James Chase - No Business Of Mine

before I commit myself too deeply.” His lips curled slightly at the

corners which was his idea of a smile. “Do you think she was

murdered?”

“I’m willing to bet five hundred pounds that she was,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up. “And you have five hundred pounds?”

“I have. Like to take me on?”

He shook his head. “I never bet with Yanks; they’re far too smart.”

He pushed his plate away, dabbed his thin lips with his napkin. “Hmm,

now I wonder what makes you so sure?”

“I’ve been to her flat and had a look around,” I said. “I found some

interesting items which I’ll show you in a moment. First tell me, did

any of your men take anything from the flat?”

“No. Is there anything missing?”

“A number of pairs of silk stockings, most of her clothes, and a

diamond bracelet and scarf-pin.”

“Valuable?”

“The bracelet cost two hundred pounds three years ago. It’ll be

worth double that now. I don’t know about the pin.”

“How do you know they’re missing? Couldn’t she have sold t

hem?”

I hadn’t thought of that, and said so. “All the same I don’t think

she did. She was fond of those pieces and nothing would persuade her

to get rid of her stockings. No, I don’t believe she did sell the stuff.”

Corridan eyed me. “Now you’re being obstinate,” he said quietly.

“I should say it was most likely. She may have been pressed for money

at one time.”

The waiter interrupted us with the whiskies. We paused before

we started on the vol au vent , finished the whiskies while we talked.

“But she wasn’t the type to kill herself,” I said. “I remember once

she said she’d never take that way out of trouble. If you’d have heard

her you’d know she wasn’t the type.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two years. Oh, I know you’ll say people change, but I’m still sure

she wasn’t the type.”

“What else?” The blue eyes probed, the thin mouth came near to

a smile again. “Ignoring the jewel ery, the stockings and her type,

what else have you got?”

“I haven’t started yet,” I said, “but it’ll keep until we’ve fed. You

don’t know anything about the girl?”

“She hasn’t a record if that’s what you mean,” he returned,

contentedly chewing his food. “She worked at the Blue Club as a

dance hostess and she’s been fined once or twice for car offences,

otherwise we don’t know anything about her.”

“And the Blue Club ? I hear it’s taken a dive since I knew it.”

“Most of these clubs that catered for Americans have

deteriorated since the Americans have gone home. The Blue Club is on

our suspect list, but Bradley is a little too smart for us at the moment.

We believe the place is a gambling den, and there’s drinking out of

hours. I’m sure the food is Black Market, but we’ve never been able to

get any of our men in there, and a raid has always flopped. The Chief

thinks one of our men tips Bradley off when a raid is going to be

made. Anyway, he’s always one jump ahead of us, although he can’t

last much longer.”

By now we had finished the meal, and Corridan went back to the

arm-chair. I ordered brandy and cigars, saw he was settled

comfortably.

“Well, now perhaps I can convince you,” I said, produced the

Luger and handed it to him.

He sat for a long moment staring at it, his face expressionless,

then he glanced up, his eves cold.

“Where did this conic from?” he asked.

I told him.

He examined the Luger thoughtfully, shook his head, relaxed

again.

“If you knew the number of women who have these damn things

you wouldn’t think so much of it,” he said. “Nearly every American

soldier brought one back from Germany, and gave it to his girl friend.

What makes you so het up about it?”

“I’m not het up about it,” I said, “but it’s odd she should have kept

it hidden in a dress like that, isn’t it?” I suddenly wondered if I was

making a fool of myself.

“Well, you can get into trouble having one of these things she

might have hidden it with that in mind,” Corridan returned, stretching

out his long legs and sniffing at his brandy. “Nothing more concrete?”

I told him about the sixteen five-pound notes, and handed them

and the letter to Anne Scott over to him. I also gave him the diamond

ring.

“You certainly searched the place pretty thoroughly,” he said,

cocking an eye at me. “I don’t know if you had any right in there . . .

had you?”

“Maybe not,” I returned, chewing my cigar, “but this business

worries me, Corridan. I feel there’s something wrong somewhere.” I

went on to tell him about the man who had attacked me.

He showed some interest at last.

“Did you see him?”

“It was damned dark, and I was startled. All right,” I went on when

he half smiled. “I was scared pink. So would you’ve been if it had

happened to you. The guy sprang out at me with what looked like a

tyre lever, and he had a damned good shot at bashing my brains in. I

couldn’t see much of him, but he seemed young, slight, and could run

like hell. I think I’d know him again if I saw him.”

“What do you think he was after?”

“The gun perhaps,” I said, “that’s why I suggest you have it

checked. You see there’s a scratch on the barrel and it looks as if at

one time a name was engraved on the butt. I believe the gun might

tell us something.”

“You’ve been reading too many detective stories,” he grunted.

“Still, there’s no harm checking the gun.” He sniffed at it. “Been fired,

I’d say a month or so ago. Smells of lilac, too.”

“Her favourite perfume,” I told him. “Well, that’s my story. I

hoped you’d be more impressed, but I should have known better. The

trouble with you is you’ve no imagination.”

He stroked his long fleshy nose. “Maybe I haven’t, but I’ve a lot of

horse sense, and I still think she committed suicide.” He picked up the

envelope, tapped it on his finger-nails. “Shall we see what’s in here?”

“Can we?”

“The police can do anything,” he said with a wink. He took out a

pencil, slid it under the flap of the envelope, rol ed it gently backwards

and forwards. After a little persuasion the flap lifted.

“Easy once you know how,” he said, looking at me with his half-

hearted smile. “You have to have the right touch, of course.”

“I’ll keep my mail out of your reach,” I said. “Well, what’s inside?”

He glanced into the envelope, whistled. With finger and thumb he

hooked out what seemed a stack of over-printed paper.

“Bearer bonds,” he said.

I leaned forward. “Seems a lot of them,” I said, gaping.

His fingers flicked through them. “Five thousand pounds worth,”

he said. “Now I wonder where these came from?” He glanced inside

the envelope. “No note. Hmm, this is a little odd I must say.”

I laughed at him. “Now you’re starting. The whole thing’s odd to

me. Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“I think I’ll take a trip to Lakeham and see Miss Scott. I’d like to

know where these bonds came from. If she can’t tell me, I’ll have to

check them. That may be a longish job; still, I want to know.”

“Could I come with you to Lakeham?” I asked. “I’ll play Watson to