The Paw in the Bottle

I

After Wesley had left her, Julie had a pitched battle with her conscience. She hated Blanche and could feel no pity for her. The woman had been a horror and had got only what she deserved. Julie found it impossible to blame Wesley for what he had done, but to shift the crime on to Harry was unforgivable. And yet, if she agreed to say nothing until Wesley was ready, she would be able to continue to live in her present style. It wasn’t as if Harry would hang, she reasoned Wesley had promised to give himself up when the time came. The work he was doing was important, and she had no difficulty in persuading herself that his request for time was reasonable. Of course, it was rough luck on Harry. But why should she have to give up everything just to save Harry a little suffering? He had made her suffer in the past. Look at the way he had let Theo beat her up. She had suffered then, hadn’t she? And besides, although she didn’t want to be selfish, if she gave Wesley away now what chance would she have of getting the Arctic fox fur? If she waited Wesley might let her have it as a reward for all she had done for him. And if it didn’t occur to him to give it to her she would ask him outright for it.

But suppose Wesley wasn’t going to give himself up? Suppose this was a trick to gain time? It was pointless to think like that, she assured herself. All she had to do was to go to the police if he were difficult. It was just a matter of arranging something at the last moment so Wesley should have time to finish his work and she should be sure that Harry wouldn’t pay the penalty. And so she argued with herself far into the night until her conscience, battered and bruised, gave up the struggle.

The following morning Wesley asked her what she was going to do. It irritated her that he was so calm and unmoved when she said she was prepared to give him time.

‘Well, now that’s settled,’ he said, with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, ‘I must get back to the factory. I have a lot to do and time is short.’

‘He might at least have thanked me,’ Julie thought. ‘After all, not many people would have done what I’m doing for him.’

‘There is one thing,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I feel I should—’ She broke off and began again. ‘Those furs. I’d like the Arctic fox. I don’t see why I shouldn’t have it. I’m doing a lot for you.’

‘And I’ve done nothing so far for you, is that it?’ Wesley returned, smiling. ‘When I am in jail I shall be happy to think of you wearing the Arctic fox. But I’m certainly not giving it to you now. Let’s be quite frank with each other, Julie. My work and life are in your hands. I have no reason to trust you, and I’d feel a lot safer if I kept something you wanted very badly. It gives me a hold on you. You can see that, can’t you? This I promise you: when I have finished my work you’ll have not only the Arctic fox but the other furs as well. You won’t have to wait long: two months at the outside.’

She had to be content with that.

Now that Wesley had nothing to hide from her his attitude towards her underwent a change. He hurt and angered her by his plain speaking. He admitted he had set her up in the flat for no other reason than to ensure her silence. It was unfortunate he still had to live with her. The police would think it odd if he suddenly left her as he wished to do. At this stage he didn’t wish the police to think anything he did was odd.

She was free to do what she liked. She had money, clothes and the use of the flat. She could invite her friends here, and he asked nothing of her except her silence.

‘The harder I work the quicker your friend Gleb will be free, and the sooner you will have the furs, so don’t expect me to take you out as often as you’d like. I simply shall not have the time.’

This wasn’t at all what Julie had expected, and when Wesley had gone off to the factory she became depressed and lonely. She had no friends. The people she once knew, the people who frequented the Bridge Café, were ruled out. She was afraid to make contact with them again. The morning dragged by and the afternoon spent at a cinema bored her. She was glad when she heard Wesley come in a few minutes after six.

‘I hope you had an amusing day, Julie.’

‘I don’t suppose you care,’ she replied bitterly. ‘But if you want to know I’ve had a rotten day.’

He went into the sitting-room and she trailed after him.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I have a lot of work to do now, but if you like we can have supper together about nine. If you have something better to do I’ll have a tray sent up.’

‘Oh, no, I’d like to go out to-night.’ She watched him sit down by the dictaphone. ‘What happened to Benton?’ she went on. She had been thinking savagely of Benton all day.

Wesley adjusted the dictaphone, put on a new cylinder before replying.

‘I’ve frozen him out.’ There was a curt, hard note in his voice. ‘It was simple enough. He owed money and I had only to withdraw certain guarantees for the bottom to fall out of his financial world. He won’t bother me anymore.’

‘You’re hard, aren’t you?’ Secretly she was delighted.

‘I suppose I am. You have to be hard these days, Julie. You’re not exactly soft yourself.’

She saw he was impatient to begin work and she hated leaving him. She wanted company.

‘I suppose I can’t help you in your work?’ she suggested, hoping he would let her stay with him.

He turned to look at her.

‘Help me? You know, Julie, I’ve never met such an extra-ordinary young woman. Have you no fear of me? Aren’t you horrified, knowing what I have done?’

Julie shrugged.

‘Why should I care? She deserved all she got. She wasn’t fit to live. Why should I be frightened of you?’

‘I envy you your outlook. No, Julie, I don’t think you can help me. You should be enjoying yourself. You mustn’t waste time, you know. I really didn’t expect to find you in at this hour. I thought you would be certain to be out having a good time.’

‘How can I have a good time alone? I’ve been bored stiff all day.’

‘Blanche was always complaining about being bored. You’re beginning rather soon, aren’t you? Why don’t you look up your friends?’

‘You know I haven’t any friends now. It’s all your fault. You’re just jeering at me.’

‘Oh, nonsense.’ He showed his impatience. ‘But I’ve got to get on. We’ll go into your troubles at supper. Please run along, Julie, and let me work.’

‘I’m sure I don’t want to stay if I’m not wanted!’ she exclaimed, her eyes filling with angry tears, and she went out, slamming the door.

Later she was abruptly jerked out of her slough of self-pity by the ringing of the front door bell. She was startled to find Detective Inspector Dawson waiting in the passage.

‘Is Mr. Wesley in?’

She tried to hide her consternation, aware Dawson was studying her closely.

‘Yes, but he’s working.’

‘I’d like a word with him. Tell him I won’t keep him long, will you please?’

Julie reluctantly let him into the little hall.

He looked round and whistled softly.

‘How do you like it here?’

