James Chase - No Business Of Mine

demanding five hundred pounds from me or you’ll give Corridan false

evidence that will incriminate me with two murders. That is the

position, isn’t it?”

“That’s the idea,” he said, smirking. “I’m afraid I couldn’t put that

in writing. But between you and me that’s the general idea, baby.”

I nodded, satisfied.

“You can have your money,” I said, “and God help you, Fatso, if

you try to double-cross me. I’ll come after you, and I’ll pound you to a

jelly.”

“You have my word,” he said with a pathetic attempt at dignity.

“That should be enough. You’re an American, of course, so you can’t

be expected to appreciate that an Englishman’s word is his bond.”

“Get off your high horse, you fat louse,” I snapped, sick of him.

He waggled his head. “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time

already? Where’s the money?”

I went to the desk, opened it, took out the packet of pound notes

I had meant to give Netta. I tossed them into his lap.

“There you are,” I said, watched him.

He stared down at the money, his eyes popping out of his head.

He touched them, patted them.

“Take them and get out,” I said.

“Do you mind if I count them, baby?” he asked, a catch in his

voice. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but it’s more businesslike.

Besides, you might have given me too much.” He giggled explosively.

“Go ahead, but be quick about it. I can’t stand the sight of you

much longer.”

There was a long pause while he counted the notes. He was

trembling with excitement, and completely absorbed in the sound the

notes made as they rustled in his fingers.

Finally he straightened, nodded. There was a gleam of incredulous

triumph in his eyes. “Well, baby,” he said, “I didn’t think you’d be so

easy. I thought I was going to have a lot of trouble with yon.” he

stuffed the notes into his hip pocket, smiled his secret smile. He

wasn’t pleasant to look at.

I laughed at him.

“Get out, you fat louse,”

He looked down at the faded sprig of lilies in his buttonhole. He

took it out, laid it on the table.

“Something to remember me by, baby,” he said, giggled. That was

too much for me.

“And here’s something to remember me by, Fatso,” I said, hauled

off and landed him a sock in his right eye.

He reeled back against the wall, his hand to his eye. For a moment

he remained there, stunned, then he cringed away, moaning.

“You beast!” he whimpered. “Oh, you beastly, rotten cad!”

I made a threatening move towards him. He rushed to the door,

yanked it open. Waiting for him in the passage outside was an over-

sized, plain-clothes dick.

Cole blundered into him, received a violent shove which sent him

staggering back. The plain-clothes dick smiled at him.

“Hello, dear,” he said.

Cole, still holding his eye, stared at him for almost a minute, then

his face crumpled and his knees sagged.

The dick advanced on him. Cole retreated.

I kicked the door shut when the dick was in the room.

“So you anticipated you were going to have trouble with me, did

you?” I said grimly. “Boy! Is that an understatement.”

I crossed over to the bathroom, opened the door. “Okay,

O’Malley, you can come out now.”

Detective-Inspector O’Malley came out, followed by another

plain-clothes dick who had a note-book in his hand.

“Did you get it all down?” I asked.

“Every word,” O’Malley said, rubbing his hands. “The sweetest

little statement I could wish for. If he doesn’t get ten years, may I be

hung for a liar.”

The three dicks grinned at Cole. O’Malley walked up to him,

touched his arm.

“I’m Detective-Inspector O’Malley of Bow Street, and these are

police officers,” he said, waving his hand to the two plainclothes dicks.

“It’s my duty to arrest you and charge you with attempted blackmail.

And I have also to caution you that anything you say will be written

down and may be used in evidence at your trial.”

Cole’s face turned green.

“You can’t do this to me,” he squeaked. “That’s the man who

must be arrested. He’s a murderer.” He pointed a trembling finger at

me. “He killed Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns. I saw him do it!

You can’t arrest me. I’m an honest citizen.”

O’Malley grinned.

“You can tell that to the judge,” he said soothingly. “You come

along with me.”

The two plain-clothes dicks closed in on him. One of them

whisked my money from Cole’s pocket, handed it to O’Malley.

“We’ll have to keep this,” O’Malley said to me. “But you’ll get it

back after the trial.”

“I hope so,” I returned with a grin. “I’d hate to think it might go to

your sports fund.”

The three dicks laughed.

“Come on,” O’Malley said to Cole. “We’ll make you nice and snug

in a cell.”

Cole started back. “He’s a murderer, I tell you,” he shouted

frantically. “Arrest him! He’ll leave the country if you don’t. Do you

hear? He’ll leave the country.”

“Now don’t excite yourself, dear,” one of the plain-clothes dicks

said. “If you come quietly I’ll give you a nice cup of cocoa at the

station.”

Cole took his hand away from his eye which was closed and

swollen.

“He assaulted me,” he shrilled. “I wish to charge him with assault.

Arrest him!”

O’Malley looked pained. “Did you do that?” he asked me, shaking

his head sadly.

“Me?” I said, shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. He

was so anxious to spend his money, he hit his poor eye against the

door handle as he rushed out.”

O’Malley guffawed.

“You must have been in a hurry,” he said, winking at Cole.

I walked up to Cole, smiled. “So long, louse,” I said. “The next time

you try blackmail, don’t pick on a newspaper man. See you in ten

years’ time.”

They took Cole away. He went speechless, dazed, stupefied. At

the door, O’Malley looked over his shoulder.

“See you to-night,” he said.

“Sure. Corridan’ll be back then,” I returned. “I wouldn’t miss

seeing his face when I spring my little surprise for all the Scotch in

London.”

“Speaking as a teetotaller, nor would I,” O’Malley said piously.

Chapter XXIII

THE clock in Mrs. Crockett’s hall was striking the half-hour after

seven as I crept up the stairs to Madge Kennitt’s flat. No one saw me

enter the house. It was a relief to know that Julius Cole wouldn’t

appear on the landing to waggle his head at me.

I listened outside Madge’s door, heard nothing, tapped gently.

“It’s Steve,” I said.

There was a pause, then the door opened. Netta, in a red and

white silk dress, let me in.

I entered the room, closed the door.

“Hello,” I said.

“You’re early, Steve,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “Is it

all right?” Her eyes were deep set in dark sockets. She seemed

anxious, nervy.

I nodded. “I think so, I said. “I’ve talked to Bix. He wants to see

you.”

“Wants to see me?” she repeated, frowning. “But, why?”

“You don’t know Bix. He’s a crazy guy,” I returned. “He says he

won’t risk his job to fly some dumb-belle to the States. I told him you

were the ace of pin-ups, but he thinks the women I go around with