The Paw in the Bottle

I

When the police finally left there came over the flat a strange quiet. Julie had hoped that Dawson would have come in and seen her again. She longed for an assurance that Harry would be all right; that they didn’t really believe he had killed Blanche, but Dawson didn’t come. She heard his deep voice as he stood in the passage outside her door giving instructions to his men, and she had waited, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, hoping he would remember her. But it seemed either she had gone completely from his mind or else he didn’t consider her to be of any further use to him, for she heard him say good night to Wesley and go off, his heavy tread resounding through the flat.

Then later she heard Gerridge leave. Even he had apparently forgotten her, and when the final policeman had gone she went quickly to the door and peered into the passage. She looked fearfully for bloodstains but someone had scrubbed the carpet clean. There was still a big damp patch on it, and on the white part of the pattern she could make out a faint brown stain.

Silence hung in the passage like the silence in an empty church. The two passage lights, shaded by green parchment shades, threw an eerie light on the pattern of the carpet.

She was frightened of the passage, feeling that Blanche was still in the flat, that she might suddenly materialize before her, and with a little shudder she closed the door and leaned against it.

She couldn’t bear the thought of spending another hour in the flat. Her one thought now was to get away from it as quickly as she could. She had the key to the flat in Vigo Street and she decided to go there. There was no point in staying in this ghastly atmosphere a moment longer, and she immediately set about packing a bag.

Later, she was staring at the contents of the bag, wondering if she had forgotten anything, when a slight sound in the passage made her stiffen and she felt a cold tingle run up her spine.

Blanche?

She told herself not to be ridiculous. Blanche was dead. Then Wesley? Was he coming to her?

She waited and listened, and the sound, no louder than the scratching of mice at the wainscoting, was repeated. She crept to the door and opened it by degrees until it was just wide enough for her to peer into the passage.

Wesley was standing by the front door, looking down at the damp patch of carpet. He stood there for several minutes, his pale face expressionless, and then suddenly he passed his foot gently over the patch of damp. He did this several times, and said softly: ‘She wasn’t fit to go on living.’

Julie felt suddenly tired and ill, and walked unsteadily to her bed and sat down. She put her head between her hands and closed her eyes. She remained like that for some time, waiting for the feeling of faintness to pass.

She did not hear Wesley come into the room, and when he spoke she started, her body recoiling in a convulsive little leap that seemed to startle him almost as much as he had startled her.

‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ he said gently. ‘I should have knocked. I wasn’t thinking.’

She didn’t say anything.

‘It’s very quiet now, isn’t it?’ he went on, moving softly about the room, not looking at her. ‘I didn’t come to see you before, because of the police. They told me you were all right. It must have been a horrible shock for you.’

Still she could think of nothing to say.

‘Dawson was odd. Didn’t you think so?’ He paused for a moment to look at her, but almost immediately began again his soft pacing to-and-fro. ‘He seemed suspicious. Why does it matter how Blanche got into the flat? Why does he try to make a mystery of it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘There’s no doubt Gleb shot her. I don’t understand what Dawson is trying to establish.’

‘He didn’t do it!’ Julie exclaimed, starting up. ‘I know he didn’t!’

Wesley turned quickly. Into his eyes came an alert watchfulness that Julie was too strung-up to notice.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Harry didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.’

‘Why are you so sure?’

‘Oh, I know he was bad, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He didn’t carry a gun. Mrs. French once asked him if he had a gun. He said he never carried one and never would. He was speaking the truth then, and he was speaking the truth to-night when he said he didn’t shoot her.’

‘Have you told the police this?’ There was the faintest tremor in Wesley’s voice.

‘Dawson doesn’t believe me. He said only Harry and I were in the flat. If he didn’t shoot her, then I must have.’

‘The fool!’ Wesley was suddenly angry. ‘He didn’t mean it?’

‘No, he was trying to frighten me. But he didn’t. I told him the front door was open—’

‘What! What do you mean?’

‘The front door was open. When Mrs. Wesley came in she forgot to close it.’

Wesley suddenly caught hold of Julie’s wrist, pulled her to him and stared at her fixedly. ‘What’s the door to do with it? What are you hinting at?’

There was something in the glittering eyes that chilled her.

‘Answer me!’

‘I only suggested someone in the passage could have shot her,’ Julie said, trying to free her wrist. ‘Please let go. You’re hurting me.’

He continued to stare at her for a long moment, then re-leased her and turned away.

‘I’m sorry. And what did Dawson say to that?’

‘He said something about the invisible man,’ Julie sat down. Her legs felt shaky. ‘He said the police were watching the passage and no one could have come up or down.’

‘The invisible man! Fancy Dawson saying that.’ There was a feverish look in Wesley’s eyes, but he was smiling, suddenly at ease. ‘And you meant to be helpful, Julie. But you do see no one could have shot her through the doorway? If the police were there — well, is it likely that anyone could have done that?’

‘No,’ she said, wondering at the change in him ‘I suppose not, but I’m sure Harry didn’t do it.’

‘I find your faith in Gleb a little touching. After all, he’s a thief. He had no mercy on you. You have no proof at all that he didn’t shoot Blanche. You don’t love him anymore, do you?’

‘No, I don’t love him, but that doesn’t make any difference. I just feel in my bones he didn’t do it.’

‘It isn’t a very convincing argument. I doubt if a jury would be impressed. Well, we’ll see.’

‘Will they hang him?’ Julie asked, wide-eyed.

‘I don’t know. It’s better not to think about it. They haven’t tried him yet.’ Wesley fumbled in his pocket for his cigarette-case, lit up, and again began to move about the room. ‘I don’t think I could stand a night here, could you, Julie?’

‘No.’

‘Shall we go to the new flat?’

She flinched from the idea of being with him, of beginning their association so soon after what had happened.

‘Could I go there alone?’ she said. ‘I... I’d rather be alone for a little while.’

