No Business of Mine

Chapter Twenty-Two

By three-twenty I had completed my arrangements for the evening, and had returned to my room at the Savoy to await Julius Cole.

Since leaving Netta, I had seen Harry Bix, explained what I wanted him to do. Intrigued by the story I had to tell, he had immediately agreed to co-operate. I had then taken a taxi to the offices of the Morning Mail, and had spent an hour with Fred Ullman. Acting on the suggestions I had made the night before, Ullman had been working like a beaver, and had collected a mass of information which had to be acted upon promptly.

Corridan was down at Lakeham, and, although I made efforts to get into touch with him, was temporarily out of the picture. I knew he’d return by evening, but by then, I had to complete my case or fail altogether. In a way I was glad he wasn’t around. His absence gave me a clear field and I took every advantage of it. When he did get back, he would find I had solved the Allenby case, and he was going to get the shock of his life.

But in the meantime, I had to have the cooperation of the police. During my previous stay in London, I had been friendly with Detective-Inspector O’Malley of Bow Street Police Station. Corridan had introduced us, and O’Malley had been delighted to show me the workings of the magistrate’s court. I decided I’d enlist his aid, and called on him. When I explained the reason of r n’ call, produced my evidence, he had insisted on taking me to meet Corridan’s chief at Scotland Yard. It was decided that immediate action should be taken.

Now back in my room at the Savoy, I relaxed, confident that if my plans worked out the way I hoped, by nightfall the Allenby case and the murders of Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns would be solved.

I had scarcely time to run through my plans in my mind to be sure that nothing had been overlooked before a tap sounded on my door which told me Julius Cole had arrived.

I levered myself out of my chair, opened the door.

There he was, eyeing me expectantly, waggling his head. He had smartened himself up. Some of the grease stains had disappeared from his coat; he had changed the grubby white tie to a less grubby yellow one. In his buttonhole was a faded sprig of lilies of the valley.

“Hello, baby,” he said. “I’m not too early, am I?”

“Come in,” I said, holding open the door.

He sauntered in, looked around the room.

“You know, I like it,” he said. “The more I see it, the better it looks.” He eyed me hopefully. “Have you the money, baby?”

“Sure. It’s right there in that desk.”

He wasn’t able to control his excitement, although he made an effort to do so. His face brightened, his eyes gleamed, he giggled.

“Five hundred pounds!” he exclaimed, rubbing his big, grubby hands together. “I can scarcely believe it.”

“Sit down, Fatso,” I said, closing the door. “You haven’t got it yet, so don’t get steamed up.”

His smile slipped, but he jerked it up with an effort, eyed me cautiously.

“But you’ve made up your mind, baby?” he asked. “You’re going to be sensible?”

“How do I know that after you’ve got the money you won’t come back for more?” I asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Please don’t talk like that,” he said, giving me an arch look. “I assure you I don’t do business that way. I like to think I’m an honest blackmailer. It may sound absurd to you, but I have my principles. I make a fair price, and I stick to it.”

“I wouldn’t trust you farther than I could throw you,” I said. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

He hesitated, then lowered his great flabby body into the armchair.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so suspicious, baby,” he complained, pouting. “My terms are straightforward. You give me five hundred pounds, I keep quiet; you leave the country. That’s simple enough, isn’t it? I can’t do you any harm if you’re not here, can I?”

“I haven’t gone yet.” I said, “There’s nothing to stop you from double-crossing me while I’m waiting to leave, is there?”

“But I wouldn’t do that,” he protested. “It’s not in my nature to do mean things.”

“Remind me to cry over that lovely sentiment sometime,” I said. “Suppose Corridan makes things hot for you? How do I know you won’t tell him it wasn’t Netta but her sister who died?”

“Don’t be silly, baby,” he said. “If I told Corridan that, I’d get into trouble, wouldn’t I?”

“It was her sister who died, wasn’t it?”

He blinked. “Of course.”

“How do you know? Have you ever seen her sister?”

“Of course,” he repeated, picked his nose, stared at me thoughtfully.

“Why did you say it was Netta?”

“I don’t think we have to go into that, baby,” he said, shifting uneasily. “I had my reasons.”

“How much is Peter French paying you to keep quiet?” I shot at him.

For a moment he looked startled, then he recovered himself, giggled.

“There’s not much you miss,” he said. “I can’t tell you that. It’d be a breach of confidence.”

“All right,” I said, shrugging. “Let’s get down to business. You’re demanding five hundred pounds from me or you’ll give Corridan false evidence that will incriminate me with two murders. That is the position, isn’t it?”

“That’s the idea,” he said, smirking. “I’m afraid I couldn’t put that in writing. But between you and me that’s the general idea, baby.”

I nodded, satisfied.

“You can have your money,” I said, “and God help you, Fatso, if you try to double-cross me. I’ll come after you, and I’ll pound you to a jelly.”

