No Business of Mine

Chapter Nineteen

While Netta was packing a bag, I washed the glasses, wiped them free of finger-prints, put them and the bottle of Scotch back into the cupboard. With my handkerchief I picked up the blood-encrusted poker, washed it, put it back beside Littlejohns.

I entered the bedroom again to find Netta cramming her things into a big Revelation suitcase.

“There mustn’t be one thing left here that could lead them to you,” I said.

“I’ve packed everything,” she returned, closing the lid. “Sure?”

She looked around the room, nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now we have to think where you can go until I’ve fixed the plane. It may take a couple of days.”

“I know where to go,” she said. “I’ve been thinking while you were out of the room. I know now.”

I looked at her. “Where?”

“Madge Kennitt’s flat.”

I gaped at her. “What’s that?”

“Made Kennitt’s flat. No one would think of looking for me there.”

“For God’s sake!” I exclaimed. “Didn’t you know? She was murdered. You can’t go there.”

“Yes, I can. The place is empty, and the police have finished with it. Mrs. Crockett wouldn’t try to let it until the murder’s forgotten. It’ll be perfectly safe for the next three or four days. But that’s not the only reason why I’m going there. Madge laid in a stock of tinned food at the beginning of the war. I know where she hid it. I’m sure it’s still there. I’ve got to eat, and if I go there I don’t have to go out at all until you call for me.”

“You sure the food’s still there?”

“I think so. At least, I can go and see.”

I didn’t much like the idea, but agreed the food question was difficult.

“But how will you get in?”

“My key fits her lock. It fits Ju’s as well. They have all more or less the same locks on all the flat doors.”

“Well, all right,” I said. “But you’ll have to be damned careful.”

I suddenly realized that if Cole’s key opened Madge’s door, then he might have killed her; might have wiped out the name, Jacobi, that had been written in the dust. I filed that piece of information away for future reference.

“I’ll be careful,” she said.

“Okay, then that’s settled. When I’ve fixed things, I’ll come for you in a car. Be ready any night to move quick.”

She came to me, put her hands on my shoulders. Terror still lurked at the back of her eyes, but she was quieter, had a grip on her nerves.

“I can’t thank you enough, Steve,” she said. “Maybe I have been a fool since last we met, but I’m not bad — not really bad, and I never forgot you.”

I patted her shoulder, turned away.

“We’re both now in a hell of a mess,” I said soberly. “If we aren’t smart, and if we play our cards badly, we’re going to be in a real tough spot. Make no mistake about it. I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you, Netta.”

She slipped her hand into mine. “I know, and I shouldn’t let you do it, Steve,” she said. “I lost my head just now, but I’ve got over that now. If you want to back out, I shan’t blame you, and I’ll manage somehow. All my life I’ve had to manage. I can still go on fighting alone.”

“Forget it,” I said shortly. “We’re in this together. But there’s one thing that bothers me...”

She looked searchingly at me. “What, Steve?”

“Peter French. If we quit, he’s going to get away with it.”

She gripped my ann. “Then let him get away with it. We can’t do anything to him without getting ourselves in a mess. Don’t start anything like that, Steve. It’ll only come back to us.”

I nodded. “I guess you’re right, only I hate to think a rat like French...”

Her grip on my arm tightened, her eyes opened wide. “Listen,” she whispered.

“What is...?” I began, but her hand flew to my mouth.

“Someone’s in the flat,” she breathed. “Listen!”

That gave me a hell of a jar. I froze, looked towards the door.

She was right. Very faintly from downstairs I heard footsteps.

With my heart leaping like a salmon caught on a line, I stepped to the electric light switch, snapped out the light.

“Wait here,” I whispered. “Don’t make a sound. Watch your opportunity. Get out if you can, but don’t leave that bag here. Do you think you can carry it?”

I could feel her body trembling against mine.

“I’ll try,” she said. “Oh, God! I’m scared. Who is it, do you think?”

“I’m going to find out,” I whispered back. “But don’t wait for me.”

I crept over to the back window, looked down on a sloping roof, into a yard.

“That’s your way out,” I said, my lips close to her ear. “Give me a couple of minutes, then get on to the roof, slide down, and into the yard. Go to Madge’s place. I’ll get in touch with you in a day or so.”

Her fingers touched my hand.

“Darling Steve,” she said.

“Bolt the door after me, kid,” I returned, pressed her hand, peered into the passage. I listened, heard nothing, stepped from the room, shut the door.

I heard Netta slide the bolt. I crossed the passage, entered the sitting-room, groped my way across to the lamp. I found it after a moment’s fumbling, removed the bulb, put it carefully on the floor. I remembered finger-prints, took out my handkerchief, picked up the bulb, wiped it, laid it down again.

I moved back to the door, stood listening, sweat on my face, my heart pounding.

For some seconds I heard nothing, then a faint creak came to my straining ears, followed by another creak. Someone was coming up the stairs.

I stood against the wall on the far side of the door, waited. I heard a door handle turn and knew the intruder had reached the top of the stairs, was trying Netta’s door. I hoped she had the nerve not to scream. I felt like screaming myself.

More silence. You could cut the stillness in the flat with a knife.

Then suddenly I felt rather than saw the door behind which I was standing, opening. My mouth went dry, the hair on the back of my neck moved. Inch by inch the door opened, then stopped. I saw a white shape, a hand, groping down the wall for the electric light switch, find it.