‘That’s absurd.’ There was an edge to his voice. ‘Neither of us should he alone to-night. We must keep each other company. There’s nothing to worry about. I shall not bother you if that’s what you are thinking. But if you want the use of the flat, Julie, then you must share it with me. Perhaps you have changed your mind? I can’t say that I blame you if you have. Perhaps you don’t want a bank account or a mink coat or the flat? You have only to say so and you are free to do what you like. And by that I mean you can go from here and forget you ever met me.’

Julie stared at him, and her face hardened.

‘You seem to forget you’re giving me all this because you don’t want me to talk,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m going to do what I like. I don’t want you at the flat.’

Wesley smiled.

‘Things have changed now, Julie,’ he said gently. ‘It doesn’t matter if anyone knows I can see. I’m not going into explanations, but my pretended blindness was to do with Blanche. Now she is dead it doesn’t matter. Perhaps one of these days I’ll tell you about it, but not now. I shall continue to pretend I’m blind for a few more weeks, then I shall regain my sight, but it is not important. If you want to be difficult you can talk, but if you do, you won’t get anything further from me. If you behave yourself I will continue to give you money and let you keep the flat; but only if you behave yourself.’

Julie didn’t know if he were bluffing or not. She thought not, but she wasn’t sure, and this indecision infuriated her. She wasn’t going to give up the flat or her money. She would hold on to that on any terms.

‘All right,’ she said sullenly. ‘Then you’d better come, I suppose.’

‘Good.’ There was a new note in his voice. He looked brighter and less haggard. ‘Let’s get out of here. Let’s start a new life together. I’ll promise you a good time.’ He moved to the door. ‘I’ll put some things in a bag and I’ll join you in a moment or so. Don’t be long, will you?’

She finished her packing and when Wesley returned she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. He took her bag.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Gerridge to finish the packing to-morrow.’

They went down the passage together. Both of them flinched when they had to pass over the brown stain on the carpet. The lift was opposite the front door and Wesley crossed to it and pressed the automatic button.

Neither of them spoke until the lift came to rest and the doors swung open, then Wesley said: ‘It’ll be good to get away from the place. I’ve always hated it.’

As the lift began its descent Julie happened to glance down. In the corner of the lift was something that attracted her attention. Wesley saw it at the same instant. He made a quick dart forward, picked it up, and put it hurriedly into his pocket. But Julie had recognized it. It was the finger-stall she had put on his finger after he had cut himself on the night of their first meeting.

She was startled that he had concealed it so hurriedly, and saw an odd expression of acute tension on his face as if he were trying to control his feelings and only by the greatest effort had succeeded. She felt sure that behind the black-lensed glasses which he was now wearing his eyes were frightened.

At the time it seemed of no importance to her, just an odd, unexplained incident, but it made an impression on her mind and she was to remember it again later.

II

The West London Court was crowded when Harry Gleb made a five-minute appearance in the dock. Harry was stupefied when he saw the packed court. He had no idea that he was going to be the object of so many intent and curious eyes and he was badly shaken. After one horrified, shrinking glance, he kept his eyes fixed on the wall above the magistrate’s head.

A great change had come over Harry since the night of his arrest. The charge of murder against him had knocked all the bombast out of him. He looked older; there was a wild, horrified expression in his eyes, as if he believed he was experiencing a terrifying nightmare and was making desperate efforts to wake up. His face was grey and lined and haggard. His mouth twitched and his hands trembled. If Julie could have seen him she would have been shocked. He was no longer the handsome, blustering swashbuckler she had known. He was a trapped, frightened animal with the smell of death in his nostrils.

Before being remanded for a week he heard Detective Inspector Dawson admit ruefully that Mrs. French and her daughter had slipped through his fingers and were so far still at liberty. He heard the news with mixed feelings; relief and envy. Had he glanced round the court he would have had Dawson’s statement confirmed, for Dana was sitting only a few yards from him. It would have considerably cheered him to know that she had risked coming to the court to see him. He felt deserted, experiencing a frustrated rage to think that Theo had escaped all this by death.

Dana wasn’t particularly worried about herself. She knew the risk wasn’t great. The police had no detailed description of her; she was not known to them, and she had taken the precaution to wear a pair of shell spectacles and to tuck her auburn hair out of sight under a close-fitting little hat.

She thought Harry looked ghastly. He was obviously ill at ease and frightened and she scarcely recognized him. To see the way he gripped the dock rail until his knuckles turned white and to hear his quavering voice when he asked for legal aid sent a pang through her heart; for Dana had been in love with Harry for a long time.

The magistrate seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of Harry. When Dawson asked for a remand he agreed with alacrity. Dawson said he hoped by the end of the week to have made further arrests. As Harry turned to leave the dock he caught sight of Dana who smiled cheerfully at him. He was staggered to see her there, and as the police urged him away he gave her a frightened, haunted look that worried her.

‘He’s in a bad way,’ she thought, as she pushed through the crowd to the street. ‘But they can’t hang him. He didn’t do it. Theo must have done it. He had the gun. I’ve got to get Harry out of this mess somehow — but how?’

She wandered along the street deep in thought, but knowing at the back of her mind that there was nothing she could do for him. They had got him. Once they got their claws in you, you were finished.

While she was wrestling with her problem, Inspector Dawson arrived back at his office to find Garson waiting for him.

‘Remanded for a week,’ he said, in answer to Garson’s query. ‘We’ll have to catch ’em by then.’ He sat down at his desk. ‘Any news?’

‘Not of Ma French and Dana. They’ve hidden up some-where pretty snug. No sign of them.’

Dawson grunted.

‘What about the taxi driver who took Mrs. Wesley from the theatre to her flat? Found him?’

‘It doesn’t look as if she went by taxi. No driver’s come forward. And another thing, no driver’s come forward about taking Wesley home. That’s a bit odd, sir. A driver’s not likely to forget a blind man.’

