Андрей Л.Рюмин - 03 Enter the Saint

"Am I so frightening?"

"You were."

He stirred uncomfortably, frowning. "This is queer talk from you, Audrey," he said, rather brusquely. "Somehow, one doesn't expect any sign of weakness-or fear-from you. Let's be practical. What makes you so sure there's a squeaker?"

"Handers. You saw he was taken yesterday?" Dicky nodded. "It wasn't a fluke. I'll swear Teal would never have tumbled to that valise-handle trick. Besides, the papers said he was 'acting on information received.' You know what that means?"

"It sounds like a squeal, but-"

"The loss doesn't matter so much-ten thousand pounds and three weeks' work-when we're set to pull down twenty times that amount in a few days. But it makes me rather wonder what's going to happen to the big job."

Tremayne looked at her straightly. "If you don't think I'm the squeaker," he said, "who do you think it is?"

"There's only one other man, as far as I know, who was in a position to shop Handers."

"Namely?"

"Hilloran."

Dicky stared. The situation was grotesque. If it had been less grotesque, it would have been laughable; but it was too grotesque even for laughter. And Dicky didn't feel like laughing.

The second cut was overwhelming. First she had half accused him of being a traitor; and then, somehow, he had convinced her of a lie without speaking a word, and she had declared that she trusted him. And now, making him her confidant, she was turning the eyes of her suspicion upon the man who had been her chief lieutenant on the other side of the Atlantic. "Hilloran," objected Dicky lamely, "worked for you-"

"Certainly. And then I fired him-with some home truths in lieu of notice. I patched it up and took him back for this job because he's a darned useful man. But that doesn't say he's forgiven and forgotten."

"You think he's out to double-cross you and get his own back and salve his vanity?"

"It's not impossible."

"But-"

She interrupted with an impatient movement. "You don't get the point. I thought I'd made it plain. Apart from anything else, Hilloran seems to think I'd made a handsome ornament for his home. He's been out for that lay ever since I first met him. He was particularly pressing to-night, and I sent him away with several large fleas in each ear. I'll admit he was well oiled, and I had to show him a gun-"

Dicky's face darkened. "As bad as that?"

She laughed shortly. "You needn't be heroic about it, Dicky. The ordinary conventions aren't expected to apply in our world. Being outside the pale, we're reckoned to be frankly ruddy, and we usually are. However, I just happen to be funny that way-Heaven knows why. The point is that Hilloran's as sore and spiteful as a coyote on hot tiles, and if he didn't know it was worth a quarter of a million dollars to keep in with me-"

"He might try to sell you?"

"Even now," said the girl, "when the time comes, he mightn't be content with his quarter share."

Dicky's brain was seething with this new spate of ideas. On top of everything else, then, Hilloran was playing a game of his own. That game might lead him to laying information before the police on his own account, or, far more probably, to the conception of a scheme for turning the entire proceeds of the "big job" into his own pocket. It was a factor which Tre­mayne had never considered. He hadn't yet ab­sorbed it properly. And he had to get the main lines of it hard and clear, get the map of the situation nailed out in his mind in a strong light, before- Zzzzzzzz . . . zzzzzzzz . . . "What's that?"

"The front door," said the girl, and pointed. "There's a buzzer in my bedroom. See who it is."

Dicky went to a window and peered out from behind the curtains. He came back soberly. "Hill­oran's back again," he said. "Whatever he's come about, he must have seen my car standing outside. And it's nearly four o'clock in the morning." She met his eyes. "Shall we say it's-difficult."

She understood. It was obvious, anyway. "What would you like me to do?" asked Dicky.

The buzzer sounded again-a long, insistent summons. Then the smaller of the two telephones on the desk tinkled. The girl picked up the receiver. "Hullo. . . . Yes. He can come up." She put down the instrument and returned to her armchair. "Another cigarette, Dicky."

He passed her the box and struck a match. "What would you like me to do?" he repeated.

"Anything you like," she said coolly. "If I didn't think your gentlemanly instincts would be offended, I'd suggest that you took off your coat and tried to look abandoned, draping yourself artistically on the arm of this chair. In any case you can be as objection­able as Hilloran will be. If you can help him to lose his temper, he may show some of his hand."

Dicky came thoughtfully to his feet, his glass in his hand. Then the girl raised her voice, clearly and sweetly. "Dicky-darling-"

Hilloran stood in the doorway, a red-faced giant of a man, swaying perceptibly. His dinner jacket was crumpled, his tie askew, his hair tousled. It was plain that he had had more to drink since he left the house. "Audrey-"

"It is usual," said the girl coldly, "to knock."

Hilloran lurched forward. In his hand he held something which he flung down into her lap. "Look at that!"

The girl picked up the cards languidly. "I didn't know you were a proud father," she remarked. "Or have you been taking up art yourself?"

"Two of 'em!" blurted Hilloran thickly. "I found one pinned to my door when I got home. The other I found here-pinned to your front door-since I left! Don't you recognize it-the warning. It means that the Saint has been here to-night!"

The girl's face had changed colour. She held the cards out to Dicky. Hilloran snatched them viciously away. "No, you don't!" he snarled. "I want to know what you're doing here at all, in this room, at this hour of the morning."

Audrey Perowne rose. "Hilloran," she said icily, "I'll thank you not to insult my friend in my own house." .

The man leered at her. "You will, will you? You'd like to be left alone with him, when you know the Saint's sitting round waiting to smash us. If you don't value your own skin, I value mine. You're supposed to be the leader-"

"I am the leader."

"Are you? . . . Yes, you lead. You've led me on enough. Now you're leading him on. You little-"

Tremayne's fist smashed the word back into Hilloran's teeth. As the man crashed to the floor, Dicky whipped off his coat. Hilloran put a hand to his mouth, and the same came away wet and red. Then he shot out a shaky forefinger. "You-you skunk-I know you! You're here making love to Audrey, crawling in like a snake-and all the time you're planning to squeal on us. Ask him, Audrey!" The pointing finger stiffened, and the light of drunken hate in the man's eyes was bestial. "Ask him what he knows about the Saint!"

Dicky Tremayne stood perfectly still. He knew that the girl was looking at him. He knew that Hilloran could have no possible means of substantiating his accusation. He knew also how a seed sown in a bed of panic could grow, and realized that he was very near death. And he never moved. "Get up, Hilloran," he said quietly. "Get up and have the rest of your teeth knocked out."

Hilloran was scrambling to his feet. "Yes, I'll get up!" he rasped, and his hand was making for his pocket. "But I've my own way of dealing with rats-" And there was an automatic in his hand. His finger was trembling over the trigger. Dicky saw it distinctly.

Then, in a flash, the girl was between them. "If you want the police here," she said, "you'll shoot. But I shan't be here to be arrested with you."

Hilloran raved. "Out of the way, you-"

"Leave him to me," said Dicky. He put her aside, and the muzzle of the automatic touched his chest. He smiled into the flaming eyes. "May I smoke a cigarette?" he asked politely.