‘It’s all right,’ Julie said sullenly.

‘That’s a pretty dress you have on. He’s looking after you well, isn’t he? I wonder why?’

Julie gave him an angry look, but she was scared, wondering what he wanted, and she burst in on Wesley flustered and shaken.

As soon as Wesley saw the frightened expression in her eyes, he said quietly: ‘Dawson?’

‘Yes. He wants to speak to you.’

‘All right. Has he said anything?’

‘Only you seem to be looking after me well and he wonders why.’

Wesley smiled.

‘He’s no fool, is he? All right, Julie, show him in. There’s nothing to be frightened about. But if he worries you, you’d better tell him the truth.’

‘You’d look silly if I did.’

‘But you won’t, of course.’

‘You’d better not be too sure.’

‘Don’t keep him waiting and try not to be melodramatic. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘I’m beginning to hate you,’ Julie said furiously. ‘You’re always sneering at me.’

‘Don’t be childish.’

She went out of the room, her face scarlet, and Dawson was quick to see how angry she was.

‘He’ll see you,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘He’s in the end room.’

Dawson seemed to be in no hurry.

‘I saw your pal Harry Gleb yesterday. He’s pretty ill. I told him how you and Wesley had hooked up. When a chap’s in prison he likes to hear the latest gossip. But Harry didn’t seem to appreciate that item of news. He seemed to think it was your fault he was caught.’ Dawson shook his head sadly. ‘Ever think of Harry? I don’t expect you have much time for your old friends. You’re having a lot of fun, aren’t you? Well, Harry isn’t. Harry’s worried. Between you and me if I were in his shoes I’d be worried too. Off the record, that young fellow’s going to hang.’

Julie eyed him steadily, but said nothing.

‘Perhaps you don’t think so? Maybe you’ve got something up your sleeve that’ll save him?’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Sure? Anyone withholding evidence in a murder case can get into a whale of a lot of trouble. You still think Harry didn’t do it?’

‘Did you want me, Inspector?’ Wesley asked from the doorway.

Dawson sighed, turned.

Wesley, his eyes hidden by the dark glasses, was standing looking towards Dawson. There was a stillness about him that betrayed his tension.

‘I did.’ Dawson moved slowly across the room. ‘I was just having a word with Miss Holland. But now you’re here—’

‘Come into the sitting-room. You’ll find it more comfortable. And Julie, you’d better change. When the Inspector has gone we have an appointment, if you remember.’

As soon as Dawson and Wesley had gone into the sitting-room Julie fled to her bedroom, thankful Wesley had given her the excuse not to see Dawson again.

Alone, she began to work herself into a panic. Would she get into trouble for not telling the police about Wesley? Was Dawson bluffing? There was such a thing as being accessory to murder, although she had only the vaguest idea what it meant. Could they send you to prison? Should she tell Dawson the truth? If she did perhaps he wouldn’t take any action against her. But he might. He didn’t like her. He might be glad of the chance to get her into trouble.

She thought of Harry. It was cruel and beastly of Dawson to have told him she was living with Wesley. And it wasn’t true. Not in the way Harry would think they were living together. But why was she getting into such a state about Harry? She didn’t love him, or did she? Thinking about him she knew she would rather have Harry with her than Wesley. What fun they would have had! She was always thinking about Harry now. Because she couldn’t have him, she wanted him, and it wasn’t long before she believed she was once again in love with him. She began to make plans. There was no reason why Harry and she shouldn’t get together when Wesley had given himself up and the money was hers. With the money Wesley had promised to settle on her, she and Harry could go to America. She supposed they would send Harry to prison for breaking into Blanche’s flat, but it couldn’t be for long and she would wait for him. Suddenly all the old feeling for him was back. She realized now she had always loved him, and he loved her. He had said so. Hadn’t he pleaded with her to join up with him again? And, like a fool, she had turned him down for Wesley.

Dawson’s deep voice in the passage outside interrupted her thoughts. She heard him walk to the front door. A moment or so later Wesley came into her room. He stood just inside the door looking pale and tired.

‘He’s gone, but it was a near thing, Julie; a very near thing.’

She started to her feet.

‘Why? What did he want?’

‘Asking questions. I wasn’t quite as clever as I thought. But he’s satisfied now.’

‘What questions?’

‘Checking my statement. I avoided the obvious trap, but if he hadn’t been so sure I was blind I might have been in a mess.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. Julie hadn’t ever seen him look so anxious. ‘I don’t feel like doing any more work to-night. This has unsettled me. Let’s go somewhere and enjoy ourselves.’

But Julie was worrying about herself.

‘Dawson said I could get into trouble if I held hack any evidence. I want to know what he means. I’m not going to get into trouble for anyone.’

‘You do worry about yourself, don’t you? They can’t do anything to you unless you talk. There’s nothing to be alarmed about.’

‘It’s all very well for you, but suppose they find out?’

‘How can they unless you tell them? For goodness’ sake stop worrying about yourself. I have enough worries of my own without having to listen to your selfish little problems. Now get changed and we’ll go out.’

Julie flared up.

‘You don’t think of me for a moment! I’m sick of being treated like a servant. You’re always sneering and jeering at me.’

‘You have only yourself to blame,’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t have to stay here.’

‘And give up everything? I’m not that much of a fool!’

‘I’m afraid you’re ruled by greed, Julie. As soon as you have one thing, you want something else. You are never satisfied, and I’m afraid you never will be.’

‘Are you calling me greedy?’ she said furiously. ‘How dare you! I’m not! I never have been, so there!’

Wesley laughed.

‘You’re quite hopeless, Julie. Don’t be angry. Get changed and let’s go out.’

‘I won’t go out with you! I hate you! Get out and leave me alone! I hate you! I hate you!’

She threw herself on her bed and began to cry.

II

There was no happiness for Julie now. Her life with Wesley became a continual conflict: a clash of wills in which she invariably came off second-best.

He was always busy, working late at the factory and when at home working far into the night. She was bored and miserable and haunted with thoughts of Harry. But she could not give up the flat or her possessions. She knew she would be happier if she went back to work, but she hadn’t the strength of character to take the plunge.

