Джеймс Чейз - You Never Know With Women

I had to take a chance. He might turn and come back, but I didn’t think he would. I sprinted for the steps. I ran on tip-toe and I gained the terrace without him having the slightest idea he wasn’t up there alone any more. I could still see him as I crouched by the balustrade. He had reached the far end of the terrace and was standing with his back turned to me, looking into the garden like a ship’s captain on his bridge. I didn’t wait; keeping low, I ran up more steps and reached the terrace above him.

I could hear the radio distinctly now. Ernie Caceres was tearing a hole in Persian Rug on an alto sax. But I had other things to do than to listen to Ernie, and I went past the french windows, round the corner of the house the way I had seen it on the blue print.

I was a few yards from the back entrance when I heard footsteps. My heart flopped around inside my hat and I stood against the wall. I heard more footsteps — coming towards me.

“You down there, Harry?” a voice called out of the darkness. I thought I recognized it. It belonged to the guard we had run into outside the gates. He couldn’t have been ten yards from me.

“Yeah,” a voice called back.

I could see the guard now. He was leaning over the balustrade, looking down at the other guard on the lower terrace. The other guard had turned on a flashlight.

“All quiet?”

“Quiet enough. Dark as a nigger down here.”

“Keep your ears open, Harry. I don’t want trouble tonight.”

“What’s biting you, Ned?” The other guard’s voice sounded impatient. “Got the shakes or something?”

“You keep your damned eyes open like I say. Those two guys are on my mind.”

“Aw, forget them. They lost their way, didn’t they? Every time a guy loses his way and gets up here you have to act nervy. Take it easy, can’t you?”

“I didn’t like the look of them,” Ned said. “While the pixey was sounding off, the other guy was using his eyes. He looked tough to me.”

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way around the grounds now. If I run into your tough guy I’ll fertilize the soil with him.”

“Take the dog,” Ned said. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Chained up, but I’ll take him. See you here in half an hour.”

“Right.”

I listened to all this as I stood like a statue in the dark. Ned stayed where he was, his back to me, his hands on his hips, looking out across the vast stretch of lawn.

Slowly I began to edge along the wall, away from him. I kept going, making no sound, until I lost sight of him in the darkness. After a few more steps I came to a door. I fumbled about until I found the iron ring that lifted the latch, turned it and pushed, but the door was locked. I transferred the leaded cane from one hand to the other, felt in my pocket, drew out the key Parker had given me. I daren’t show a light. I began to feel up and down the door for the keyhole and all the time I kept my ears cocked in case Ned took it into his head to come back. I found the keyhole, slid in the key, turned it gently. The lock eased back with a faint click. To me it sounded like a gun going off. I waited, listened, heard nothing, turned the ring again and pushed. The door opened. I edged my way into more darkness. Then I removed the key, shut the door, locked it from the inside and pocketed the key.

Now I was inside the house I was suddenly as cool and as calm as a tray of ice cubes. I was out of reach of that dog and that took a weight off my mind.

I knew exactly where to go. I had facing me, although I couldn’t see them, five steps and a long passage. At the end of the passage there were more steps, and then sharp right would bring me to Brett’s study and the safe.

I listened for a moment or so. Ernie Caceres was showing his versatility by playing the clarinet solo in the Anvil Chorus. I reckoned any noise I might make would be cancelled out by his high notes. I turned on the flash, got my bearings, went up the stairs and along the passage as fast as I could lick. There was a light at the head of the second flight of stairs. I shot up them, turned sharp right into a little lobby that was glassed in on the garden side. A door faced me. It led to Brett’s study. On my right was a broad flight of stairs to the upper rooms.

There was a sudden giggling scream at the head of the stairs. I didn’t jump more than a foot.

A girl said: “Don’t you dare! Ouch! You — you brute!”

“Fun and games among the staff,” I thought, and wiped the sweat out of my eyes. The girl yelped again. Feet pounded overhead. There was another yelp and then a door slammed.

I waited some more but it got quiet then: no screams, no yelps. I thought it was time Brett got back. His staff was having too good a time. I didn’t wait any longer, beetled over to the study door, turned the handle and peered in. No one yelled for help: no one was there. I went in and closed the door. The beam of the flashlight took me to the safe. It was right where the plan had said it was; so was the wire running down by its side. If I hadn’t been looking for the wire I wouldn’t have seen it. It was what they call artfully concealed.

I cut the wire expecting a peal of bells to start up all over the house, but nothing happened. It looked as if Parker had either cased the joint with expert thoroughness or else the alarm was still unset. I didn’t know and didn’t care.

I took the card from my pocket, checked the combination and then started on the dial. I held the flashlight on the dial and turned carefully: one full turn to the right, a two-second wait, one half turn back, another wait, a full turn to the right, another wait and a half turn to the right again. Just the way Parker had said. Then I took hold of the knob and pulled gently. I didn’t expect anything to happen, but it did. The safe opened.

I whistled through my teeth, shone the beam of the torch into the steel-lined cabinet. On the second shelf in the corner was a small gold box, about three inches square; very neat and modern and expensive-looking. I picked it up, balanced it in my hand. It was weighty for its size. There was no button or catch to open it. I fiddled with it for a second or so then dropped it into my pocket. There was no time to waste. I could examine it when I was out of the house.

I took the dagger case from my pocket. Up to now I had been too busy avoiding the guards and thinking about the dog to give the case any attention, but now I had it in my hand my brain began to function.

The dagger was the only thing about Gorman’s story that didn’t click. I was as sure as Parker was a pixey that the girl hadn’t taken the dagger from Brett’s safe, and that the compact wasn’t her property. I had seen the dagger. It looked genuine enough. I didn’t know anything about antiques, but I did know gold when I saw it, and the dagger was gold: that made it expensive. Then why was Gorman getting me to put a valuable antique in Brett’s safe: an antique that I was certain didn’t belong to Brett? Why? A thing like that could be easily traced. Why hire me to steal the compact and leave something in its place of equal value and which would give the police a clue that might take them to Gorman? There was something wrong here: something out of tune.

I looked at the case in the light of the flash. Maybe they had fooled me and the dagger wasn’t in it. I tried to open the case, but it wouldn’t budge. It was too heavy for an empty case. I continued to examine it, and suddenly it occurred to me that it was thicker and a shade longer than the case Gorman had shown me. I wasn’t sure, but it looked that way to me. Then I heard something that brought me out in a rush of cold sweat. There was a faint but distinct ticking coming from the case. I nearly dropped it.

No wonder those two smart punks had told me to handle it carefully. I knew what it was now. It was a bomb! They had made up the bomb to look like the dagger case, figuring I would be in such a hurry to get rid of it I wouldn’t spot the exchange. I put it in the safe as fast as you’d have got rid of a tarantula had it dropped in your lap.