James Chase - No Business Of Mine

“Was he the guy who gave you the Luger pistol?”

“Luger pistol?” she repeated blankly, then nodded. “I’d forgotten

that. I promised to keep it for him, but when he went we both forgot I

had it. How do you know about it?”

“Corridan has it,” I said. “We both thought it was the gun that had

killed Jacobi.”

She went white. “But they know now it isn’t?”

“Sure, they know,” I said, patting her knee. “I’m nearly through.

Why did you go to Bradley?”

“I had to. I hadn’t any money. Bradley has always been decent to

me after our first fight. I had no one to turn to. I was scared to come

to you. Ju told me you were always going around with the police. I

wanted to come to you, but Ju said it was too dangerous. So I went to

Bradley. I told him the whole story.

He was decent and gave me two hundred pounds. Then you

arrived; I got in a panic and ran.”

I stroked my nose. “Go on,” I said.

“I came back here,” she went on, suddenly gripping my wrist. “I

let myself in, came upstairs. I heard someone moving about in the

sitting-room. I thought it was French. I swear I thought it was French.”

She broke off to stare into my face. “Steve! You must believe me.

“Go on,” I said.

“I thought he had come to kill me. I was crazy with fear. I didn’t

know what I was doing. I grabbed the poker, waited in the dark.

Something moved, came at me. I—I lost my head . . . hit out.” She hid

her face in her hands. “Steve, you must help me. I’m so frightened.

Say you believe me. Say you’ll help me. Please. . . .”

I got to my feet, walked the length of the room. “How the hell can

I help you?” I asked. “They’ll find him here sooner or later. They’ll find

out he was working for me. They’ll find out you’ve been hiding here.

The only thing we can do is to tell this story to Corridan. It’s the only

way, Netta. He’ll understand. He’l help you.”

She stood up. “No! French will kill me before the police can do

anything. If he doesn’t, they won’t believe me. I know they won’t. No

one would believe me except you.” She put her arms around my neck,

held me close. “Steve, I’m asking you to help me. I know you can do it.

You can get me out of the country the way Peter Utterly got Selma

out. We can go in a day or so. Before they find him.” She looked

shudderingly over her shoulder. “Peter took Selma back in one of his

friends’ aircraft. Can’t you do the same for me? Can’t you get me out

of this after what we’ve been together?”

“Let me think,” I said, sat on the bed, lit another cigarette. I

stayed like that for several minutes. Then I said, “Okay, Netta, I’ll do it.

I’ll get you out of the country and then I guess we’re quits. I owe you

something, but I didn’t think the price would be as steep as this. But

I’ll do it.”

She fell on her knees beside me.

“But how will you do it?” she asked, gripping my hand.

“Harry Bik will get us out. Do you remember him? I brought him

to the Club the night I first saw you. He’s shipping kites back to

America every week. He’ll do it. He’s that kind of a guy. We’ll smuggle

you on to the airfield, and get you across to the other side somehow.

We’ll do it, Netta, don’t worry. When I say I’ll do it, I’ll damn well do

it.”

She began to cry again, her face against my knee.

I played with her hair, stared at the framed picture of a cutie in

yellow pants above the bed. The look in her eyes cal ed me a sucker.

Maybe I was.

Chapter XIX

WHILE Netta was packing a bag, I washed the glasses, wiped them

free of finger-prints, put them and the bottle of Scotch back into the

cupboard. With my handkerchief I picked up the blood-encrusted

poker, washed it, put it back beside Littlejohns.

I entered the bedroom again to find Netta cramming her things

into a big Revelation suit-case.

“There mustn’t be one thing left here that could lead them to

you,” I said.

“I’ve packed everything,” she returned, closing the lid. “Sure?”

She looked around the room, nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now we have to think where you can go until I’ve

fixed the plane. It may take a couple of days.”

“I know where to go,” she said. “I’ve been thinking while you were

out of the room. I know now.”

I looked at her. “Where?”

“Madge Kennitt’s flat.”

I gaped at her. “What’s that?”

“Made Kennitt’s flat. No one would think of looking for me there.”

“For God’s sake!” I exclaimed. “Didn’t you know? She was

murdered. You can’t go there.”

“Yes, I can. The place is empty, and the police have finished with

it. Mrs. Crockett wouldn’t try to let it until the murder’s forgotten. It’ll

be perfectly safe for the next three or four days. But that’s not the

only reason why I’m going there. Madge laid in a stock of tinned food

at the beginning of the war. I know where she hid it. I’m sure it’s still

there. I’ve got to eat, and if I go there I don’t have to go out at all until

you call for me.”

“You sure the food’s still there?”

“I think so. At least, I can go and see.”

I didn’t much like the idea, but agreed the food question was

difficult.

“But how will you get in?”

“My key fits her lock. It fits Ju’s as well. They have all more or less

the same locks on all the flat doors.”

“Well, al right,” I said. “But you’ll have to be damned careful.”

I suddenly realized that if Cole’s key opened Madge’s door, then

he might have killed her; might have wiped out the name, Jacobi, that

had been written in the dust. I filed that piece of information away for

future reference.

“I’ll be careful,” she said.

“Okay, then that’s settled. When I’ve fixed things, I’ll come for you

in a car. Be ready any night to move quick.”

She came to me, put her hands on my shoulders. Terror still

lurked at the back of her eyes, but she was quieter, had a grip on her

nerves.

“I can’t thank you enough, Steve,” she said. “Maybe I have been a

fool since last we met, but I’m not bad — not really bad, and I never

forgot you.”

I patted her shoulder, turned away.

“We’re both now in a hel of a mess,” I said soberly. “If we aren’t

smart, and if we play our cards badly, we’re going to be in a real tough

spot. Make no mistake about it. I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you,

Netta.”

She slipped her hand into mine. “I know, and I shouldn’t let you

do it, Steve,” she said. “I lost my head just now, but I’ve got over that

now. If you want to back out, I shan’t blame you, and I’ll manage

somehow. All my life I’ve had to manage. I can still go on fighting

alone.”

“Forget it,” I said shortly. “We’re in this together. But there’s one

thing that bothers me . . .”

She looked searchingly at me. “What, Steve?”

“Peter French. If we quit, he’s going to get away with it.”

She gripped my ann. “Then let him get away with it. We can’t do

anything to him without getting ourselves in a mess. Don’t start

anything like that, Steve. It’ll only come back to us.”

I nodded. “I guess you’re right, only I hate to think a rat like

French . . .”

Her grip on my arm tightened, her eyes opened wide. “Listen,”