have enough worries of my own without having to listen to your selfish little problems. Now get changed and we’ll go out.’

Julie flared up.

‘You don’t think of me for a moment! I’m sick of being treated like a servant. You’re always sneering and jeering at me.’

‘You have only yourself to blame,’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t have to stay here.’

‘And give up everything? I’m not that much of a fool!’

‘I’m afraid you’re ruled by greed, Julie. As soon as you have one thing, you want something else. You are never satisfied, and I’m afraid you never will be.’

‘Are you calling me greedy?’ she said furiously. ‘How dare you! I’m not! I never have been, so there!’

Wesley laughed.

‘You’re quite hopeless, Julie. Don’t be angry. Get changed and let’s go out.’

‘I won’t go out with you! I hate you! Get out and leave me alone! I hate you! I hate you!’

She threw herself on her bed and began to cry.

There was no happiness for Julie now. Her life with Wesley became a continual conflict: a clash of wills in which she invariably came off second-best.

He was always busy, working late at the factory and when at home working far into the night. She was bored and miserable and haunted with thoughts of Harry. But she could not give up the flat or her possessions. She knew she would be happier if she went back to work, but she hadn’t the strength of character to take the plunge.

She had everything that money could buy, except happiness, and her conscience gave her no peace. She began to brood about Blanche’s death and the full horror of Wesley’s crime slowly dawned on her. Although it was over a week since the murder, the fact that Wesley had killed Blanche only now meant anything to her, and once she began to think of him as a killer she became frightened of him. He had told her she held his life in her hands. If he could get rid of her no one would ever find out he had killed Blanche. She became nervous, and would wake in the night, terrified he was in the room, creeping on her to kill her. She locked herself in; she never turned her back on him; she was always watching to see he didn’t have a chance to poison her.

She had an idea that she might sell the jewellery he had lent her and with the proceeds be independent of him, but she calculated that the money wouldn’t last her for long and then she would be no better off. He had promised to settle money on her, and even though, as the days went by, she distrusted him more and more, she could not bring herself to lose the chance of being rich at last in her own right.

When Harry came up before the magistrates after the remand she was called as a witness for the prosecution. She was panic-stricken at the thought of publicly admitting she had been a police informer.

She received no sympathy from Wesley.

‘You can’t have your cake and eat it,’ he told her. ‘But please yourself what you say. If it makes you feel any better tell them I did it. I’m not going to influence you one way or the other,’ and he smiled at her, obviously amused by the furious, frustrated expression on her face.

She raged inwardly that he had so accurately judged her character. He had no misgivings that she would give him away. He was certain he was safe. Again and again, infuriated by his confidence, she was on the point of telephoning the police, but each time she changed her mind at the last moment.

When she stood in the witness-box, stared at by hundreds of eyes, she burned with shame. The sight of Harry sent a pang through her heart. She scarcely recognized him. He had lost weight, his face was lined and drawn, and there was a trapped, terrified look in his eyes. And he wouldn’t even look at her. That was the last straw. He stood in the dock, his flashy suit pathetically out of place in the drab, sordid surroundings, his hands clutching on to the dock rail, his head lowered.

The Counsel for the Prosecution led her quickly and kindly through her story. He made things easy for her, drawing for the Court a picture of a terrified, inexperienced young girl caught up in a web of circumstances over which she had no control. Julie thought he overdid it, and wished he would stop harping on her innocence. What could Harry be thinking of her? She glanced across the well of the court, but Harry still wouldn’t look at her.

But when the Counsel for the Defence began to question her the friendly atmosphere underwent a swift change. He seemed determined to spoil the good impression the Court had of her and to discredit her as much as he could. He succeeded. He asked her point-blank whether it was a fact she had been intimate with Harry. She hedged, but he kept after her until, red-faced and confused, she admitted it. So much for her innocence! Was it not a fact, he went on, that she had taken the job as Blanche’s maid willingly, knowing a robbery had been planned? She denied this so hotly she could see no one believed her. What was she doing now? And he stared down his beaky nose when she said she was looking after Mr. Wesley. As a maid? He wanted to know. As a housekeeper, she floundered.