The click the switch made as it was snapped down was like a pistol shot in the silent room. The room stayed dark, and I thanked my stars I had thought of removing the bulb. I flexed my muscles, clenched my fists, waited.

There was a long pause, the door didn’t open farther; there was no sound except my own thumping heart. I waited, my nerves stretched, my breathing controlled. To my straining ears came a new sound; someone breathing. I wondered if whoever it was could hear my breathing, and if that was what made him hesitate.

The door began to open again. I crouched against the wall, ready to spring.

A dark shadow appeared around the door: the head and shoulders of a man. I could just make out his blurred outline against the blind. I knew I was invisible in the darkness, waited to see what he’d do.

He peered around the room, took another step forward. Then I heard a new sound, a sharp creak from Netta’s window, as she pushed it up.

Instantly the man whipped around, dashed across the passage, tried Netta’s door again.

“I hear you,” he shouted. “Open up! Come on! Open up.”

It was Corridan!

For a moment I was in such a panic I couldn’t move. Then I heard Corridan throw his weight against Netta’s door, heard the door groan. I didn’t dare hesitate a moment longer. I kicked over a chair which fell against a small table. The racket the two things made as they went over sounded to me like a mine going up.

I heard a startled exclamation from Corridan. A moment later he entered the sitting-room. I saw him grope in his hip pocket, and I crept towards him, crouching, prayed he wouldn’t hear me.

A second after the bright beam from an electric torch he had taken from his pocket fell on Littlejohns.

I heard Corridan catch his breath. In that hard light Littlejohns was enough to shake the toughest nerve. For a moment Corridan seemed paralysed with surprise and shock. In that moment, I jumped him.

We went down together like a couple of buffalo, smashed the small table to matchwood. I slammed my fist in his face, caught the torch from his hand, flung it with all my strength at the wall. It went out.

Corridan twisted under me, hit me a sledge-hammer blow in the chest. I grabbed him, tried to hold him down, but he was much too strong for me.

For two or three seconds we fought like animals. Both of us were half crazy with fear, and we punched, bit and kneed each other in a frenzy of waving arms and legs. Corridan was tough all right. He knew every dirty trick there was to know in fighting. If I hadn’t had a Ranger training as a war correspondent, I wouldn’t have lasted two minutes with him.

I got a head lock on him after a moment, tried to throttle him by squeezing his throat with my forearm, but he hit me so heavily about the body, I couldn’t hold him. I broke from him, jumped to my feet.

He had me around the legs before I could step clear, and I came down on my back. My breath whistled out of my body, and for one second I was helpless. That was a lot of time to a guy like Corridan. He was kneeling on my arms by the time I had my wind back, and it was like being sat upon by St. Paul’s Cathedral.

“Let’s look at you, you bastard,” he panted.

I heard a rattle of matches. If he saw who I was I was done for. I hadn’t a chance being caught with Littlejohns.

I made a terrific effort, brought my legs up, managed to boot him at the back of his head. He fell forward on top of me and I got my arms free. But he came back, grabbed at my head, tried to smash it down on the floor. By keeping my neck stiff I defeated this move, sank a punch into his belly that went in a foot.

He gasped, gagged, fell off me. My hand closed around one of the table legs. I swung blindly at him, felt a jar run up my arm as the table leg connected, heard him flop.

I lay gasping for breath, feeling as if I’d been fed through a mangle. I knew I couldn’t waste a moment; I struggled up kicked his legs off mine, reached out and touched him. He didn’t move. For one horrible moment I thought I’d killed him, but then I heard him breathing. Any second now he’d come to the surface. I had to get out while the going was good.

I got to my feet, staggered out of the room, peered into Netta’s room. The window was open. She had gone. I grabbed hold of the banister rail, nearly fell down the stairs. Reaching the front door, I waited a moment while I pulled myself together, opened it, stepped into the dark cul-de-sac. The night air helped me to come to the surface, but I was still groggy as I half ran, half walked to the main road.

I kept on, found myself in Russell Square, then Kingsway. I reached the Strand, and by that time I was walking steadily. I had to get myself a cast-iron alibi; an alibi so good that Corridan couldn’t even suspect it. I wondered if he had recognized me. I hadn’t made a sound while we fought, and it had been almost pitch dark. With luck, I’d get away with it.

I passed a telephone booth, hesitated, entered, called Crystal. I didn’t expect she’d be back from the Club as yet. It was only eleven-fifteen, but to my relief she answered.

“It’s Steve,” I said. “No, don’t talk. This is serious. How long have you been back from the Club?”

“An hour. I had a headache and thought I’d come home. Why?”

“Anyone see you come home?”

“No. What’s the matter, precious?”

“Plenty,” I said grimly. “I’m on my way over. I’ve been with you for the past hour, and I’m spending the night with you. Is that all right?”

“Is it all right?” Her voice shot up a note. “You bet it’s all right! You come right over.”

“I’m coming,” I said, hung up.

As I turned to leave the booth I had an idea. I put in two more pennies, called Fred Ullman of the Morning Mail.

When he came on the line, I said, “Pin your ears back, Fred. I’ve got the biggest story that’s hit the headlines for years! It’s exclusive and all yours. Will you earn it?”

“I’ll earn it, if it’s as good as that, but you’ll have to convince me. What do you want me to do?” he returned.

I leaned up against the wall of the booth and told him.