‘Wesley said he came back by taxi, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, sir. I have his statement here.’

‘Leave that for a moment. Find out anything about Mrs. Wesley’s movements?’

‘Not a great deal, sir. The commissionaire at the theatre saw her get out of the taxi and enter the theatre while Wesley was paying the fare. She’s well known at the theatre, of course. She’s played there a number of times. She went to the bar. The commissionaire thought it was strange she should leave Wesley to find his way in. He showed Wesley to the entrance of the stalls and told him Mrs. Wesley was in the bar. He says Wesley didn’t appear to hear, but went down the gangway, where a programme seller took charge of him.’

‘I don’t see why he shouldn’t have heard. He’s not deaf. Well, go on.’

‘Mrs. Wesley went to the bar. The bartender said she seemed in a bad temper and scarcely spoke to her. The woman was disappointed as she looked on Mrs. Wesley’s visits as a bit of an occasion. She said Mrs. Wesley drank three brandies and a minute or so before the first bell rang, left the bar. The commissionaire was surprised to see her leave the theatre. She headed towards Piccadilly Circus and no one seems to have seen her again until she arrived at the flat.’

‘She could have taken the underground. Taxis aren’t easy to get these days.’

‘I think that’s what happened, sir. If she caught a train at once she would have arrived about the time she did.’

‘Let’s get back to Wesley. How does his statement compare to the actual facts?’

‘All right, sir, with two exceptions. One was the commissionaire told him Mrs. Wesley was in the bar and he says he didn’t know where she was. But then, of course, he might not have heard the man. But when he came out of the theatre after the curtain had gone up, the commissionaire offered to get him a taxi, and he refused. That seems a bit odd to me, sir. I have his statement here. He says, “It occurred to me that she might have returned here and I became alarmed. I had some difficulty in stopping a taxi. At last someone took pity on me and stopped one for me.” ’

‘Yes, very odd. If the commissionaire offered to get him a taxi and he was alarmed, why didn’t he let the man get him one? Why go blundering about the street? He surely would know he couldn’t hope to get a cab for himself. I think I’ll have another word with him about that. He’s not living at Park Way any longer. He’s moved into a flat in Vigo Street. He’s living with that Holland girl.’

Garson showed his surprise.

‘That’s something that foxes me, Garson.’ Dawson pushed back his chair, thrust his knee against his desk. ‘What’s the idea of a fellow like Wesley living with that Holland girl?’

Garson grinned.

‘She’s a pretty nice-looking girl, sir. A fellow doesn’t worry too much about what’s inside a girl’s head these days so long as she’s got a good body and a pretty face. At least, not the fellows who want that kind of fun.’

‘What’s a pretty face to a blind man?’

Garson blinked.

‘Yes, of course. I wasn’t thinking. No, you’re right, sir. I wonder what the idea is?’

‘I’ve had a man keeping an eye on them. Wesley’s throwing money away on her. They’re going everywhere: night clubs, theatres, bottle parties, dances, restaurants, even riding in the Row. He’s not going to the factory any more. For the past four days they’ve been everywhere together. I want to know what the idea is.’

‘Blackmail?’

‘I don’t think so. If it were blackmail why should she go around with him? A blackmailer likes to keep at a safe distance. And she doesn’t strike me as the type.’

‘Perhaps they’re in love, sir.’

‘Perhaps they are. I don’t know. All right, Garson, you concentrate on the Frenches. I want ’em quickly. They’re holed up somewhere. Keep after them. I’ll have a word with Wesley. And keep after those taxi drivers. There’s still a chance one or both’ll come forward.’

When Garson had gone, Dawson glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after three o’clock. He’d call on Wesley about five, he told himself. If Wesley wasn’t in, he might get a chance to talk to Julie Holland.

III

Benton lived alone in a small but comfortable West End flat on the top floor of an old-fashioned building that contained three bachelor flats and was serviced by a housekeeper and a valet. Breakfast was the only meal provided, and this was served in the small alcove leading off Benton’s sitting-room.

At eight o’clock each morning (nine o’clock on Sundays), the meal was set on the table. Benton rose at seven-thirty, bathed and shaved, and then, in pyjamas and dressing gown, had breakfast. He left the flat at nine o’clock for the factory.

His breakfast consisted of cornflakes with watered milk, toast, a scraping of butter and strong coffee: it never varied. When he had finished the meal, he lit a cigarette and unfolded the newspaper that lay in a tight roll on the tray. No matter how important the news, he didn’t look at the paper until he moved from the table and sat in an arm-chair.

On the morning following Blanche’s death he had bathed, shaved and breakfasted with his usual pale calm. His mind was preoccupied with the two main interests in his life: Blanche and money.

He had met Blanche for the first time at her wedding, although he had seen her several times on the stage and had admired her from a distance. Wesley had given him no warning of his marriage. Wesley and he had been partners for a number of years. Together they had developed the Wesley-Benton Aircraft Factory from a small and experimental idea into four hundred acres of machine shops, runways and hangars. The drive admittedly had come from Wesley, but Benton’s contribution had been none the less important. In his quiet, pale way, he had a brilliant flair for organization. He could turn chaos into orderly efficiency with a stroke or two of his pen. He could handle difficult contractors, placate irritable ministers, soothe nervous and suspicious hankers. He undertook all the petty, irritating jobs (vitally important in spite of their pettiness) where Wesley’s temperament would have failed. The partnership had been successful, although each man disliked the other intensely, and where Wesley was concerned it had been profitable. Benton was never able to keep money for long. He was a spendthrift and his share of the profits was invariably lost in gambling and unsound undertakings which he could easily be persuaded to finance.