“You have my word,” he said with a pathetic attempt at dignity. “That should be enough. You’re an American, of course, so you can’t be expected to appreciate that an Englishman’s word is his bond.”

“Get off your high horse, you fat louse,” I snapped, sick of him.

He waggled his head. “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time already? Where’s the money?”

I went to the desk, opened it, took out the packet of pound notes I had meant to give Netta. I tossed them into his lap.

“There you are,” I said, watched him.

He stared down at the money, his eyes popping out of his head. He touched them, patted them.

“Take them and get out,” I said.

“Do you mind if I count them, baby?” he asked, a catch in his voice. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but it’s more businesslike. Besides, you might have given me too much.” He giggled explosively.

“Go ahead, but be quick about it. I can’t stand the sight of you much longer.”

There was a long pause while he counted the notes. He was trembling with excitement, and completely absorbed in the sound the notes made as they rustled in his fingers.

Finally he straightened, nodded. There was a gleam of incredulous triumph in his eyes. “Well, baby,” he said, “I didn’t think you’d be so easy. I thought I was going to have a lot of trouble with yon.” he stuffed the notes into his hip pocket, smiled his secret smile. He wasn’t pleasant to look at.

I laughed at him.

“Get out, you fat louse.”

He looked down at the faded sprig of lilies in his buttonhole. He took it out, laid it on the table.

“Something to remember me by, baby,” he said, giggled. That was too much for me.

“And here’s something to remember me by, Fatso,” I said, hauled off and landed him a sock in his right eye.

He reeled back against the wall, his hand to his eye. For a moment he remained there, stunned, then he cringed away, moaning.

“You beast!” he whimpered. “Oh, you beastly, rotten cad!”

I made a threatening move towards him. He rushed to the door, yanked it open. Waiting for him in the passage outside was an over-sized, plainclothes dick.

Cole blundered into him, received a violent shove which sent him staggering back. The plainclothes dick smiled at him.

“Hello, dear,” he said.

Cole, still holding his eye, stared at him for almost a minute, then his face crumpled and his knees sagged.

The dick advanced on him. Cole retreated.

I kicked the door shut when the dick was in the room.

“So you anticipated you were going to have trouble with me, did you?” I said grimly. “Boy! Is that an understatement.”

I crossed over to the bathroom, opened the door. “Okay, O’Malley, you can come out now.”

Detective-Inspector O’Malley came out, followed by another plainclothes dick who had a notebook in his hand.

“Did you get it all down?” I asked.

“Every word,” O’Malley said, rubbing his hands. “The sweetest little statement I could wish for. If he doesn’t get ten years, may I be hung for a liar.”

The three dicks grinned at Cole. O’Malley walked up to him, touched his arm.

“I’m Detective-Inspector O’Malley of Bow Street, and these are police officers,” he said, waving his hand to the two plainclothes dicks. “It’s my duty to arrest you and charge you with attempted blackmail. And I have also to caution you that anything you say will be written down and may be used in evidence at your trial.”

Cole’s face turned green.

“You can’t do this to me,” he squeaked. “That’s the man who must be arrested. He’s a murderer.” He pointed a trembling finger at me. “He killed Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns. I saw him do it! You can’t arrest me. I’m an honest citizen.”

O’Malley grinned.

“You can tell that to the judge,” he said soothingly. “You come along with me.”

The two plainclothes dicks closed in on him. One of them whisked my money from Cole’s pocket, handed it to O’Malley.

“We’ll have to keep this,” O’Malley said to me. “But you’ll get it back after the trial.”

“I hope so,” I returned with a grin. “I’d hate to think it might go to your sports fund.”

The three dicks laughed.

“Come on,” O’Malley said to Cole. “We’ll make you nice and snug in a cell.”

Cole started back. “He’s a murderer, I tell you,” he shouted frantically. “Arrest him! He’ll leave the country if you don’t. Do you hear? He’ll leave the country.”

“Now don’t excite yourself, dear,” one of the plainclothes dicks said. “If you come quietly I’ll give you a nice cup of cocoa at the station.”

Cole took his hand away from his eye which was closed and swollen.

“He assaulted me,” he shrilled. “I wish to charge him with assault. Arrest him!”

O’Malley looked pained. “Did you do that?” he asked me, shaking his head sadly.

“Me?” I said, shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. He was so anxious to spend his money, he hit his poor eye against the door handle as he rushed out.”

O’Malley guffawed.

“You must have been in a hurry,” he said, winking at Cole.

I walked up to Cole, smiled. “So long, louse,” I said. “The next time you try blackmail, don’t pick on a newspaper man. See you in ten years’ time.”

They took Cole away. He went speechless, dazed, stupefied. At the door, O’Malley looked over his shoulder.

“See you tonight,” he said.

“Sure. Corridan’ll be back then,” I returned. “I wouldn’t miss seeing his face when I spring my little surprise for all the Scotch in London.”

“Speaking as a teetotaller, nor would I,” O’Malley said piously.