James Chase - No Business Of Mine

thinking.

I was at last getting somewhere. I’d have probably solved the

whole business if Madge hadn’t dropped her bottle of whisky; but I

wasn’t discouraged. I had found out that a girl had been in the flat

with Netta, and I was positive that it was she who had died and not

Netta. It seemed pretty obvious that she had been murdered, and I

wondered with a feeling of sick apprehension, if Netta had taken a

hand in the murder. Could the man who had returned with Netta and

the other girl be Jacobi, whoever he might be? Had he been listening

to Madge and me talking, and had killed Madge before she could give

me the information she had promised? Was that what Madge had

tried to convey when she had scrawled the name in the dust? What

was Frankie doing on the scene of the murder? How much was I going

to tell Corridan? If he suspected me before, he had every reason for

suspecting me still more now. I should have to handle him with care.

Corridan arrived in a fast police car in less than ten minutes. He

jumped out of the car, ran up the steps before I could get to my feet.

“What’s this, Harmas?” he snapped, his cold eyes searching my

face. “What’s happened?”

“Madge Kennitt’s been murdered,” I said briefly.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“I came to see her,” I returned, told him briefly what had

happened. “You saw me leave, Corridan,” I went on. “I spotted you as

I was driving away. Why were you tailing me?”

“It’s just as well that I was, isn’t it?” he returned curtly. “I’m

beginning to wonder about you, Harmas. You’re not making things

easy for yourself, are you?”

“You don’t think I had anything to do with her death?”

“You could have killed her, couldn’t you?” he returned, shortly.

“Every time someone dies connected with this case, you appear on

the scene. I don’t like it. I’ve told you before to keep out of this, and

I’m telling you again for the last time. This is no business of yours.

Now, will you please understand that once and for all?”

“Hadn’t you better take a look at Madge?” I said.

He snapped his fingers impatiently, went past me into the house.

Two plain-clothes men followed him. I brought up the rear.

“Stay in the hall, please,” he said to me, entered Madge’s flat.

That settled it, I decided. Corridan could stew in his own juice.

From now on, I was going to work on the case and keep all my

findings to myself. Then I’d surprise the lug when I’d solved it.

I sat on the stairs, lit a cigarette, waited.

I heard the three men moving about the room, and after a while

one of the plain-clothes men came out, went across the street to

telephone.

When he returned, he glanced at me and I said, “How much

longer do I have to wait here? I want to go to bed.”

“The Inspector will want to talk to you,” he returned, went into

the room again.

I lit another cigarette, continued to wait.

The stairs creaked, and I glanced around. Julius Cole was coming

down stealthily, holding the skirt of his yellow-and-black dressing-

gown in one hand, the other hand on the banister rail.

Looking at the dressing-gown I thought of the yellow-and-black

Bentley, wondered if there was any connection.

“Hello, baby,” he whispered, his eyes on Madge Kennitt’s door.

“What’s going on?”

“I’d have thought you’d have been on the scene before now,” I

said, scowling at him. “You’d better beat it. You’re in the way, Fatso.”

He came on, plumped himself down beside me, smiled his secret

smile. I smelt perfume, drew away from him.

“Has something happened to the old hag?” he asked, rubbing his

big, white hands together. “Has she lost something? Is it the police?”

“Someone cut her throat,” I said brutally. “Odd you didn’t see him

arrive, or did you?”

“Cut her throat?” he squeaked, his face going slack. “You mean

she’s dead?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, staring at him. “She knew too much.”

He was on his feet now, his mouth working, his eyes full of terror.

“You’ll be next,” I said, kidding him. “You know too much, too.” I

wanted to loosen him up, and then I was going to move in and take

him to pieces, but I guess I punched him too hard. He bolted up the

stairs before I could grab him. I heard him rush into his room, slam the

door and shoot the bolt.

I hadn’t expected quite such a reaction, but on consideration, I

realized that he also had seen the man and girl return with Netta. He,

too, stood a likely chance of getting his throat cut; and he knew it.

I got to my feet, undecided whether to follow him or not, when

Corridan came out of the room. His face was grim.

“Now, let’s hear some more from you,” he said, planting himself

before me. “How long have you known this woman?”

I frowned at him. “Why, I’ve only just met her. I told you I thought

she might have seen something the night Netta was supposed to have

died. I came here, talked with her, and she admitted she did know

something. Then she upset her bottle of Scotch, wouldn’t talk until I’d

got her another. I got another from Sam at the Blue Club, but when I

got back I found her dead. Someone had stopped her talking for

good.”

“It’s lucky for you I saw you come out when you did,” Corridan

said coldly. “Even then, it still doesn’t mean you couldn’t have killed

her.”

“For God’s sake, Corridan!” I exploded.

“You’ve brought it on yourself,” he returned. “You are definitely

on my suspect list.”

“That’s fine,” I said bitterly. “After all the meals I’ve bought for

you, too.”

“Tell me exactly what she said,” he ordered, watching me with

uncomfortable intentness.

I couldn’t avoid tel ing him the truth, although it irritated me to do

so. It was his job to find out that Netta had come back with two other

people, not to receive it as a gift from me.

He listened in silence, seemed very thoughtful by the time I had

finished.

“There goes your suicide theory,” I said, eyeing him. “I told you all

along Netta didn’t kill herself.”

“I know,” he said, looking up sharply. “If she didn’t kill herself,

then you might have a reason for stopping Madge Kennitt from

talking. Thought of that?”

I just gaped at him.

“On the other hand it still could be suicide,” he went on. “These

two visitors could have left her after doing whatever they had come

to do, and then she committed suicide. It depends on what time they

left.”

“Well, Julius Cole can tell you. He saw them too.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” Corridan said grimly. “Will you walk to

the corner with me?” I asked, remembering

Frankie. “I want to check something.”

He opened the front door without a word, and together we

walked to the entrance of the alley from which the Standard had

come. I struck a match, peered at a small pool of motor oil on the

cobbles. It would seem from that that the Standard had been parked

there for some time.

“Look at this,” I said. “When I was trying to get you on the phone,

I spotted a Standard car come out of this mews. There’s some oil here

that leaked from it. I should say it’d been standing there some time. I

happen to know the car belongs to Jack Bradley. Does that mean