Some six years ago Wesley had wandered into Benton’s office and had announced casually that he was getting married. Benton offered his congratulations and was curious to see the bride; curious and inclined to sneer. Who in the world would want to marry a cold fish like Wesley, he wondered. Probably some horsey-looking woman whose only claim to fame was an occasional photograph in the Tatler or Sketch. Benton loathed that type of woman. But when Wesley introduced him to Blanche he had the shock of his life.

Benton was a profligate. His headmaster had once said before the whole school that he had a mind like a body full of sores. That was when Benton had been involved in a particularly unpleasant scandal and had been publicly expelled. Women were as necessary to him as drugs to an addict. He had admired Blanche when he had seen her on the stage; at close quarters she bowled him over. He hadn’t been in her company for long before he was obsessed by her. She had a sensual, animal magnetism that caught him by the throat. This was no passing infatuation; no idle lusting after a pretty woman. It went much deeper than that. It was like a virulent germ in his blood; a craving that tortured him; a suffocating feeling every time he heard her name; a pounding of blood in his ears at the sound of her voice.

When Wesley volunteered for the Royal Air Force, Benton, unfit for any of the Services, did not hesitate to take advantage of his absence. By then Blanche was drinking heavily and Benton willingly became her drinking partner. Drink had no effect on him, but it rotted Blanche mentally and physically.

Somewhat to Benton’s surprise his obsession for Blanche showed no signs of waning. He had felt like this before with other women, but once he had become intimate with them the desire for their company wilted. But not so with Blanche. The more he saw her, the more intimate they were, the more he desired her: it was like throwing petrol on a smouldering bonfire. He would have married her if he had had the money. Blanche was willing and kept urging him to put his money affairs in order, refusing to use her own money so long as she could use Wesley’s.

From a grimy, erotic beginning, their association developed into an odd but deep-rooted kind of love. Benton led a lonely life. He was not popular and had no friends. There was something about him that other men distrusted, and Blanche was his only companion.

When he unfolded the newspaper and saw Blanche’s photo-graph staring at him from the printed page and read the banner headline that told of her murder, he went deathly pale. He sat motionless, the paper gripped in his long, rather beautiful fingers, his eyes closed.

He remained still for a long time. His mind paralysed by the sense of his loss. When eventually he did move it was to walk with slow, halting steps to the sideboard. He poured himself out a glass of brandy, drank it and refilled his glass. Then he returned to his chair and re-read the account of the murder. And while he read his face went to pieces and he wept.

Later, he telephoned Wesley’s flat, but there was no answer. He put through a call to the factory and learned that Wesley hadn’t arrived. There was nothing else he could do, and he sat staring at the wall opposite, his teeth chewing on his pale underlip, his hands clenched in his lap.

He was still sitting in the same position an hour later when Wesley telephoned.

Wesley was curt; his voice without feeling. He asked Benton to look after the factory.

‘I shan’t be coming out for some time. You can get on without me. There’s no urgent work. If you want me you can reach me through my club.’

Benton was stupefied that Wesley should suddenly shirk his responsibilities. He dared not let him know how stricken he was at the news of Blanche’s death. He imagined that Wesley had no idea of his relations with Blanche. Wesley could make things awkward for him if he liked. He was guaranteeing a big overdraft at Benton’s bank. If he ever got wind of what Benton and Blanche’s relations had been, Benton reasoned, he might easily withdraw the guarantee.

Benton had intended to make some excuse and take a few days off. The thought of going to the factory sickened him. He wished to remain in his flat and mourn for Blanche. He couldn’t even bring himself to express sympathy for Wesley’s loss. Neither of the men mentioned Blanche, and as soon as Wesley had made sure that Benton would look after the factory he rang off.

Benton had but a vague idea of how he got through the next two days. He took no interest in the affairs of the factory although he was at his desk at his usual time. He looked ghastly; white, drawn and dazed. Fortunately, he had capable assistants who realized he was suffering from a shock of some kind and relieved him of all work except where his signature was essential.

He attended the West London Court when Harry Gleb made his brief appearance and studied Harry with pale revengeful eyes. It gave him some satisfaction to see the fear and suffering on Harry’s face.

The same evening he went to Segetti’s Restaurant off Jermyn Street. He was known in the grill-room, as Blanche and he went there often when Wesley worked late at the factory. Benton had a sudden nostalgic desire to go there that night, to sit in his usual corner and to commune with Blanche in spirit. But as soon as he entered the crowded grill-room and saw Segetti bearing down on him he realized he had made a mistake. Without Blanche at his side he felt naked in this atmosphere of riches, good food and smart talk. With Blanche, the restaurant had seemed an exciting and friendly place, but now it made him nervous, undermined his confidence. It was a sharp reminder that from now on he was going to be alone. He had no business in a luxury restaurant on his own. He became immediately an oddity: a fish out of water without some richly furred and smartly dressed woman at his side.

Already people were glancing curiously at him as he stood self-consciously in the doorway. Already he knew he had created a problem for Segetti. But it was too late to slink away, and he walked quickly down the red-carpeted aisle towards Segetti, who was coming to greet him.

‘My usual table,’ he said, his pale eyes venomous. ‘I shall not stay long.’

‘Of course, Mr. Benton,’ Segetti said immediately, and as he led the way to a vacant table, he murmured: ‘Poor madam, we shall miss her sadly. A dreadful, monstrous thing.’

Benton sat down.

‘She liked coming here,’ he said, and looked up into the black Italian eyes. ‘No other place gave her more pleasure.’

Tie would have liked to have taken Segetti into his confidence; to have told him how lonely he was and that the grill-room was full of memories for him. But there was a fatal quality in Benton that made people dislike him. He saw now dislike in Segetti’s eyes, and a faint tinge of red rose out of his collar and flooded his face.

‘To hell with him!’ he thought, furious with himself. ‘I don’t want his pity.’

He ordered smoked salmon, which he didn’t eat, and a bottle of Blanche’s favourite brandy. He sat at the table brooding, unaware now of the curious glances that were shot at him. The brandy in the bottle sank rapidly. He knew he was getting a little drunk, but he didn’t care. The brandy released the bitter, hard core in him that stifled him.

