James Chase - No Business Of Mine

He made an impatient gesture, looked around for a taxi.

“Have you wondered if the Jacobi affair has anything to do with

Netta Scott and Madge Kennitt’s murder?” I asked as the taxi, in

answer to Corridan’s hail, drew up.

“I’m always wondering about everything connected with all my

cases,” he returned dryly, climbed into the taxi. “I’ll be seeing you,

Harmas. You can leave all this safely in my hands. You may not think

so, but they are extremely capable.”

“Let’s keep that as something between you and me,” I said.

“Some people wouldn’t believe it.”

I watched him drive away, grinned, and continued on to the

Savoy. So Julius Cole had gone to ground. I wouldn’t be surprised, I

thought, if I heard he had been found in a ditch with his toes in the

air.

I entered the Savoy, asked if there were any messages, collected

one from Crystal who suggested we should drink some more gin

together that night, gave a telephone number and asked me to call

her.

When I reached my room, I put through a call.

She answered immediately.

“Hello, this is your U.S. romance speaking to you from the Savoy

Hotel,” I said. “I received your note and think your suggestion an

excellent one. Where do we meet and when?”

“Come and pick me up at my place,” she said, gave me an address

in Hertford Street.

“I thought you said you lived with your father-the guy who stuffs

birds.”

“Oh, I’m nearly as big a kidder as you are,” she giggled, hung up.

I arrived at her flat a few minutes after seven. It was over an

antique furniture shop, and after climbing red-carpeted stairs

I came on a small landing which served as a kitchen.

Crystal popped her corn-coloured head out of a door close by,

blew me a kiss.

“Go in there,” she said, pointing a bare arm at another door. “I’ll

join you in two twos.”

“Too long to wait,” I said promptly. “I’m coming in here.”

She hurriedly closed the door, said through the panels that she

had on only her vest, and she didn’t receive gentlemen dressed like

that.

“Who told you I was a gentleman?” I demanded, pounding on the

door. “It’s those sort of mistakes that gets a girl into trouble.”

She had turned the key, but I could hear her giggling.

“Go into the sitting-room and behave,” she commanded.

“Okay,” I said, went into the room, flopped down on the big

settee. I thought the room was nice. It was comfortable, bright, full of

flowers. The kind of room a man and a maid could get awfully matey

in.

By my elbow was a table on which stood a bottle of whisky, a

bottle of gin, a bottle of dry Vermouth, a soda syphon and a cocktail

shaker.

I mixed two martinis, lit a cigarette, waited patiently.

Crystal came in after a while, wearing a scarlet house-coat, white

mules and an expectant expression on her face.

“Here I am,” she said, sitting beside me. She patted my hand,

smiled.

I thought she looked a cute trick, gave her a martini, raised my

own.

“May the bends in your figure never straighten,” I said, drank half

the martini, found it good. “So that stuff about your father was just a

gag?”

“Not really. I have a father and he does stuff things, but I’ve given

up living with him. I just couldn’t stand it, and he couldn’t stand me. I

always tell my boy friends I live with him; it saves a lot of trouble

when they want to see me home.”

“How come I’m invited to your nest?” I asked, smiling. She

fluttered her eyelids at me. “Well, if you must know, I have designs on

you.”

“My mother says no nice girls have designs on men.”

“But who says I’m nice?” she returned, put down her glass,

twined her arms around my neck.

We became intimate for the next five minutes, then I levered off

her arm, pushed her away.

“Remember the News of the World ,” I said.

“I’ve got beyond the News of the World . Let’s have some real

ruinous fun.” She put her head on my shoulder, draped my arm

around her.

“In a little while,” I promised, “but don’t let’s rush it. I meant to

tell you: I saw Bradley this morning. For some reason or other he’s

taken a dislike to me. He won’t let me into the Club any more.”

She sat up, her eyes indignant. “Why?”

I pulled her down, pushed her head back on my shoulder. “He

thinks I’m too inquisitive,” I said. “I don’t care, so why should you?”

“I don’t know if I want to go to the club again, if he’s going to

treat you like that,” she said crossly. “Only I don’t know what else I

could do. You wouldn’t think of keeping me, would you? I’ve always

wanted to be a kept woman.”

“I don’t believe in keeping women. I think they should keep me.”

“Oh, you’re kidding again,” she said, thumped my knee. “But

seriously, wouldn’t you like to keep me? “

“I’d hate it,” I said gravely. “It’s as much as I can do to keep

myself.”

She sighed. “Well, all right. I never seem to have any luck. I don’t

think I’ll go to the club to-night. I have a chicken in the refrigerator.

Let’s have that and spend the evening together.”

“That sounds swell.”

She got up. “You sit there and look decorative. I’ll fix supper.”

That suited me. I was good at looking decorative. I filled my glass,

lit a cigarette, relaxed. It was nice to watch her moving about the

room. I decided suddenly that it mightn’t be a bad idea to keep her at

that.

“Tell me, sugar,” I said, “have you been keeping your eyes and

ears open at the club?”

“Oh, yes. The trouble is I don’t know what to listen for. I’ll tell you

something though.” She paused in laying the table, turned to look at

me. “I was at the club this afternoon and an odd sort of man came in

asking for Bradley. He reminded me a little of the man I saw with

Netta — the one I was telling you about with the Bentley.”

“Go on,” I said, interested.

“I don’t know if it was the same man, but he was the same build,

and there was something familiar about him that rang a bell. He was

big and fat and fair. I thought he looked a bit of a pansy.”

“Had he a habit of wagging his head? Did you notice that? And

was his hair cut very short?”

She nodded. “Do you know him?”

“It sounds like my old pal Julius Cole,” I said. “What happened?”

“Well, Bradley came out of his office, glared at him, said, ‘What

the hell do you want?’ This man said, ‘I’ve got to see you, Jack, it’s

important’. Bradley looked sort of put out, then he took Cole into his

office. I didn’t hear what happened, of course.”

I stubbed out my cigarette, lit another. “Think carefully. Did

anything happen at all after that?”

“I saw Frankie go into Bradley’s office, and later he came out and

went to the garage. He spoke to Sam and said something about going

down to the country right away. I could see he was wild with rage, but

I can’t remember anything else happening.”

“You’ve remembered enough,” I said, crossed over to the

telephone, turned up Merryweather in the book. I found his private

address, put through a call.

He answered himself.

“This is Harmas here,” I said. “Can you get in touch with

Littlejohns at once and warn him to look out for a man who’s on his