She had everything that money could buy, except happiness, and her conscience gave her no peace. She began to brood about Blanche’s death and the full horror of Wesley’s crime slowly dawned on her. Although it was over a week since the murder, the fact that Wesley had killed Blanche only now meant anything to her, and once she began to think of him as a killer she became frightened of him. He had told her she held his life in her hands. If he could get rid of her no one would ever find out he had killed Blanche. She became nervous, and would wake in the night, terrified he was in the room, creeping on her to kill her. She locked herself in; she never turned her back on him; she was always watching to see he didn’t have a chance to poison her.

She had an idea that she might sell the jewellery he had lent her and with the proceeds be independent of him, but she calculated that the money wouldn’t last her for long and then she would be no better off. He had promised to settle money on her, and even though, as the days went by, she distrusted him more and more, she could not bring herself to lose the chance of being rich at last in her own right.

When Harry came up before the magistrates after the remand she was called as a witness for the prosecution. She was panic-stricken at the thought of publicly admitting she had been a police informer.

She received no sympathy from Wesley.

‘You can’t have your cake and eat it,’ he told her. ‘But please yourself what you say. If it makes you feel any better tell them I did it. I’m not going to influence you one way or the other,’ and he smiled at her, obviously amused by the furious, frustrated expression on her face.

She raged inwardly that he had so accurately judged her character. He had no misgivings that she would give him away. He was certain he was safe. Again and again, infuriated by his confidence, she was on the point of telephoning the police, but each time she changed her mind at the last moment.

When she stood in the witness-box, stared at by hundreds of eyes, she burned with shame. The sight of Harry sent a pang through her heart. She scarcely recognized him. He had lost weight, his face was lined and drawn, and there was a trapped, terrified look in his eyes. And he wouldn’t even look at her. That was the last straw. He stood in the dock, his flashy suit pathetically out of place in the drab, sordid surroundings, his hands clutching on to the dock rail, his head lowered.

The Counsel for the Prosecution led her quickly and kindly through her story. He made things easy for her, drawing for the Court a picture of a terrified, inexperienced young girl caught up in a web of circumstances over which she had no control. Julie thought he overdid it, and wished he would stop harping on her innocence. What could Harry be thinking of her? She glanced across the well of the court, but Harry still wouldn’t look at her.

But when the Counsel for the Defence began to question her the friendly atmosphere underwent a swift change. He seemed determined to spoil the good impression the Court had of her and to discredit her as much as he could. He succeeded. He asked her point-blank whether it was a fact she had been intimate with Harry. She hedged, but he kept after her until, red-faced and confused, she admitted it. So much for her innocence! Was it not a fact, he went on, that she had taken the job as Blanche’s maid willingly, knowing a robbery had been planned? She denied this so hotly she could see no one believed her. What was she doing now? And he stared down his beaky nose when she said she was looking after Mr. Wesley. As a maid? He wanted to know. As a housekeeper, she floundered.

She left the witness-box knowing she hadn’t helped Harry nor herself. The Counsel for the Defence had made her out to be a female Judas. She couldn’t bear to stay in court after that, and it was Wesley who told her later that Harry had been committed for trial at the next Old Bailey sessions.

The papers were full of the case, and she read and re-read the accounts, shrinking with shame when she read the veiled insinuations the reporters had made regarding her relations with Wesley. She realized, too, that Harry hadn’t a chance. Although no one actually saw him shoot Blanche, when the police had burst in they had seen him trying to escape. Only Julie and he were in the flat. Julie, as a police informer, had no motive for killing Blanche, but Harry had. He was, as the Counsel for the Prosecution had said, a rat in a trap. The whole thing appeared to be a foregone conclusion.

It was then that Julie really began to worry. Harry’s white, agonized face haunted her. She kept reassuring herself that he would be all right, that Wesley would give himself up, but when she realized what a hopeless trap Harry was in she began to fear that something might happen to Wesley. Suppose he was run over and killed? Then nothing could save Harry. Tormented by this idea, she went to Wesley.

‘Do you think I am utterly heartless?’ he said, laying down a sheaf of papers he was studying. ‘I thought of that weeks ago and there’s a signed statement at my bank to be opened after my death. If anything happens to me, he won’t suffer.’

‘How do I know you are speaking the truth?’

‘You should try to assess character, Julie. I don’t think you believe I’ll save Gleb. Do you?’

‘If you say so I suppose you will,’ Julie said sulkily.

One night, a week before the trial, Wesley called her as soon as he entered the flat. She hadn’t seen him for two days and she came from her room cautiously.

‘What is it?’

She stood just inside the doorway and looked suspiciously at him. He was pacing up and down, a frown on his face, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets.

‘I’ve seen Dawson, he tells me Dana French has come for-ward as a witness for the defence.’

‘But she will be arrested!’ Julie exclaimed; changing colour.

‘Apparently she is in love with Gleb.’

‘What do you mean?’ Julie demanded angrily.

‘She’s sacrificing herself because she thinks she can save him.’

‘But how?’

Wesley shrugged.

‘She’s willing to swear the gun belonged to Theo and that it was Theo who shot Blanche. She doesn’t realize that her evidence won’t save Gleb. But I thought it might interest you. It seems there are still a few people left who are unselfish.’

Julie clenched her fists. She was sick with envy and rage. To think that painted creature should have done that for Harry!

‘You hate me, don’t you?’ she exclaimed, facing him.

‘No, Julie, I don’t hate you. In fact, you interest me. Nothing would please me more than for you to go to the police and tell them the truth. It would prove to me that I was entirely wrong about you.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes, you do. Even now, when this girl has set you an example, you won’t risk the chance of losing your money.’

‘You’re just trying to be beastly. Harry won’t hang. You’ve promised me. Why should I give up everything for the sake of a few weeks? It’s you who are selfish and cruel. You aren’t going to let him hang?’

‘No, but it’s hard for you to believe, isn’t it? I’m beginning to think you wouldn’t sacrifice anything for him even if I did let him hang.’