Then suddenly he saw Wesley and Julie come in. He recognized Wesley immediately by the black-lensed glasses and the queer, half-hesitant walk. Julie he didn’t recognize. He saw only a good-looking girl in a flame-coloured evening gown, her glossy dark hair dressed to her shoulders. Round her white throat was a string of glittering diamonds. For a moment or so he paid her no attention. He stared at Wesley, scarcely believing his eyes. How could he do such a thing? he asked himself. How could he come with a woman to a public restaurant not five days after his wife had been brutally murdered? Was this why he hadn’t come to the factory? Had he suddenly gone off the rails and was living with this woman? Who was she?

He shifted his bloodshot eyes to stare at Julie. Where had he seen her before? Then suddenly he stiffened, leaned forward, his pale lips tightened. Julie! Blanche’s maid! He passed a hot, dry hand across his eyes, then stared again. There could be no doubt about it, although he scarcely knew her in the gown which he now thought he recognized. Blanche had had a gown like that. He remembered it well: the gown she had worn the night she had given herself to him for the first time: a gown that conjured up a complete picture of their association together. Surely it was not the same gown, he thought, sick with horror. And those diamonds! They were Blanche’s! Wesley had decked this servant in Blanche’s things! To Benton it was an unforgivable blasphemy against Blanche. He felt hot blood rush to his head. The lights of the restaurant seemed to grow dim and a suffocating band encircled his throat. He was on his feet now, a choking, murderous rage consuming him.

He became vaguely aware that someone was holding him by the arm and a soothing voice was asking if he were unwell. He threw off the restraining hand with an ugly oath and walked stiff-legged, his face white and twitching, his eyes burning, to Wesley’s table.

A sudden hush fell on the restaurant. People turned in their chairs to look at him. They watched him pause at Wesley’s table and point with a quivering finger at Julie.

‘Tell that dirty little bitch to take off your wife’s dress!’ Benton said in a cracked, hysterical voice. ‘How dare you, you damned housemaid!’

His hand shot out and made a grab at the diamond necklace but Julie struck his hand away and screamed. Wesley jumped to his feet. A young Army officer, dining at the next table, sprang forward and hit Benton savagely across his mouth with the back of his hand, sending him reeling back.

‘You drunken swine!’ the officer cried excitedly.

Two waiters had come up swiftly. They caught hold of Benton’s arms. Segetti, mentally wringing his hands, waved them to take Benton away. They began to drag him to the door.

‘Leave me alone!’ Benton shouted, struggling furiously. ‘Take your hands off me!’ Then his voice broke and he began to sob: great rasping sobs that sent a chill through those who heard him. He went limply now, muttering and sobbing, supported by the two embarrassed waiters. The glass doors swung behind him.

IV

During the days that followed Blanche’s death, Julie achieved an ambition that had tormented her from early childhood. At last she had as much money as she wanted, a flat in the West End and a mink coat. It was unbelievable. If it hadn’t been for Wesley she would have been beside herself with joy. But Wesley worried her.

Julie considered all men were alike. They were different only in their approach. As far as she was concerned they wanted only one thing. She found Wesley attractive, and when he insisted on staying with her in the new flat she was prepared to accept him as a lover. But it came as a shock to her pride when Wesley made no attempt nor showed any desire to be intimate with her. He was friendly and kind but impersonal, and it worried her. With other men she had always known where she was and could anticipate each move, but with Wesley she was mystified and frustrated, and as the days passed she began to hate him, suspecting that he could not forget that she was his wife’s maid and that was the reason why he was so cold to her.

To punish him she demanded expensive presents, but instead of being annoyed he seemed pleased and urged her to greater extravagance. He took her to Asprey’s in New Bond Street and bought her a gold and enamelled toilet set. He bought her a gold cigarette-case and lighter. He took her to the Savoy for lunch, the Berkeley to dinner and to Ciro’s to dance. They went riding in the Row. They went to cinemas and theatres. But all the time she was aware of this impersonal barrier between them, and raged against it.

Since the night of the murder she hadn’t had a moment to think of Harry Gleb. Wesley saw to that. Her days and nights were fully occupied in reckless spending, visits to night clubs, theatres and cinemas. There was no radio in that flat and no newspapers were delivered. She had no means of learning of Harry’s remand or that Mrs. French and Dana hadn’t yet been caught. She was kept so busy that she didn’t even suspect that to all intents and purposes she was a prisoner. No news of the outside world reached her. No one telephoned nor wrote to her. Wesley never left her for a moment.

She was quick to realize, however, that Wesley was willing to give her anything she wanted, and for some days now she had been hankering after Blanche’s wardrobe.

She decided it was time to broach the subject.

Before doing so she took care to make herself look as lovely as she knew how. She was in pyjamas and a polka-spotted red and white silk dressing-gown that Wesley had given her the day before. She looked attractive and she knew it, but Wesley was unmoved. He sat in an arm-chair before the fire and studied her without interest.

‘What particular mischief are you up to now?’

She smiled and made to sit on his lap but he pushed her gently away.

‘Go and stand by the fire where I can see you.’

He was exasperating, she thought, but it was no use letting him see how angry he made her.

‘I want some clothes,’ she began. A cigarette hung from her carefully painted lips and she had her hands in her pockets, drawing the thin silk tight across her small buttocks. She squinted a little as the smoke of the cigarette drifted past her nose and she surveyed Wesley with calculating shrewdness.

‘But surely you have enough clothes for the present. Aren’t you ever contented, Julie? As soon as you have one thing you want something else.’

‘I don’t like the clothes you’ve bought me. I’ve been thinking. There are all those clothes at the flat. They fit me. Why shouldn’t I make use of them?’

Wesley stared at her fixedly. She expected opposition and was braced for it.

