More Deadly Than The Male

The Jew shook his head. "I think it's a little more than a pound," he said, picking up the whip with long, caressing fingers. He turned the price ticket and glanced at it. "It's a fine piece of workmanship." He smiled. "It's fifty-five shillings."

George gulped. "Give me something for a 'pound, something like this, only for a pound."

"Certainly." The Jew did not move, but continued to touch the riding switch with caressing fingers. "I should like to point out, sir, that it would be more economical to buy a better whip while you are about it. Now, this is something that will last a lifetime. It is beautifully made and impossible to wear out. The extra money will be saved over and over again."

What was the matter with this fool? George thought, feverishly. Didn't he know he was wasting precious time?

"I don't want it," he said violently. "Give me what I want, and for God's sake stop talking!"

He was not aware of the sudden alarm that jumped into the Jew's eyes, nor his curious stare at George's congested face.

George was only aware of the passing time, and when the Jew offered him another whip, saying in a grieved voice that it was a guinea, George threw down a shilling on top of the pound note, snatched up the whip without looking at it, and rushed from the shop.

Cora was waiting at the corner, serene and arrogant. Her hands were thrust deep into her pockets and her eyes watchful.

"I've got it," George said thickly, falling into step beside her. "Let's go back."

She allowed herself to be hurried through the streets. They did not speak. George was only conscious of a pounding in his ears and a suffocating desire for her. He almost pushed her up the stairs to the flat, and when she had to search through her pockets and purse for the key, he stood trembling, in an agony of suspense.

Finally she opened the door and they entered the flat. He threw the whip into the armchair and caught hold of her. "Hello, George," Sydney said from the door.

George didn't look round. His arms dropped to his sides, and he stood staring down at Cora with glazed eyes. The hateful sound of Sydney's voice crushed him.

Sydney wandered into the room and regarded him sharply.

"I say, what a state you're in!" he said in his sneering voice.

George turned away. He caught a cold, jeering look from Cora that sent a stab into his heart. He was sick with disappointment and frustration.

"What have you been up to, Cora?" Sydney went on, flopping into the armchair "What's this?" he continued, picking up the whip. "Oh, something for Crispin, eh? That's wonderful." A quick, cautious note crept into his voice. "Did George buy it?"

"He bought it," Cora said, wandering across the room and opening a cupboard. "He didn't want to at first, but I persuaded him; didn't I, George?" She took from the cupboard a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

George sat down limply and wiped his face and hands on his handkerchief. He didn't say anything He had a feeling that they had, between them, tricked him in some way. He felt that ever since Sydney had telephoned him, asking him to take the message to Joe's Club, a series of carefully planned manoeuvres had taken place to trap him.

Cora came over to him with a glass half full of whisky.

"Have a drink, George," she said, putting the glass in his hand. "You look as if you needed it."

Then she sat on his lap and slipped an arm round his neck. His suspicions were immediately lulled, and in their place came an overwhelming tenderness and love for her.

She rested her head against his shoulder and gently swung her legs. She, too, had a stiff whisky in her hand.

Sydney was eyeing them with thoughtful interest.

"It seems I came hack a hit too early," he said, settling more comfortably in his armchair

"You did," Cora returned, tormenting George by rubbing her face against his. "George and I had made plans, hadn't we, George?"

He gripped her tightly, but didn't say anything. His hand trembled so that he slopped a little whisky on her slacks.

"Careful, George," she said, and suddenly laughed. "You know, our George is quite a lad," she went on to Sydney. "I believe he'd make one of the world's greatest lovers."

"Never mind about George," Sydney said. "We've got other things to think about."

Cora slipped off George's lap. She crossed the room and picked up the whip.

George, feeling suddenly deflated, watched her. She swished the whip once or twice, her face spiteful. Then she laughed. "I'll bet he'll yell the place down," she said.

"It's all fixed," Sydney said. "He'll be alone. I've got a car. We leave at eight-thirty. It'll take us about an hour. By that time it'll be getting dark."

Cora raised her glass. "To our new member," she said, looking at George, and she tilted her head and emptied her glass.

George felt hot. Whisky burned in his stomach. He was a little light-headed, but uneasy, nervous.