‘I would! You’d better not try any tricks. It’s only because I know I can save him that I’m doing this. Why shouldn’t I have happiness and money? All my life I’ve had to do without.’

‘Happiness? Are you happy, Julie? I doubt it. And when you are on your own and have your money you still won’t be happy. A girl like you can never be happy. You’re chasing something that doesn’t exist.’

‘I’ll see about that. And while we’re on the subject just how much money are you leaving me?’

‘I was wondering when you were going to ask that. I thought two thousand a year would be enough.’

She wouldn’t get another chance, she thought, and said, ‘Two thousand? After all I’ve done for you? I want more. I want much more. Who else have you to leave your money to? If it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t be able to finish your precious work. Isn’t that worth more to you? I want five thousand.’

‘Don’t be childish.’

‘I want it and I mean to have it!’

He looked at her, contempt in his eyes.

‘Has it ever crossed your mind, Julie, that I could get rid of you very easily?’

Her anger went like the blowing out of a match flame.

‘Frightened?’ he went on. ‘When a man has committed one murder, a second one doesn’t increase his punishment. What could be easier and more convenient for me than to wring your wretched little neck?’

She backed away.

‘And sometimes, Julie, I feel it would give me such a lot of pleasure. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be a killer by nature. You may believe it, but I am sorry for what I did to Blanche. She meant nothing to me in the end; she deserved to die, but not at my hands. I shall regret her death as long as I live. The only thing that matters in life, Julie, is peace of mind. That I haven’t got; nor have you. And don’t look so scared. You’re quite safe. I don’t want your death on my conscience and, besides, I don’t fancy touching you. The more I see of you, Julie, the more I realize what an unpleasant young woman you are.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Julie said furiously. ‘You’ll be sorry for that. You see if you aren’t.’

Wesley laughed at her.

III

Benton sat in the bar of a shabby public house near Charing Cross station. He sipped whisky and stared at the small, wet rings that decorated the wooden top of the table beside which he was sitting. There was a bleak, unhappy expression in his eyes and his thin body was shivering.

He was finished, he told himself. The best way out would be to shoot himself. He had been telling himself this for the past two weeks, but he knew he hadn’t the courage either to kill himself or to face his creditors. He was like a man on a high tight-rope who has lost his nerve and knows that if he makes a move he will fall. He had made up his mind to keep out of the way and do nothing until something happened that forced him into action. He had left his flat in Dover Street and for the last four or five days he had wandered the streets, sleeping at a different hotel each night. He had thirty-five pounds in his pocket and when that had gone there was nothing. He owed a lot of money. He wasn’t sure how much he did owe, but he thought it might be something like twenty thousand pounds. It might be more and he didn’t think it could be less. If they got hold of him they would make him bankrupt. The disgrace of bankruptcy hung over him like a soiled cloak. He would have to give up his club. Ever since his father had made him a member he had never lost the feeling of pride that he had when he entered the dignified portals and had used the big, silent rooms for the first time. He clung fiercely to tradition, knowing there was nothing else to cling to. His school, his club, his flat and the fact his father had been a general were the highlights in his life. They meant more to him than anything else; they and, of course, Blanche. Now he had lost everything and his pale hatred centred on Wesley.

Benton was not a violent man. There was no primitive spark in him that could be flamed to murder. His hatred was spiteful and vindictive but not violent, and as he sat in this dirty little public house he perfected a plan of revenge. It didn’t cross his mind to wreak a physical revenge on Wesley. A blind man would be easy to injure or even to murder, but it would only afford a momentary satisfaction. He wanted something more subtle than that. He wanted Wesley to suffer as he was suffering.

He flicked away a speck of dust on his black overcoat. The gesture was unconscious, but revealed he had at last made up his mind. He could now think of something else besides Wesley, and the speck of dust had caught his eyes as his mind was released from its problem. Although he had been living in ratty little hotels with only a change of clothing he still managed to maintain his finicky elegance, and each morning he lowered his shivering body into a cold bath. His misfortunes had not undermined that traditional habit.

He finished his whisky and walked a little unsteadily across the bar to order another. A girl in a red hat and a dirty mackintosh caught his eye and smiled. She was tall, big-hipped and robust, and for a moment Benton’s mind wavered and he felt a flicker of desire run through him. Then he noticed her grimy hands and a line of dirt round her neck and a faint sour smell that came from her hair as he stood close to her, and he inwardly shivered to think that such a creature could raise in him even for a moment a feeling of desire.

He returned to his table and sat down again, and drank half the whisky, setting the glass carefully on one of the wet rings. He took a cigarette from his case.

‘I’ll have one if you can spare it,’ the girl in the red hat said, coming over to him.

He rose to his feet. A gentleman, his father had told him, behaved like a gentleman even to a whore.

‘I’m afraid you are wasting your time,’ he said in his pale voice. ‘Please excuse me.’

‘I’m in no hurry, cheri. I’ll give you a good time. You can stay an hour if you like.’

Again he felt a flicker of desire like pain run through him, and he thought of Blanche. He was alone now; he didn’t have to keep faith with anyone except himself. He looked again at the girl, appraising her with his pale, lonely eyes and was again horrified with himself for even contemplating going with her.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, still courteous. ‘You must excuse me.’

‘You look sort of fed up. I’d make you forget.’

‘I’m afraid not.’ His grimacing smile came and went.

‘Well, buy me a drink. You wouldn’t begrudge me a drink, would you?’

He fingered his loose change in his pocket. He did begrudge her the drink. He needed every penny now, but he felt on him the jeering eyes of three men who were standing at the bar and he was afraid she would make a scene.

‘I’m in a hurry. Here, buy one on me. I really must be going.’

She looked at the half-crown he held out to her and her full lips curled scornfully.

‘You can stick that on the wall. If you didn’t want me why did you make faces at me? Oh, hop it, you mean little rat.’

He left the bar hurriedly, the jeering laughter of the men following him. It was only when he got into the fresh night air that he realized he was drunk and he had to walk carefully. As it was he lurched against an old woman who was walking towards Charing Cross station. She was very old and bent and shabby and she thudded against the wall from the impact of his shoulder.