‘They are Blanche’s clothes.’

‘She doesn’t need them now; I do.’

‘I merely mentioned the fact to remind you that she has worn them. I thought perhaps you would feel squeamish to wear the clothes of a dead woman.’

She was genuinely astonished.

‘But why? Of course, I wouldn’t wish to wear the dress she was murdered in — that’d be horrible, but the other clothes, why not? Why should they be wasted?’

‘Has it occurred to you that I might dislike to see you in my wife’s clothes?’

‘Why should you? She had hundreds of dresses. There must be dozens she wore when you were blind. Why should it matter to you if you don’t know them?’

He suddenly laughed.

‘You have an answer for everything. What a little ghoul you are. All right, Julie, have them by all means. I want you to be happy.’

She was quick to seize that opportunity.

‘Why?’

He stretched his legs towards the fire and smiled at her.

‘Why not? Why shouldn’t I try to make someone happy?’

‘And what do you get out of it?’

‘I have a charming companion, and besides, it interests me to see you emerging from your chrysalis. Why do you look so suspicious? Don’t you believe people help others without an ulterior motive?’

‘Men don’t help me without a motive. You said you wanted me to be your mistress. You have a funny idea of a mistress, haven’t you?’

‘I don’t recollect saying anything of the kind. I have no intention of making you my mistress, as you so crudely put it. I offered you a home, security and a thousand a year. I made no conditions. It is you who are interpreting the terms, and wrongly. I want nothing from you except to know you are happy.’ He paused to light a cigarette, went on: ‘Suppose you run along and change? If you want those dresses we’d better go over to the flat and get them.’

‘You don’t have to come. I can get them without bothering you.’

‘Don’t deprive me of your company, Julie; and besides, the hall porter might think you were stealing them.’

She felt colour rise in her cheeks.

‘Aren’t you going to the factory anymore?’ she asked, to change the subject. ‘Should you spend so much time with me?’

‘I can manage the factory quite well from here, Julie. Are you anxious that I shall run out of money? There’s no need to be worried. I have very able assistants.’ He was obviously laughing at her. ‘Will you get changed now? I wouldn’t like you to catch cold.’

She slammed the door as she left the room. It was the only way in which she could express her feelings.

She didn’t notice how pale he was as they rode up in the lift to the flat in Park Way. She was far too excited at the thought of possessing all those lovely clothes even to look at him. She had no misgivings about entering the flat again. Even the faint brown stain on the carpet meant nothing to her. Blanche might never have existed, and Harry was but a vague uneasy stirring of conscience far at the back of her mind.

While she was choosing the dresses Wesley paced up and down, his hands deep in his pockets, his chin on his chest. And when she selected one particular dress and held it up for inspection, he said suddenly with a rasp in his voice: ‘No! Not that one. Put it back!’

‘But I like it,’ she said, and her mouth set obstinately. ‘It’s just right for my colouring. Why shouldn’t I have it?’

‘Put it back!’

She saw the lines of pain on his face and the glitter in his eyes and recognized the danger signals. There were plenty of other dresses to choose from and with a little shrug she put the dress back.

‘Aren’t you nearly ready?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘You’ll never wear all those things.’

‘Oh yes, I will. You don’t think I’m going to miss an opportunity like this? All my life I’ve longed to have masses of clothes: I’ve got them now.’

At last she was ready to leave. She had packed two large suitcases with the clothes she had chosen, but even then she wasn’t satisfied. The room, she knew, contained jewellery and furs. She was reluctant to leave without some of them.

‘Couldn’t I have some jewellery?’ she asked, and smiled coaxingly. ‘Those dresses will look awfully bare without something to set them off.’

He stared at her for a long uncomfortable moment.

‘You’re never contented, it seems, Julie. Well, all right. I suppose I’d better find you something.’

He turned off the alarms to the safe and opened it, and began to look through the drawers in the steel cabinet. She joined him but he turned quickly, standing between her and the drawers.

‘I said I would find you something. Will you please sit over there until I have decided what you shall have?’

‘But why can’t I choose for myself? I know what I want.’

‘If you don’t sit down, you won’t have anything.’

She was angry, but again the glitter in his eyes subdued her, and with a sulky shrug she walked to the window. But she needn’t have worried: his selection took her breath away, especially the diamond necklace he so carelessly dumped on the table.

‘Oh! How beautiful! Can I really have them? Are you giving them to me?’

‘I’m lending them to you. Everything you are using is lent, Julie.’

She gave him a quick puzzled glance, but she was too excited to bother about terms and conditions. These jewels were for her to wear. She could worry about whether she was to keep them or not later. She wanted to try on the necklace immediately but he wouldn’t let her. He seemed suddenly anxious to get away from the flat.

Even when she had the two suitcases full of clothes and the jewellery she still hankered after the furs.

‘Couldn’t I have one of the fur coats?’ she asked as she put the jewellery in her handbag. ‘I’d love the Arctic fox. Shall we take it with us?’

He closed the safe.

‘No! Be content with the mink coat I gave you, and do stop asking for things. You are not having any of the furs. Aren’t you ever satisfied?’ He picked up the suitcases and made for the door. ‘It’s no use looking sulky. Come on, Julie, don’t behave like a child.’

She followed him into the lift, inwardly fuming. She wanted the Arctic fox now more than anything in the world, but she knew it wasn’t wise at this moment to press for it. Later, she would plan a campaign to get it. She was confident that if she kept on and on at him he would let her have it.

That evening they had gone to Segetti’s restaurant because Julie had wished to show off her diamond necklace in the smartest restaurant in London.

Benton had spoilt their evening, and now, in the taxi going home, she sat frozen with rage.

Wesley had remained calm and quiet during the scene and after. She hated him for being so unmoved, feeling he had slighted her by not being angry with Benton. Brooding about this she could no longer keep silent and burst out: ‘How dare he call me names like that! The beast! You’re not going to let him get away with this, are you? He was your wife’s lover. You’re not going to let him insult me as well?’

