James Chase - No Business Of Mine

She clenched her fists, shut her eyes.

“Six pairs?” she repeated in a hoarse whisper.

“That’s right.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, shivered. “You weren’t thinking of giving

them to anyone, were you? They couldn’t be lying in your old room

unattached so to speak?”

“I brought them for someone,” I said quietly.

She nodded to herself. “I might have guessed it,” she said, sighed.

“Well, never mind. Some girls have all the luck. Some get them, others

just dream about them. You certainly made my heart go pit-a-pat for a

moment. But I shall get over it.”

“I brought them for Netta Scott,” I explained. “She was a friend of

mine.”

Crystal turned quickly, her eyes showed surprise. “Netta? You

knew Netta?”

“Sure. “

“And you brought the stockings . . . but, she’s dead. Didn’t you

know?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Then you haven’t anyone to give . . .” She caught herself up,

actually blushed. “Oh, I am awful! Poor Netta! I always get depressed

when I think of her. I feel I could cry right now.”

“If you want those stockings you can have them,” I said. “Netta

can’t use them, so they’re unattached as you put it.”

Her eyes brightened. “I don’t know what to say. I’d love them-

they’d save my life, but knowing they were for Netta . . . well, it does

make a difference, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

She thought, frowning. I could see she would always find thought

difficult: she just wasn’t the thinking type.

“I don’t know. I suppose not. I mean . . . well, where are they?”

“At my hotel. Shall we go over and get them?”

She slid off her stool. “You mean right now? This very moment?”

“Why not? Can you get away?”

“Oh, yes. All we girls are free lances. We make what we pick up-

doesn’t it sound sordid?” She giggled. “I suppose I’d have to come all

the way up to your room and there wouldn’t be any crowds in there?”

I shook my head. “No crowds. Just you and me.”

She looked doubtful. “I don’t know whether I should. My father

said he’d be terribly angry if I ever appeared in the News of the

World .”

“Who’s going to tell the News of the World ?” I asked patiently.

She brightened up again. “I wish I was clever. Do you know, I

never thought of that. Well, come on. Let’s go.”

I finished my drink. “Is there a garage at the back of this joint?”

She nodded. “Yes, a big one. Why?”

I patted her hand. “Some Americans like to look at old churches,”

I said, smiling. “I’m crazy about garages. You’d be surprised at the

number of garages there are to look at. They’re full of oil and

interest.”

“But why garages?” she asked blankly.

“Why old churches?” I returned.

She nodded. “I expect you’re right. I had an uncle who liked

visiting public houses. I suppose it’s the same sort of idea.”

“Along those lines,” I said, walked with her to the door.

As we reached the head of the stairs, I saw a big woman coming

up. She wore a black evening dress and a heavy gold collar

surrounded her thick neck. Her black hair was scraped back and her

broad, rather sullen face was a mask of make-up. I drew back to allow

her to pass. She came on, gave Crystal a cold hard stare, didn’t notice

me, went on.

I stared after her, a tingling sensation running down my spine.

The woman was Mrs. Brambee.

Chapter VIII

“Do you know what it means when a girl is said to be ruined?”

Crystal asked, sitting on the bed and surveying my room with

approval.

I put my hat in the cupboard, sat down in the arm-chair. “I have a

vague idea,” I said, smiling at her. “But it’s a little technical to go into

at this stage of our association. What makes you ask?”

She fluffed up her blonde curls. “My father says that if a girl

allows a man to take her into his bedroom, she’s as good as ruined.”

I nodded gravely. “There are times when your father talks sense,”

I said, “but it doesn’t count with me. You’re not the ruining type.”

“I thought there was a catch in it,” she said, sighing. “Nothing ever

happens to me. Confidentially, my greatest ambition is to be chased

up a dark alley by a man with glaring eyes. I’ve hung around dark

alleys until I’m sick and tired of them, but no man with or even

without glaring eyes ever shows up.”

“Remember Bruce and the spider and keep trying,” I said.

“Something’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

She nodded, sighed. “Oh, well, I’ve waited so long now, I can wait

some more. May I see those stockings or do I have to wait for those

too?”

“You can not only see them, but you can have them,” I said,

fetched them from my wardrobe. “Catch.” I tossed them into her lap.

While she was drooling over the stockings I rang for the floor

waiter, and then lit a cigarette.

My visit to the Blue Club hadn’t been a waste of time. Meeting

Mrs. Brambee had been a stroke of luck, especially as she hadn’t seen

me. Crystal had told me that she had seen Mrs. Brambee in the club

regularly every Thursday night. She appeared to have business with

Jack Bradley, and after, she had dinner and went away. No one knew

who she was; she always dined alone, and always left the club

immediately after finishing her meal.

This information intrigued me. When I first saw Mrs. Brambee she

was so obviously the village charwoman that meeting her dressed up

in her finery had come as a complete surprise. I decided to pass this

information on to Littlejohns. It might help him to find out what kind

of game Mrs. Brambee was playing.

Then the visit to the club’s garage had also been fruitful. The first

car I had seen in the vast cellar, running under the club, had been the

battered Standard Fourteen that had followed me on my run to

Lakeham.

Slowly, bits of the jig-saw puzzle were fitting themselves together.

For some reason Jack Bradley was interested in my moves. I was

pretty sure that the youth who had followed me was acting on

Bradley’s instructions. I thought Crystal could enlighten me, and

turned from the window to ask her. I found her in the act of changing

her stockings.

“Don’t look now,” she said with a giggle, rolling the nylons up her

shapely legs. “I’m in what is known as an intimate situation.”

“Hey! Get that limb out of sight,” I said, as I heard a gentle tap on

the door, and the handle turn.

The floor waiter drifted in as Crystal hurriedly adjusted her dress.

His eyes flickered for a second, then he looked at me, coldly inquiring.

“A double whisky and. a large gin and lime,” I said, trying to look

as if Crystal was my sister.

He inclined his head, drifted out again. His back was stiff with

disapproval.

“I guess I’ll be the guy who’ll be ruined,” I sighed, sitting in the

arm-chair again. “Will you hurry and get that leg show over before he

returns?”

“Don’t you like it?” Crystal asked, hurt. “I thought you’d go all

pop-eyed and coy.” She put on her shoes, regarded her legs with

unconcealed delight. “They are lovely, aren’t they?” she exclaimed. “I

can’t thank you enough.” She rushed over to me, sat on my la and

twined her arms around my neck. “You’re a good, kind pet and I adore