He stared at her in stupefied horror, raising his hat and muttering apologies. He had never knocked into a woman in his life. A gentleman, no matter how drunk, didn’t fall against a woman. He was crimson with shame.

He saw her old eyes were full of weak rage as she said: ‘You’re drunk, that’s wot you are. Tight as a bloody lord.’

He was fumbling in his pocket for the half-crown that had already been scorned when the old woman recovered her balance and shuffled on, leaving him to gaze after her, a pale spark of anger flaming up in him like the first twinge of tooth-ache. And as he walked to the Strand he muttered to himself, his head down, his shoulders hunched, a bitter, angry figure to interest the curious eyes of the people who passed him.

Wesley! He wouldn’t wait any longer. He couldn’t go on like this. First he must settle with Wesley, then his mind could grapple with his own problems; but so long as Wesley occupied his thoughts he would never get himself in hand.

He quickened his pace. In the distance Big Ben struck nine o’clock. The Strand was still crowded. The crowds were coming out of the Tivoli and he could hear their shuffling feet and their cheerful voices behind him. He cut across Trafalgar Square and stopped suddenly by one of the fountains.

There were three watchmen at the factory, he was thinking. He knew their routine well. They had supper together at eleven o’clock. He had once caught them at it. It was against the rules, and although they had been warned he knew they continued to meet at eleven. For half an hour the research laboratory was unguarded. He still had the key. It shouldn’t be difficult.

His shadow lay across the dark water of the fountain and he stared at it, his mind groping back into the past. He remembered for no reason at all the first time he met Blanche, and recaptured the feeling that had come over him as he looked into her wide, blue eyes. That was something that would never happen again; a precious moment, not valued then, but treasured now. He had nothing to look forward to, only memories to look back on; memories and revenge.

He set off quickly towards Pall Mall, passing his club with a furtive glance at the lighted windows. He would have liked to have gone in for a drink and a last look round, but his courage quailed at the thought of meeting the hall porter, an aged man who knew every member by name, knew what their businesses were and how much money they had. He did pause to look through the window of the smoking-room. The big arm-chairs standing in pairs about the room, the soft lighting, the vast Adam’s ceiling, the two fireplaces in which great logs cheerfully blazed, the sedate movements of the old waiter as he carried a tray of drinks to a group of members sitting hunched up in a circle round one of the fires formed a picture that he took away with him: a poisoned barb in his mind.

That room had been a part of his life a week or so ago. Wesley had taken it from him. There was a feverish look in his eyes as he ran into the road, waving his arms at a taxi that had just set down a fare and was pulling slowly away from the kerb.

At first the driver was unwilling to go out as far as Northholt, but when Benton thrust a pound note into his hand he grumblingly agreed.

Benton stared out of the window as the taxi rattled and banged along Bayswater Road. There was a light, airy feeling inside his head and his mouth was dry. He wanted another drink, and as the taxi passed Shepherd’s Bush underground he leaned forward and told the driver to stop at the next public house.

He bought the driver a pint of beer while he swallowed greedily two double whiskies. The driver, a thick-set, elderly man, drank the beer grudgingly. Benton could see from his surly expression he had taken a dislike to him. But Benton was used to that. Neither of them said anything except the customary, ‘Good health,’ and neither of them meant it.

It was now a few minutes to ten o’clock. Plenty of time, Benton thought and he paid for the drinks and went back with the driver to the taxi.

As the taxi passed Wood Green underground station, Benton suddenly recollected coming this way to the Kensal Green crematorium for Blanche’s funeral. He hadn’t gone into the little chapel. Wesley had been the only mourner and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to share his grief with Wesley. There had been a big crowd of morbid sightseers and he had mingled with them, nursing his grief as a man nurses a mortal pain. And when everyone had left he had gone to the grave and laid on it a bunch of violets. He had derived a little comfort and happiness to know that his were the only flowers on the wet, raised earth.

He stopped the taxi a quarter of a mile from the factory and without looking at the driver walked rapidly into the darkness. The broad two-way road was still busy with home-going traffic and he kept to the grass verge, his head bent against the blinding headlights of the oncoming cars.

The gates of the factory were closed and locked, but he had expected that. He knew of a loose plank in the fence further along the road; a secret exit used by some of the workers who slipped out in working hours to buy fruit from the lorries drawn up near the airfield. He pushed the plank aside, stooped and passed his thin body through the opening, then set off quickly towards the research laboratory.

The factory was in darkness. Even the control room and the hangars were shut down for the night. He walked on the grass, his pale eyes alert, his hands deep in his overcoat pockets.

The research laboratory, a one-storey building of brick and tile, was hidden behind the main office block, three or four hundred yards from the main entrance. Coming upon it suddenly, Benton was startled to see a solitary light in one of the windows. The moon, riding high, cast a cold, white light over the building, picking out the mortar between the bricks. Benton remembered how proud he had been of the building when it had been erected. All his careful organization had gone into it. He remembered the hundreds of forms he had to fill up to obtain the necessary building material, the plaintive bickering of the authorities who had tried to persuade him that prefabricated concrete sheds would do as well. But he had persisted, argued and cajoled, until they had given way in grudging despair.

And now he was going to set fire to the place. It would finish Wesley as Wesley had finished him. All Wesley’s money was tied up in the mass of intricate and delicate machinery housed in the building. In a little while it would be an inferno of flames. There was a drum of petrol in one of the outside sheds. He would drag it to the building. A match would do the rest.

He stood looking at the lighted window, wondering if Wesley were still in the building, and as he watched the light went out. He waited, hidden in the shadows, and after a few minutes a man came out of the building. He recognized the limping walk. It was the senior watchman. He was going to supper.

IV

Anyone looking into the room could easily have mistaken the scene to have been one of domestic bliss. Wesley sat in an arm-chair. From time to time he selected a paper from a table by his side and studied it, making neat notes in the margin. Opposite him sat Julie. She was knitting a complicated pattern in blue and white. The two coloured balls of wool rested in her lap and her knitting needles clicked and flashed as she fashioned the pattern with expert speed.

