James Chase - No Business Of Mine

your Holmes. Besides, I’d like to meet the sister. Maybe she doesn’t

know Netta’s dead. I think I should be there when the news is

broken.”

“By all means come,” he said, getting to his feet. “Shall we say to-

morrow morning? We can go down by car.”

“Swell. But don’t think you’re through yet,” I said. “There’s one

more thing I want you to do. Where can I see Netta? I want to see her

before she’s buried.”

“A bit morbid, aren’t you?” he shot at me. “What good can that

do you?”

“I’m funny that way,” I said, stubbing out my cigar. “Suppose you

come along too? I want you to see her if only to be in a better position

to judge when the lid comes off this business, as I’m sure it will. I have

a hunch we’re on to something that’s going to be big, and you’ll thank

me in the long run for putting you wise.”

“I’ve never met such a chap,” Corridan muttered, went over to

the telephone, called the Yard.

I stood by while he ordered a police car to pick us up outside the

Savoy.

“Come along,” he said, “if it hadn’t been such a damn good dinner

I’d have told you to have gone to blazes, but I suppose I’ll have to pay

for my entertainment. Who knows, you may invite me again.”

“Maybe I will at that,” I said, following him along the corridor to

the elevator.

It took us under a quarter of an hour to reach the mortuary, and

the officer in charge, startled to have a visit from Corridan, came out

to greet us.

“Netta Scott,” Corridan said abruptly. He was always short with

his inferiors in rank. “You have her here. We want to see her.”

The constable, a young, red-faced country-looking fellow, shook

his head. “Not now, sir,” he said. “She was here, but she was taken to

the Hammersmith mortuary an hour ago.”

Corridan frowned. “Oh? On whose orders?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the constable replied, looked blank.

“You don’t know?” Corridan barked, “But surely you had an

official order before you let them take the body?”

The constable changed colour. “Well, no, sir,” he said. “I’m new

here. I-I didn’t know an order was necessary in this case. The driver of

the ambulance said there’d been a mistake, and the remains should

‘ave gone to Hammersmith. I let him take the body.”

Corridan, his face dark with fury, pushed past the constable, went

into the office, slammed the door.

The constable stared after him, scratched his head. “Now I

wonder what’s up,” he said, looking at me. “Do you think I did wrong,

sir?”

I shrugged. “Search me,” I said, feeling uneasy. “But you’ll know

before long.”

After several minutes, Corridan came out of the office, walked

past the constable, jerked his head at me. At the door he paused,

looked back.

“You’ll hear a lot more about this, my man, before very long,” he

snapped at the constable, walked to the police car.

I got in beside him, and as we drove off, I said, “Well, do we go to

Hammersmith?”

“Hammersmith didn’t send for the body,” Corridan growled.

“Anyone but a fool would have known it was a plant. A couple of

hours back an ambulance was reported stolen. Someone- believe it or

not-has kidnapped Netta Scott’s body. It’s fantastic! Why, for God’s

sake?” and he thumped the hack of the driver’s seat with his clenched

fist.

Chapter IV

THE next morning, I awoke with a start. The telephone was

ringing, and sitting up in bed, I grabbed the receiver, stifling a yawn as

I did so. I peered at my bedside clock and saw it was ten minutes past

eight, grunted, “Who is it?”

“Inspector Corridan asking for you,” the porter said.

“All right, send him up,” I returned, snatched up my dressing-

gown and rushed into the bathroom for a hasty shower.

I had slept badly, and was still feeling a little piqued at the abrupt

way Corridan had returned me to the Savoy. He had said, “Sorry,

Harmas, but this is police business now. Can’t take you along with

me,” and that was that. Of course, he was rattled, and I realized that

he had something to get rattled about, but I thought he had a nerve

to ditch me after I’d given him so much data to work on; but Corridan

was like that. When he started on a job, he worked alone.

I was just coming out of the bathroom when I heard a rap on my

door. I opened it; Corridan entered. He looked tired, was unshaven.

“Have you only just got up?” he snapped, tossing his hat on a

chair. “I haven’t even been to bed.”

“You don’t expect me to sob over that item of news, do you?” I

returned. “After the way you dropped me last night?”

He looked more surly than ever, sat down. “Get me some coffee,

there’s a good fellow, and don’t grouse,” he said, “I’ve had a hell of a

night.”

I picked up the telephone, called the floor waiter, ordered coffee.

“You have only yourself to blame,” I said. “If you’d have kept me

with you, I’d have halved your work.”

“I’m seeing the Chief in half an hour’s time, and I thought I’d look

in on my way to tell you the news,” Corridan said. “First the gun. It

belonged to a fellow named Peter Utterly, a lieutenant in the U.S.

Army. He’s been repatriated, but we persuaded the authorities on the

other side to get a statement from him. Apparently he knew Netta

Scott, gave her the Luger as a souvenir. You’ll remember I told you

that was the probable explanation of the gun.”

“You’ve been quick,” I said, a little disappointed that the

explanation should be so commonplace.

“Oh, we work fast when necessary,” Corridan said, looked dour.

“So much for the gun. We traced the ambulance. It was found on

Hampstead Heath, but the body is still missing. We have a description

of the driver, but it could fit any young fel ow. Where the body’s got

to defeats me, and why it was stolen defeats me still more.”

“There must be an explanation,” I said, waving to the waiter who

had just entered to put the coffee on the table. “Unless it was a

practical joke.”

Corridan shrugged. “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he said,

glanced at his watch. “Let’s have that coffee. I have to be off in a

moment.”

While I was pouring the coffee, he went on, “I’ve had the bonds

checked. They are forgeries. That’s always something to worry about.

Can you suggest why this girl should be hiding forged bonds in her

flat?”

“Not unless someone gave them to her, and she thought they

were genuine,” I said, handing him the cup of coffee. “Of course, I’ve

been out of touch with Netta for a long time now. She may have got

into bad company, but I doubt it.

He sipped the coffee, grunted. “I think that’s likely,” he said. “The

diamond ring you found has a history. It’s part of a considerable

amount of jewelery stolen a few weeks ago. The owner of the

jewelery, Hervey Allenby, identified the ring late last night. Our

people have been waiting for the stuff to come into the market. This

ring is the first sign of it. How do you think she got hold of it?”

I shook my head, perplexed. “Maybe someone gave it to her,” I

said.

“Then why should she hide it at the bottom of a jar of cold

cream?” Corridan returned, finishing his coffee. “Odd place to keep a