Without looking at her he said in a cold, contemptuous voice: ‘Hold your vulgar little tongue!’

She was so taken aback that she sank against the leather seat of the taxi and lapsed into outraged silence. Neither of them said anything until they were once more inside their flat.

Then Julie rounded on him, her face flushed and her eyes glittered with anger.

‘I’m sick of this! I’m not staying with you a moment longer. I don’t know why I ever came here. You’re always beastly to me.’

Wesley wandered across the room and turned on the electric fire. He looked tired and drawn but there was a sparkle of anger in his eyes, too.

‘If you want to go, then go. I won’t stop you, but you’ll take nothing with you. Do you understand? If you leave here you’ll go in your own clothes and not the clothes I lent you. Go to your room. I’m tired of you to-night.’

She went to her room, white with fury because she now realized that whatever he said or did to her could not be bad enough to make her give up this life of luxury she had discovered. She knew she was in a trap, and she raged against it. She hadn’t the strength of character to give up her possessions and go back to the drudgery of the past. It infuriated her to know she hadn’t the power over him as she had over other men. After a while she began to calm down, and she sat on the bed and for the first time began to reason out why he should have done so much for her when it was obvious she meant nothing to him. Why was he doing this when he was contemptuous of her; even disliked her? At first it had been because she knew he could see, but then he had mace out that it didn’t matter if she had talked. If it didn’t matter, why was he still pretending to be blind? Suppose he had been bluffing? Suppose he still had a reason for someone to believe he was blind? But why? Who was he afraid of? Someone in the factory? Benton? The police? She jumped up suddenly. The police? Then it came to her in a flash and the shock staggered her. He had shot Blanche! It was so obvious she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t realized it before. It was a perfect alibi. That was it! No one would suspect a blind man. He had hated Blanche. Gerridge had said if they were divorced he would have had to settle a large sum of money on her and he hadn’t the means. Blanche was carrying on with Benton. The motive was there. He had pretended the operation on his eyes had been a failure when all the time it had been successful. He must have known sooner or later an opportunity would come, and he could murder Blanche in circumstances that couldn’t possibly involve him so long as he kept up the pretence of being blind. And she had given him the opportunity. He had been quick to see how easy it would be to shift the blame on to Harry. That was why he had been so anxious that Blanche shouldn’t know about the robbery.

Somehow he had persuaded Blanche to return with him to the flat. But how had he evaded the police? And then Julie remembered the finger-stall he had picked up in the lift and had tried to conceal. She remembered too how agitated he had become when she had told him someone could have shot Blanche from the passage. She was sure now he had come up with Blanche and remained out of sight in the lift while she opened the front door. Then he had shot her as she entered the hall and had thrown the gun in after her. It was simple enough. The police weren’t in the passage. All he had to do was to close the lift doors immediately after getting rid of the gun and to wait until the police had broken into the flat. While they were arresting Harry, the lift would take him down to the basement. There, no doubt, he had waited a few minutes then walked in through the main entrance. Who would suspect him?

The discovery filled her with horror. She had known instinctively that Harry hadn’t done it. She had known all the time. As she sat there, cold and shaken, not knowing what to do, she heard a step outside and then Wesley came in.

She jumped to her feet and backed away, fear in her eyes.

‘It was you!’ she exclaimed. ‘You killed her! That’s why you’ve pretended all this time to be blind!’

He closed the door quietly.

‘I thought you would find that out in time,’ he said, calm and unmoved. ‘Well, now you know, we’d better talk it over. Sit down, and for goodness’ sake don’t look so scared. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you! Leave me alone! I’m going to the police!’

He pulled up an arm-chair near the bed and sat down.

‘It’s no use getting excited, Julie. It’ll pay you to keep calm and hear what I have to say. Have a cigarette?’ He held out his case, but she shrank away, shuddering.

‘Julie, will you try not to act like a servant in a melodrama?’ The cold edge to his voice aroused her anger, as he intended it should do.

‘How dare you! Get out! Get out before I scream for help!’

Wesley lit a cigarette, dropped his case and lighter on the bed.

‘Have a cigarette, Julie, and don’t be silly. I want to talk to you.’

‘How can you be so unmoved after what you have done?’ she said, staring at him blankly. ‘You haven’t any feeling in you. You’re cold-blooded and horrible.’

‘I assure you I have some feeling in me, Julie, but that’s neither here nor there. You are quite right: I did shoot Blanche.’

Julie stiffened.

‘And you tried to make out Harry did it. You coward! How could you?’

‘I haven’t the same interest in Harry Gleb as you. He happened to be on the spot and naturally it was assumed he did it. You can scarcely blame me for not coming forward, can you? I think you would have done exactly the same as I did.’

She was so surprised by his callousness that she could think of nothing to say.

‘After all, Julie, with all respects to your friend Gleb, he isn’t of any great value to society, is he? He is a thief, a spiv and from what you tell me a danger to young women. He hasn’t anything to commend him as far as I can see. On the other hand I am engaged on work of national importance. My research work on pilotless aircraft which is now coming to fruition will be of immense value to this and the next generation. Putting us both into the scales I feel I have many more claims to life than he has.’

‘How can you talk like that? He’s innocent. You couldn’t hide behind him. You couldn’t let him hang in your place.’

‘But I didn’t say I was going to let him hang in my place,’ Wesley returned, and smiled. ‘Before you get excited, Julie, I’d better explain what has been happening. Now don’t interrupt. Just sit down and keep quiet. Please have a cigarette. It’ll help to settle your nerves.’

Hypnotized by his calm, Julie sat on the bed and took a cigarette.