Except for the click of the needles and the rustle of papers silence had hung over the room for a long time. Julie had wanted to go out that evening but Wesley had refused. Rather than go alone she had brought her knitting into his room and, without his permission, had sat by the fire. After one surprised glance he had continued to work, and now she was sure he had forgotten her.

She had been alone all day and yearned for company. Even Wesley’s silent company was better than being on her own, and now as she knitted, the warmth of the fire against her legs, she felt herself relaxing, and for the first time for many weeks she experienced an isolated peace of mind.

Then, suddenly, she was startled out of her blank, comfortable mood by the shrill ringing of the telephone. The sharp sound of the urgent bell brought into the quiet room an atmosphere of alarm. Even Wesley started, his mind jerked away from his calculations.

‘I sometimes wish telephones had never been invented,’ he said, laying down his papers. ‘Would you answer it, Julie? Say I’m busy.’

Julie put down her knitting and, with ill grace, went to the telephone. A man’s voice asked for Wesley.

‘It’s very urgent,’ he said. ‘I am calling from the factory.’ There was an excited note in his voice and he spoke loudly.

‘It’s the factory,’ she said to Wesley and held out the receiver. He took it from her and their fingers touched. Julie snatched her hand away and moved back to the fire.

She could hear the man shouting; his voice, although loud, was indistinct. She caught the word ‘fire’ and looked quickly at Wesley, sensing immediately that something was wrong. Wesley had stiffened and his face had gone a whitish grey.

‘I’ll come out.’

The man went on shouting.

‘All right, all right,’ Wesley said quietly. ‘Yes, keep him there until I come. I’m coming now.’ He set down the receiver and stood for a moment looking at Julie. There was a dead expression in his eyes that frightened her.

‘What is it?’

‘Benton has set fire to the lab. I’ve got to go out there at once.’

‘Benton? But why?’

‘Does it matter?’ He shook his head and pressed his palms to his temples, like a boxer trying to shake off the effects of a damaging punch.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ She made the offer without thinking.

He pulled himself together with an effort.

‘I suppose so. I may as well keep up the pretence a little longer, anyway until I see the extent of the damage. It’d look odd if I didn’t have someone to lead me about, wouldn’t it? Besides, the fire might amuse you. It should be an awe-inspiring sight.’

The cold, flat note in his voice sent a shiver through her.

‘Is it bad then?’

‘It seems so. Come on; with luck we’ll find a taxi.’

They picked up a taxi in Piccadilly.

For some time Wesley stared through the window in silence as the taxi weaved a way through the last of the evening’s traffic, then he said abruptly: ‘It’s strange how things work out, isn’t it, Julie? I thought I had been so thorough and nothing could go wrong. The laboratory was, of course, the key to everything, and yet I never gave it a thought. It doesn’t look as if your friend Gleb will stand trial now.’

Julie stared searchingly at his white face.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘If the lab is burned out there’s no point in my working any more. It puts a full stop to everything.’

‘You mean you wouldn’t have the time?’

‘Or the money.’

Julie recoiled from him as if he had hit her.

‘What has money to do with it?’

‘To equip the lab. I borrowed money. To borrow money I gave securities. If the lab’s gone my securities have gone with it.’

Julie suddenly felt as if she were going to be sick.

‘You mean you won’t have any money? Then what’s to become of me? You promised to settle money on me!’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Julie, but I couldn’t foresee this, could I? There won’t be anything left of my money. Everything I owned went into the lab. But you’ll have the furs and the jewellery. They are worth a good bit. If you’re careful you’ll be all right.’

‘You’ve cheated me!’ she cried furiously. ‘After all I’ve been through; after all your rotten promises! Damn you! I might have known this would happen. All right, you won’t get any more time. I’m going to the police. I’ll make you pay for this.’

‘I’m sorry, Julie. You don’t really deserve anything, but a promise is a promise. I would have kept my word. I want you to believe that.’

‘You talk! That’s all you’re any good at — talking! You talked me into this! You and your rotten promises!’ Tears of rage ran down her face and she sat huddled up in the corner of the taxi, her hands clenched in her lap.

‘You’ll have the furs. I hope they’ll give you some happiness. You’re due for a little happiness, but somehow I don’t think you’ll get it. What will you do, Julie? Will you wait for Gleb to come out of prison? You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said fiercely. ‘He’s worth six of you. I’ll wait for him. You can think of us while they’re hanging you!’

The taxi rattled past the White City. For a moment or so the inside of the taxi was lit up by the battery of arc lamps that had blazed up for the last race. And in the hard, glaring light they looked at each other.

‘Try not to be bitter about it, Julie. I have lost much more than you. But then, I suppose I’m a lot older than you and I’ve learned to accept disappointments. If I had more time I would begin again, but that is impossible now. It looks as if Blanche has had the last laugh after all. It was a mistake to have killed her. You see, it hasn’t done me any good.’

Julie didn’t say anything; her mind was seething with dismay and fury. After all she had endured from him and now no money!

‘I would never have believed Benton had the nerve to do such a thing,’ Wesley went on. The swiftly passing street lamps lit up his white face. He looked tired and sad. ‘They say he’s badly burned.’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Julie exclaimed, beating her fists together. She was beside herself with disappointment. ‘That’s all you’re any good at, talking and making rotten promises.’ She swung round to face him. ‘And how do I know you’ll give me the furs after all this? How do I know you won’t cheat me again?’

‘Go to my bank in the morning. They’ll have a letter for you. There’s a statement, too, for the police. I’ve put everything in order.’

‘You go. Why should I run errands for you? It’s going to be different now. I’m not going to be ordered about any more.’

‘Poor Julie,’ he said wearily. ‘I’m very sorry for you.’

The taxi began to slow down as the traffic thickened. In the distance they could see a vast red glow in the sky.

‘There it is,’ he went on quietly. ‘I said it would be an awe-inspiring sight, didn’t I?’

She noticed his hands were trembling but she felt no pity for him. At least she would have the furs. She would keep the Arctic fox and sell the others. With the money she raised on the furs and the jewellery and with the money Harry must have put by they should be all right.

