Hit and Run

'Of course I can. At the moment I am lying in bed with a broken leg. It's a perfect alibi. It will never occur to anyone I have had anything to do with any of this. Besides, I am going to shift the whole thing on to you. I see you have a typewriter over there. I intend to type out the beginning of a confession that will convince the police that you accidentally killed O'Brien, and Ross and Lucille attempted to blackmail you.' He put his head on one side, smiling. 'I forgot to tell you that while my men were bringing you here, I took Ross back to his bungalow and shot him through the head with the gun that killed Nutley. I'm making a clean sweep, Scott. I'm tired of Ross and I am very, very tired of Lucille.' Again he smiled. 'Getting back to your confession, Scott, they will read that the Lane woman and her agent Nutley also tried to blackmail you and you killed them. You have left enough evidence behind you to convince the police that you did kill them. They will read that you went out to Ross's bungalow and killed him and then you returned here, enticed Lucille down here and strangled her with one of your neckties.'

I suddenly felt cold and sick.

'You mean you killed her?' I said, lifting my head and staring at him.

'Of course,' Aitken said. 'The opportunity was much too good to miss. When I found her on the bed, trussed and helpless, it seemed to me the easiest thing in the world to fasten one of your gaudy neckties around her stupid little throat and get rid of her. It's a clean sweep, Scott. I have got rid of Ross and her: both nuisances. I have got rid of a blackmailer who was ruining me. Fortunately Hackett came out of the blue with his hundred thousand, so I now don't need your money. I can start again. Even if I can't keep the wheel spinning at the Little Tavern, with a hundred thousand and my talents I should be able to make a fresh start.'

'You won't get away with it,' I said, staring at him. 'Too many people know about it. Claude knows: his two thugs knows …'

The sneering little smile was in evidence again.

'Claude and his two thugs as you call them are tied in with me. If I go down, so do they, and they know it. Now it only remains for yon to become a victim of your conscience, Scott, and shoot yourself. The police won't be surprised that life has become intolerable to you after all these murders and you have ended it.'

He took from his pocket a leather glove which he slipped on his right hand, then from his hip pocket he pulled out a .45 Colt.

'This is Nutley's gun,' he went on. 'It is the gun that killed him and Ross, and now it is going to kill you.' He got to his feet. 'In a way, I'm sorry about this, Scott. I shall miss you. You are good at your job, but there is no other way out of this mess. I assure you it won't hurt. I am told that a shot in the ear kills instantly.'

I was now pretty well ready to hit the ceiling. I was watching him move slowly across the room towards me, the gun hanging by his side when the front-door bell rang.

That was a moment in my life I'll never forget.

Aitken stiffened and looked towards the door. I saw his thumb push the safety catch on the gun forward.

He stood there like a stone man, listening.

'They'll know I'm in here,' I said hoarsely. 'The car's outside.'

He looked at me, his mouth curling into a snarl.

'Make a sound and you'll be the first to go,' he said.

Again the front-door bell rang, persistently and impatiently.

Aitken moved silently to the sitting-room door and cautiously peered into the hall. His back was now turned to me and to the french doors. I saw a shadow appear, and then the big, massive figure of Lieutenant West suddenly moved silently through the french doors and into the room. In his right hand he held a .38 police special.

He didn't look at me. His eyes were on Aitken's broad back.

As he lifted his gun, he suddenly barked: 'Up with them, Aitken, and drop that gun!'

I saw a shudder run through Aitken's big frame. He spun around, jerking up his gun, his face contorted with rage and fear.

West shot him.

Aitken's gun boomed, but he was already falling and the slug ploughed a groove in my parquet floor. A red stain appeared between Aitken's eyes and he pitched forward, coming down with a crash that rocked the ornaments in the room. He jerked a little as he died, but it was purely reflex. The gun slid out his limp fingers, and West moved over heavily and ponderously and picked it up.

There was the sound of running feet and three policemen, guns in hand, crowded in.

'Okay, okay, okay,' West said. I've fixed him.'

He moved over to me, shoving his gun in his hip pocket and he grinned down at me.

'I bet you were scared,' he said.

I stared up at him, and I was still so scared I couldn't say anything.

As he bent over me and began to unwind the tape around my wrists, Joe Fellowes came in hurriedly. His eyes were bulging and his face was shiny with sweat.

'Hi, Ches,' he said as I sat up, trying to rub life into my wrists. 'Are you all right?'