‘That’s fine. All right, I’ll begin at the beginning. I married Blanche six years ago. I was very much in love; stupidly in love, if you like. I should have known from her reputation what kind of a woman she was; I had enough warnings, but I didn’t believe the tales. To me, Blanche was the most attractive and lovely creature out of a fairy tale. In those days I had a lot of money. It seemed only right that I should make her a large settlement. I made her a large settlement. And then she suggested I should also agree to pay two hundred thousand pounds if the marriage broke up. I won’t waste time telling you how clever she was about that. She made it sound like a joke. It seemed a joke to me until I had a watertight settlement presented to me for my signature. I refused to sign it, and Blanche promptly refused to go through with the marriage. There were two hundred guests expected, the whole wedding pageant had been arranged and I realized I would either have to sign or lose her and look a fool for the rest of my days. At least, that was how it seemed to me at the time. I behaved like a fool and I’m paying the price now. I was in love with her. I wanted her very badly. I felt the marriage couldn’t go wrong. To cut a long story short I submitted to blackmail and signed. To tell it now makes it sound incredible, but I assure you she was very clever about it. She somehow made it seem that I was the one who didn’t trust her, that I would be the one to break up the marriage if the marriage was to break up.’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘I assure you ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have done the same if they had as much money as I had then.

‘The first year of our marriage was happy enough. A little disappointing, perhaps, but nothing that I could actually put my finger on. Blanche was always very bright and sweet; we went everywhere together, did things together, but all the time I didn’t feel that she was quite mine. She wasn’t, of course; she belonged to a dozen different men, but I only found that out later.

‘The factory was developing and I was anxious not to raise capital from public money. I wanted full control as I had certain revolutionary ideas that might or might not succeed. I was gambling, and I preferred to gamble with my own money. The factory expanded. Soon I had practically two-thirds of my money tied up in it. That didn’t worry me, as I was sure the gamble would come off. It was then that Blanche began to make trouble. Thinking about it, it is obvious that Benton told her my capital was safely tied up. She didn’t wish to give me up, but she did wish to live as she liked. Although I didn’t have available capital I did have a good income, and Blanche didn’t want to lose that if she could help it. And so she began to drink and have whoever she fancied for a lover and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t get rid of her. I couldn’t afford it. I was busy at the factory, and after a while I didn’t care what she did. By then I was blind and what I didn’t see ceased to worry me. We lived like that for a couple of years. Then Benton began pressing her to marry him. It dawned on her that she could get rid of me; she could force me to sell out and give her the settlement. The terms of the settlement were watertight. In court I wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on. It came to my knowledge she was going to force the issue and I began to think of a way out. I had nearly completed my work. Another six months would see it through. If she held off until then I could sell out in safety, but she wouldn’t.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another. His hand was steady as he held the flame of the lighter to his cigarette. ‘Am I boring you, Julie? I’m telling you all this because I want you to know exactly why I had to get rid of Blanche. She was a drunkard by now and a danger. She didn’t care whom she corrupted. Any young fellow who amused her was in danger. You have no idea what a beastly little animal she had degenerated into. I was at my wits’ end. Then the chance for an operation came along. I had the operation, and while I was waiting for the bandages to be taken off it crossed my mind what an excellent alibi blindness would be if I decided to murder Blanche. It was just a passing thought, but the idea stuck and I thought about it more and more. I decided that if my sight was restored I would kill her.

‘The eye surgeon had warned me that the chances of my recovering my sight was a thousand to one. When they took off the bandages I could see nothing. The operation was obviously a failure and was accepted as such. But later in the day I suddenly found that I was seeing a little light, and by the evening I could see fairly well. I said nothing. I pretended that I was still blind.

‘When I returned to the flat I was surprised to find you there in Blanche’s clothes and with Gleb. I guessed you and he were after the furs and I began to think of a way in which I could use you both to strengthen my alibi. I had every reason to get rid of Blanche. I had no mercy for her. In every conceivable way she was a menace to my activities. There was no alternative. She had to go.

‘Well, you know the rest. The plan worked out better than I thought possible. The police are a little worried why Blanche should have returned to the flat, but I don’t think that will come to anything. I was very careful. And now, Julie, I have at least three months before I need worry about Blanche’s death. In those three months my work will be completed.’

‘You... you mean you’ll tell them? You won’t let Harry hang?’

‘Of course not. When I’ve finished what I am working on I shall go to the police and give myself up. It will be at least three months before Gleb will be in any serious danger. I don’t care a great deal what happens to me after my work is finished. I wouldn’t let such a specimen as Gleb die for something I did. So there’s no need to look so tragic, Julie. He’s having a bad time now, but he is quite safe. I promise you that. And I can’t really bother about him having a bad time: he deserves nothing better.’

Julie studied him. Her heart was thumping and her hands felt dry and hot.

‘I don’t trust you,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t believe you’ll give yourself up. I’m going to tell the police now what you’ve told me. Why should Harry stiffer for you?’

‘I took the risk of telling you all this, knowing you might say exactly what you’ve just said. So let’s talk about you for a moment. You realize if you do give me away you’ll have nothing except what you can earn? I don’t think that will be much. You have had a taste of luxury and you know what it means to spend recklessly. I can’t imagine you wanting to give all that up in a hurry. But I may have misjudged you. If so, you are quite at liberty to go to the police, but if I deny what you tell them it may be difficult for them to find enough evidence to release Gleb and arrest me. They may, of course, but it’s a gamble, and in the meantime, Julie, you will have talked yourself out of your flat and your clothes and your jewels, all of which seem to give you a great deal of pleasure. But if you’ll wait patiently until I have finished my work, then, before I give myself up I’ll make you a generous settlement and you can keep the flat and all these other things.’ He stood up, stretched and yawned. ‘I’m tired. Let’s leave it for tonight. You think it over. If you want to throw away everything you have and go back to your drab little life I won’t stop you. You must please yourself. But I assure you Harry will be safe enough.’ He smiled at her, went to the door. ‘Good night, Julie.’