As the taxi neared the factory they could see the flames and the spirals of oily, black smoke outlined against the red sky. Lines of cars were parked on either side of the road, and a big crowd was moving towards the fire. The night was full of sounds: excited voices, laughter, the shuffling of feet. Some-where in the crowd a dog was barking; a sharp sound that blended with the dry crackling of burning timber.

A policeman stopped the taxi.

‘You can’t get through,’ he said, with patient good humour. ‘The hoses are across the road.’

‘We’ll walk,’ Wesley said, and got out of the car. ‘Will you wait?’ he went on to the driver. ‘The young lady will be coming back.’

Julie followed him along the grass verge and they quickly caught up with the slow-moving crowd. Wesley caught hold of her arm and began to weave his way through the crowd, pulling her up with him. A man jostled him and knocked off his dark glasses. Julie, coming up behind, trod on them. She felt the lenses crunch under her foot. It gave her an odd physical satisfaction. He was finished, she thought. The breaking of the glasses seemed to her to be the final milestone of their association.

‘They’ve broken,’ she said to him.

‘What does it matter? Don’t you see, Julie, for me nothing matters now.’

They reached the gates of the factory. Now they could hear the hiss of water striking red-hot metal. The roar of the flames sounded near, and the air was hot and dry. Wesley spoke to one of the policemen guarding the gate. He showed him a card and the policeman let him through.

Gerridge came running out of the smoke towards them. There was a long streak of oily soot across his face and a shocked, scared look in his eyes.

‘Is it bad?’ Wesley asked, gripping his arm.

Gerridge gulped. For a moment he couldn’t say anything. He clung on to Wesley’s arm while he tried to get his breath.

‘There’s nothing left,’ he burst out. ‘It’s awful. The place is a roaring furnace. They can’t save it.’

‘And Benton?’ Wesley spoke quietly.

‘He’s badly burned, but he’s alive.’ Gerridge was staring at Wesley. ‘Your eyes, sir. Are they all right? They look all right. Can you see?’

‘Yes, I can see. Take me to Benton.’

‘That’s marvellous.’ Gerridge seemed bewildered. ‘But when did it happen? Was it the operation...?’

‘Take me to Benton,’ Wesley said curtly.

Gerridge stiffened.

‘He’s in there, sir.’ He pointed to a small building near the main block of offices. ‘I must get back. We’re shifting our files in case the fire spreads.’

‘All right. You get off.’ Wesley turned to Julie. ‘Come with me.’

They had to step over long lines of hose and through big oily puddles of water that swamped the concrete before they reached the building. They found Benton lying on the floor, his head pillowed on an overcoat, a blanket thrown over him. A policeman was sitting on an office chair near him and he stood up when Wesley came in.

‘I’m Howard Wesley. May I speak to him?’

‘Yes, sir. He’s bad. Got burned about the legs. They’re moving him as soon as the ambulance arrives.’

Julie hung back as Wesley went over to the still figure.

‘Hello, Hugh,’ Wesley said, and knelt down on one knee.

Benton opened his pale eyes.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked feebly. ‘Wesley?’

‘Yes. Are you badly hurt?’

Benton frowned. His big, white teeth bit down on his lip. It was some moments before he spoke, then the words came out in a desperate little torrent of pain.

‘I wish I hadn’t done it. I wanted to get even with you, but as soon as the flames started I knew it was wrong. All that work. I tried to put it out but the flames got me in the end. I thought I was finished.’ He closed his eyes, added, ‘I wish I was.’

‘You’ll be all right. We all do things we shouldn’t do. Regretting them is the worst part. I regret things, too. I know how you feel. We’re so sure of ourselves when we’re doing wrong, and it’s only afterwards we see how stupid we have been.’

‘Yes; that’s right. I’m sorry, Wesley. I really am sorry.’

‘We had a bit of fun putting the place together, didn’t we?’ Wesley said and smiled. ‘It was as much your work as mine.’

Benton stared up at the white, tired face.

‘I didn’t expect ever to hear that from you. It’s good of you.’ A shudder ran through his thin body and he clenched his fists. ‘It feels as if my legs are still on fire.’

‘They’ll fix you up all right. The ambulance won’t be long.’

‘If it hadn’t been for Blanche we might have got on together,’ Benton said. There was sweat on his face now.

‘Yes... Blanche.’ Wesley stood up. ‘I want to take a last look at the lab. I thought I’d see you first.’

‘Something’s happened to you,’ Benton said weakly. ‘I don’t know what it is. Is it your eyes?’

‘Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry about anything. So long, Hugh.’ Wesley leaned forward and held out his hand. ‘You’ll be all right.’

Benton gripped his hand.

‘I wouldn’t have believed it. I thought you would hate me like hell. I’ve been a fool. I’m sorry. I’m damned sorry.’

‘So long,’ Wesley said quietly, and withdrew his hand. He turned to the door. ‘Julie...’

She went to him.

The police officer looked at them curiously.

‘Come with me, Julie.’

There was a great crash outside as one of the walls of the laboratory collapsed. They stood for a moment in the smoke and the heat, side by side, looking at each other.

‘Go back to the flat. The taxi is waiting,’ Wesley said. ‘See Dawson to-morrow and give him the statement. That’ll get Gleb out of trouble. Be carefull how you sell the furs. You should be all right. I hope you’ll find happiness, Julie.’

She stared at him, bewildered. It was difficult to hear his voice above the roar of the flames.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Don’t worry about me. Here’s Gerridge. Gerridge, will you see Miss Holland to her taxi?’

Then Wesley walked rapidly away.

‘Where’s he going?’ Julie cried, suddenly frightened. ‘Stop him! You mustn’t let him go!’

She began to run after Wesley, but Gerridge pulled her back.

‘It isn’t safe!’

‘Let go of me!’ she cried, broke away and ran on.

Wesley had disappeared round the main office block. As she turned the corner of the building the heat hit her like a blow in the face. Smoke and sparks swirled towards her, reaching out for her, driving her back.

