James Chase - No Business Of Mine

could get off to-night?”

“If we don’t, we’ll never get off,” I returned. “Once they know I’m

on the run, they’l watch every airport.” I pulled her a little closer to

me. “Bradley worries me. I might be able to handle Cole, but Bradley

has a real grievance. Where did you get those rings from, Netta?”

“I didn’t give him the rings.”

“He said you did. He said he bought them off you for three

hundred pounds.”

She shook her head. “Of course not. I’ve told you what happened.

I went to him, told him the truth, asked him for some money. He gave

me two hundred pounds. He told you that yarn about the rings to

shield me. I remember he always had a lot of jewellery in his office.”

I snapped my fingers. “My God! I’ve been a sucker. I should have

guessed he was lying. What a mug I was to have taken the rings. He

can get me three months for that. It’s robbery with violence.”

“But he won’t get you three months because you won’t be here,”

Netta said. “How soon can you fix that plane?”

“Right now,” I said, going over to the telephone. I dial ed a

number, waited. “Is that you, Bix?” I asked, when a man’s voice came

on the line.

The voice said, “Sure!”

“This is Steve Harmas. I’m coming to see you. This is important.

When’s your next trip?”

“Why, hello, Steve,” he said. “Glad to hear from you again. What’s

the excitement?”

“I’ll tell you when we meet. When’s your next trip?”

“Twenty-two-thirty hours to-night,” he returned. “Want to come

with me.”

“You bet I want to come,” I said. “I’ll be right over.” I hung up,

turned.

“Cross your fingers, kid,” I said. “Maybe I’ll be able to persuade

him to take us. Get packed, and be ready for me at nine o’clock. “

She grabbed hold of me. “You’re wonderful, Steve,” she cried, her

eyes bright with excitement.

“Sure, I’m wonderful,” I said, feeling like a heel, “but save the

celebration until we’re over the Atlantic.”

I let her kiss me, but I didn’t kiss her in return. It’d have been too

much like the touch of Judas.

Chapter XXII

BY three-twenty I had completed my arrangements for the

evening, and had returned to my room at the Savoy to await Julius

Cole.

Since leaving Netta, I had seen Harry Bix, explained what I wanted

him to do. Intrigued by the story I had to tell, he had immediately

agreed to co-operate. I had then taken a taxi to the offices of the

Morning Mail, and had spent an hour with Fred Ullman. Acting on the

suggestions I had made the night before, Ullman had been working

like a beaver, and had collected a mass of information which had to

be acted upon promptly.

Corridan was down at Lakeham, and, although I made efforts to

get into touch with him, was temporarily out of the picture. I knew

he’d return by evening, but by then, I had to complete my case or fail

altogether. In a way I was glad he wasn’t around. His absence gave me

a clear field and I took every advantage of it. When he did get back, he

would find I had solved the Allenby case, and he was going to get the

shock of his life.

But in the meantime, I had to have the co-operation of the police.

During my previous stay in London, I had been friendly with Detective-

Inspector O’Malley of Bow Street Police Station. Corridan had

introduced us, and O’Malley had been delighted to show me the

workings of the magistrate’s court. I decided I’d enlist his aid, and

called on him. When I explained the reason of r n’ call, produced my

evidence, he had insisted on taking me to meet Corridan’s chief at

Scotland Yard. It was decided that immediate action should be taken.

Now back in my room at the Savoy, I relaxed, confident that if my

plans worked out the way I hoped, by nightfall the Allenby case and

the murders of Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns would be solved.

I had scarcely time to run through my plans in my mind to be sure

that nothing had been overlooked before a tap sounded on my door

which told me Julius Cole had arrived.

I levered myself out of my chair, opened the door.

There he was, eyeing me expectantly, waggling his head. He had

smartened himself up. Some of the grease stains had disappeared

from his coat; he had changed the grubby white tie to a less grubby

yellow one. In his buttonhole was a faded sprig of lilies of the val ey.

“Hello, baby,” he said. “I’m not too early, am l?”

“Come in,” I said, holding open the door.

He sauntered in, looked around the room.

“You know, I like it,” he said. “The more I see it, the better it

looks.” He eyed me hopefully. “Have you the money, baby?”

“Sure. It’s right there in that desk.”

He wasn’t able to control his excitement, although he made an

effort to do so. His face brightened, his eyes gleamed, he giggled.

“Five hundred pounds!” he exclaimed, rubbing his big, grubby

hands together. “I can scarcely believe it.”

“Sit down, Fatso,” I said, closing the door. “You haven’t got it yet,

so don’t get steamed up.”

His smile slipped, but he jerked it up with an effort, eyed me

cautiously.

“But you’ve made up your mind, baby?” he asked. “You’re going

to be sensible?”

“How do I know that after you’ve got the money you won’t come

back for more?” I asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Please don’t talk like that,” he said, giving me an arch look. “I

assure you I don’t do business that way. I like to think I’m an honest

blackmailer. It may sound absurd to you, but I have my principles. I

make a fair price, and I stick to it.”

“I wouldn’t trust you farther than I could throw you,” I said. “Sit

down. I want to talk to you.”

He hesitated, then lowered his great flabby body into the arm-

chair.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so suspicious, baby,” he complained,

pouting. “My terms are straightforward. You give me five hundred

pounds, I keep quiet; you leave the country. That’s simple enough,

isn’t it? I can’t do you any harm if you’re not here, can I?”

“I haven’t gone yet.” I said, “There’s nothing to stop you from

double-crossing me while I’m waiting to leave, is there?”

“But I wouldn’t do that,” he protested. “It’s not in my nature to do

mean things.”

“Remind me to cry over that lovely sentiment sometime,” I said.

“Suppose Corridan makes things hot for you? How do I know you

won’t tell him it wasn’t Netta but her sister who died?”

“Don’t be silly, baby,” he said. “If I told Corridan that, I’d get into

trouble, wouldn’t I?”

“It was her sister who died, wasn’t it?”

He blinked. “Of course.”

“How do you know? Have you ever seen her sister?”

“Of course,” he repeated, picked his nose, stared at me

thoughtfully.

“Why did you say it was Netta?”

“I don’t think we have to go into that, baby,” he said, shifting

uneasily. “I had my reasons.”

“How much is Peter French paying you to keep quiet?” I shot at

him.

For a moment he looked startled, then he recovered himself,

giggled.

“There’s not much you miss,” he said. “I can’t tell you that. It’d be

a breach of confidence.”

“All right,” I said, shrugging. “Let’s get down to business. You’re