More Deadly Than The Male

"You can read any time, can't you?" Brant's voice jeered at him. "I wouldn't ask you, only it's important. I want someone to go to Joe's and leave a message."

"Joe's?"

"It's a club in Mortimer Street, not far from you. They're not on the blower, otherwise I'd've rung 'em."

"Mortimer Street—that's near Paddington Station, isn't it?"

Brant grunted. "I've taken the key of my flat by mistake, and I'll be back late. It's my sister. She doesn't know, and she won't be able to get in. Will you leave a message for her at Joe's?"

"I didn't know you had a sister."

There was a moment's silence, then Brant said, "Well, I have. We share a flat, see? I should've left the key under the mat. She'll have to amuse herself as best she can until I get back. But I want her to know, otherwise she'll kick the door down. Will you do it, George? Just tell the barman I've taken the key and won't be back until after two. He'll tell Cora."

George thought for a moment. He felt a rising excitement. "Why, if you like . . . I'll tell her myself. I mean I'll wait for her and tell her."

"You don't have to do that. I don't know when she'll go to Joe's. All I know is she'll be there some time tonight."

George had no idea why he should feel so excited and elated. Brant's sister! Not five minutes ago he didn't know that Brant had a sister, and now he was getting het-up about her, as if she were someone exciting, someone who'd be interested in him. It was extraordinary.

"Of course, I'll do it," he said. "You leave it to me, old boy. I'll tell 'em. You don't think I ought to wait and explain it to her myself? They might forget to tell her . . ."

"They'll tell her," Brant said, his voice a ghostly murmur in George's ear. "You don't have to worry about that."

"All right," George said happily. "You leave it to me. You won't be hack until after two, is that it?"

"Something like that. Well, thanks. If you do see her . . . she's dark, doesn't wear a hat and has a red bone bangle. You can't mistake her. The bangle's about three inches wide."

"Well, maybe I will see her . . ."

A faint, sneering laugh came over the wire.

"What was that?" George asked, not believing that Brant had laughed.

"Nothing. I've got to get off. So long, George."

"Goodbye," George said, and the line went dead.

George ran up the three flights of stairs to his bedroom. His violent entrance startled Leo, who sat up with pricked ears and wide eyes. George didn't even notice the cat. He stood before the long mirror, and saw, not without satisfaction, that his face was flushed and his eyes bright. This was going to be exciting, he told himself. Organized properly, he would be able to extend the excitement until bedtime. He glanced at his watch. It was still early: a few minutes to three. He must make himself smart. Perhaps a shave. He ran his fingers over his chin Yes, he could do with a shave. Then a clean shirt, his best suit.

He took a towel and shaving outfit to the bathroom. The geyser lit with a little plop, and while he waited for the water to heat up he stood looking out of the window, across the grey roofs and, beyond, at the blue sky and the sunshine.

Cora! An exciting name. She wouldn't be like Brant. He was sure of that. She was dark, didn't wear a hat and had a red bone bangle: an exciting description! George took off his collar and tie, and filled the basin with hot water. He would spot her all right, he assured himself. Even if he didn't speak to her, it would be interesting to look at her. But, of course, he was going to speak to her. Alone in the steamy little bathroom, George felt very confident. He forgot that he was shy with women. Somehow, Brant's sister would be different. He was quite sure of that. It was odd how stupid he had been about women in the past. He stared at himself in the mirror. There was no sense in working himself into a fright because of what had happened years ago. He had been fifteen then, and big for his age. That always seemed to be the trouble. He was always too big for his age. School masters expected too much from him. During the war, when he was fourteen, people expected him to be in the army. Even at fifteen he had been backward and, of course, innocent. He had been in the park by himself when the woman began talking to him. She was an impressive-looking woman, rich, well dressed, refined. She said she was lonely, and George had felt sorry for her. He was lonely himself. They stood talking beside the duck pond; at least, she did the talking, while George listened politely. He was really more interested in watching the herons; but she was lonely, so he listened. She talked about people being nice to each other, about being lonely and what a fine, strong fellow he was. It was talk that George could understand. So when she suggested he might come to her house because it was chilly standing by the pond, he was flattered, and he did not see anything wrong in going with her.