Firemen, sheltered behind a nearby building, were playing water on to the roaring furnace. Suddenly one of them began shouting. He had seen Wesley walking towards the burning building. Two other firemen broke cover and began to run after him. They didn’t get far. The scorching heat drove them back. Wesley didn’t seem to notice the heat. He walked on, his hands in his trousers pockets, his head up. Julie watched him, her hands shielding her face, and she saw his clothes were smouldering, and suddenly narrow ribbons of flame flickered at his wrists and ankles. She hid her face, screaming.

Gerridge caught a glimpse of Wesley surrounded by flames. There was a great tearing, crunching noise and the blazing mass of wood and metal came down, blotting Wesley from sight. A long, brilliant tongue of flame shot up, marking the place where he had been.

V

With Wesley’s letter authorizing her to take the furs and his statement for the police in her possession, Julie knew exactly what she was going to do. Harry’s trial was due to begin the following day so it would be a last-minute rescue, the kind of thing you imagine can only happen on the films. Harry, she felt, would never forget that it was she who had saved him from the gallows. But before she rescued Harry she decided to get the furs. Then she would see Dawson. But first it was essential to get the furs. She would feel much more confident if she wore the Arctic fox. Dawson would be impressed and, after the familiar way he had treated her in the past, she was determined he should be impressed. Once he had read the statement he was bound to let her see Harry. She supposed Harry would have to stand his trial for the robbery, but she would tell him she would wait for him. He would be able to face his sentence bravely, she thought, if he knew she would be waiting at the prison gates when he came out. She became quite sentimental about that thought, and even cried a little, picturing Harry coming through the great prison gateway, shivering and cold, the snow (there had to be snow, she decided) powdering his thin overcoat, and she in her furs, snug in a big car, would take him tenderly in her arms.

Wesley had gone completely from her mind. His death meant a new life for her. She had had a bad hour or so after seeing him walk into the fire, but with her mind so much on Harry she quickly forgot him. It wasn’t as if he ever liked her, she reasoned to herself. He had used her for his own ends and deserved no pity. It was maddening that she wouldn’t have a steady income. She couldn’t forgive him for cheating her at the last moment. But at least she had capital. She remembered Mrs. French had said the furs were worth thirty thousand pounds. That was as good as winning the Irish sweepstake! You could do a lot with thirty thousand pounds. Then there was the jewellery. Diamonds were fetching a good price now. She should make quite a bit out of the jewellery. She decided she wouldn’t tell Harry that Wesley had given her the jewellery, but she would tell him about the furs. She would keep the jewellery in a bank just in case something went wrong. She wasn’t absolutely sure that Harry and she would hit it off together. A girl had to be careful, she told herself.

Wesley’s statement to the police completely cleared Harry. Explaining how he had persuaded Blanche to return to the flat with him, he wrote that he had staged a quarrel about Benton in the taxi, and had hinted that Benton was having an affair with Julie. Blanche had risen to the bait, knowing Ben-ton’s weakness. Wesley had told her that Benton intended to see Julie as soon as Blanche and Wesley had left for the theatre. That was enough for Blanche. She stopped only long enough at the theatre for a drink, and then she and Wesley had returned to the flat by underground and had entered the building by the garage entrance. As Blanche was opening the front door, Wesley, remaining in the lift, had shot her and had thrown the gun into the hall. He had closed the lift gate a split second before the police arrived. It had been a near thing, but it had succeeded. The gun, he wrote, belonged to an American soldier, and he gave the man’s name and service number. He had bought it from him a couple of years ago and he was sure there would be no difficulty in tracing it.

Julie hugged the envelope containing the statement to her as she walked along Piccadilly. It represented Harry’s life. It was more than that: it was her future happiness as well. If she lost it nothing could save Harry. She clutched the envelope tightly, wondering if it wouldn’t be safer to take a taxi to the Kensington police station at once, just in case something did happen to it. But the temptation to go to Park Way and put on the Arctic fox to impress Dawson proved too strong. She knew she would look wonderful in the fur: like a film star. So she slipped the envelope into her handbag and looked up and down Piccadilly for a taxi.

As she was being whisked along Park Lane towards Knights-bridge, she continued to build castles in the air. The furs were worth thirty thousand. Of course, she wouldn’t get quite that amount for them, but if she got twenty thousand, think what she could do with it! If Harry wanted to stay in London it would be marvellous fun to find a flat and furnish it so it would be ready for him when he was released. While she was planning the colour scheme of the bedroom the taxi drew up outside Park Way.

She was a little uneasy about meeting the hall porter, but she needn’t have been. The hall porter had gone to lunch and his assistant hadn’t yet taken over. She found the entrance hall deserted.

No one saw her as she unlocked the front door of Wesley’s flat and entered. For a moment or so she stood just inside the hall, listening. It was odd to be back here, to see the faint brown stain still on the carpet and to smell once again Blanche’s perfume that still clung persistently in the air.

She went quickly to Blanche’s room, shut the door and snapped off the alarms. Then she opened the safe, turned off the light operating the photo-electric cell and stood for a moment admiring the furs. They were hers now; hers to do what she liked with. It was a moment of triumph. But she wasn’t going to forget the jewellery. Up to this moment she hadn’t had the chance of seeing Blanche’s complete collection, and the thought sent a thrill through her. They, too, would realize a lot of money.

She pushed the furs aside and stepped into the safe, putting her handbag on the top of the steel cabinet containing the jewellery. Then she realized in dismay she had no idea how to open the cabinet. The smooth, highly-polished door of the cabinet had no apparent keyhole, but there was a small black knob set in the centre of the door. She touched it, frowning, then her fingers tightened on it and she pulled.

There was a sudden rush of escaping air and doors of the safe slammed shut.

They found her four days later. It was Dawson who suddenly wondered if she had gone to collect her spoils and had been trapped in the safe. When at last they opened the doors they found her lying on the floor with the white Arctic fox she had coveted so much covering her, and Wesley’s statement clutched tightly in her hand. They were too late to do anything for her, but Harry was more fortunate. He got off with eighteen months. Oddly enough it was snowing when he came out, but there was no beautifully dressed young woman to meet him, only a Salvation Army lass who shook a self-denial collection box under his nose.