More Deadly Than The Male

A cheap clock ticked excitedly on the mantelpiece. The distant traffic rumbled up the High Street.

"I told him he was playing with fire," she went on, after a pause, "but he wouldn't listen. He thought he was smart. Over and over again I told him they wouldn't stand for it. He never did think they had any brains. He was so pleased with his plan—his stupid, silly little plan. What a fool I've been! I should never have listened to him. But he was mad. I know he was mad. After Crispin burnt him, he was never the same. He brooded all day and half the night; looking at himself in the mirror, his hand to his face, planning revenge. I warned him, I told him it wouldn't succeed. But he wouldn't listen. And now he's dead." She got up and wandered round the room. "And I'll be dead, too, before very long. They won't rest until they've killed me, and they won't rest until they've killed you."

While she had been talking, George had been looking round the sordid little room, his mind listening to her words, his eyes unconsciously seeing the various articles in the room. He found himself looking at a cheap fabric suitcase; from it was hanging a luggage tag, and on the tag, printed in bold letters, was the name Cora Nichols.

It only wanted that to confirm his suspicions. Very quietly, suppressing the sick dismay that rose inside him, he said, "Then you're not his sister?"

"Sister?" she said bitterly. "Do I look like anyone's sister? I wasn't even his wife."

George shivered. So all the time he had been dreaming about Cora, all the time she had promised to be very nice to him, she had been sleeping with Sydney.

"I see," he said, clenching his fists. "Well, that accounts for it, I suppose."

"I loved him!" Cora exclaimed, "and he treated me like a dog. I love him still. If he came back to me this very moment, I'd forgive him. I'd forgive him taking the money; I'd forgive him leaving me without a word, if only he'd come hack." She sat down, holding her head in her hands, her eyes like holes cut in a sheet.

"Who was he?" George asked, after a long pause.

"Sydney?" Cora said. "Who was he? A cheap thief. That's who he was. He stole cars for Crispin. Then one day he found a car with a case of jewellery in the back. He turned the car over to Crispin, but kept the jewellery. He thought he was being smart. The things he promised me when he had sold the jewellery! And then he was stupid enough to try to sell them to the fence who worked for Crispin. That's how smart he was! And the Greeks came after him. They got him in the end, and they took him down to Copthorne, and Crispin put a mark on his face. He said if he ever saw him again, he'd mark him again." She went back to the divan and sat down. "They didn't know about me, so I was the one to watch them. Sydney kept out of the way. That's why he took up selling those silly hooks. He had to earn money somehow, and he had to keep out of the West End. I fooled them all right. I found out that the fence was going down to Copthorne with seven hundred pounds to buy a collection of stuff from the various cars Crispin had stolen. So Sydney made his plans."

George listened grimly to all this. "Well, go on," he said bitterly. "When he met me he decided I was to be the stooge?"

"Yes," Cora said listlessly. "He saw his chance to kill Crispin and pin it onto you. I believed in him because I loved him, but I knew it wouldn't come off. I knew they'd be too smart for him. But he wouldn't listen."

"It meant nothing to you that I should be trapped into killing a man? You didn't care what happened to me, did you?"

She frowned. "Why should I? You meant nothing to me."

George flinched; then, stung to anger by her brutal callousness, he said furiously, "Well, I'm going to mean something to you now! And the sooner you realize it the better!"

But she wasn't 'listening "Did you hear?" she said, a white ring suddenly appearing round her lips.

Somewhere in the building came the faint tinkle of breaking glass.

"They're getting impatient," she said, and ran her fingers through her hair. "I hope I don't start screaming, George. I'm in an awful funk."

George sprang to his feet. "Barricade the door," he said, his voice quivering with excitement. "We ought to have thought of that before. Help me with the cupboard."

She did not move.

Without waiting for her, he pulled the cupboard towards him and began to drag it across the room. It was heavy, but with a tremendous effort he managed to wedge it against the door.

"They can't get in that way," he said, panting from his exertions. "Can they get in through the window?"

She giggled. "Not unless they've got wings," she said. "You are a scream, George. Why don't you go down and kill them, like you killed Wineinger, Barrow and Banghart?"