No Business of Mine

I pushed open the front door and stepped softly across the hall, mounted the stairs, I didn’t want Julius Cole to hear me. Madge Kennitt’s door was ajar. I paused, frowned. I remembered closing it when I left. Maybe she had opened it to let the cat out, I thought, pushed the door, glanced into the room.

Madge was lying on the chaise-longue, her mouth open, her eyes glassy. Blood welled from a great gash in her throat, poured down her floppy bosom on to the Turkey carpet.

She was as dead as a soused mackerel.

Chapter Ten

For a full minute I stood staring at Madge Kennitt too shocked to move, then I stepped into the room, stood over her.

Her sightless eyes glared up at me, the blood dripped steadily on to the floor. I turned away, weak at the knees.

Because I didn’t know what to do, I wandered around the room, looking aimlessly for the weapon that had killed her. I couldn’t find it. I stepped to the chaise-longue, peered over the offside.

Three empty whisky bottles and the carton of Woodbines met my eyes. The dust on the floor-boards that side was thick; written in the dust within reach of Madge’s hand which flopped lifelessly on the floor was a word. I moved closer, peered at it. It was badly written, and it seemed to me that Madge might have written it either when she was dying or just before the killer had struck. It took me a few seconds to decipher the scrawl. She had written on the floor in the dust the name: Jacobi. It meant nothing to me, but I stored it away in my mind for future reference.

I suddenly remembered Corridan. If he was still hanging about outside and decided to come in to see what I was doing, I’d be in a hell of a spot. I made a dive for the door, ran down the stairs, opened the front door. I looked up and down the street, but could see no one. Across the street was a telephone box, and I hurried over, dialled Whitehall 1212, asked for Corridan.

While I waited, I glanced idly along the street. The headlights of a car appeared out of what seemed an alley, down the street on the opposite side to where I was telephoning. A moment later a car came swiftly towards me, went on towards the West End. As it passed under a street light, I recognized it. It was the battered Standard Fourteen and Frankie was at the wheel.

Before I could think anything of this, someone came on the line to say Corridan was out on patrol with a police car. I asked for them to get into immediate touch with him and to tell him to come at once to Mrs. Crockett.

“Tell him it’s a murder,” I said, hung up.

I didn’t fancy waiting for Corridan in Madge’s room, so I returned to the house, sat on the doorstep. While I waited, I did a little thinking.

I was at last getting somewhere. I’d have probably solved the whole business if Madge hadn’t dropped her bottle of whisky; but I wasn’t discouraged. I had found out that a girl had been in the flat with Netta, and I was positive that it was she who had died and not Netta. It seemed pretty obvious that she had been murdered, and I wondered with a feeling of sick apprehension, if Netta had taken a hand in the murder. Could the man who had returned with Netta and the other girl be Jacobi, whoever he might be? Had he been listening to Madge and me talking, and had killed Madge before she could give me the information she had promised? Was that what Madge had tried to convey when she had scrawled the name in the dust? What was Frankie doing on the scene of the murder? How much was I going to tell Corridan? If he suspected me before, he had every reason for suspecting me still more now. I should have to handle him with care.

Corridan arrived in a fast police car in less than ten minutes. He jumped out of the car, ran up the steps before I could get to my feet.

“What’s this, Harmas?” he snapped, his cold eyes searching my face. “What’s happened?”

“Madge Kennitt’s been murdered,” I said briefly.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“I came to see her,” I returned, told him briefly what had happened. “You saw me leave, Corridan,” I went on. “I spotted you as I was driving away. Why were you tailing me?”

“It’s just as well that I was, isn’t it?” he returned curtly. “I’m beginning to wonder about you, Harmas. You’re not making things easy for yourself, are you?”

“You don’t think I had anything to do with her death?”

“You could have killed her, couldn’t you?” he returned, shortly. “Every time someone dies connected with this case, you appear on the scene. I don’t like it. I’ve told you before to keep out of this, and I’m telling you again for the last time. This is no business of yours. Now, will you please understand that once and for all?”

“Hadn’t you better take a look at Madge?” I said.

He snapped his fingers impatiently, went past me into the house. Two plainclothes men followed him. I brought up the rear.

“Stay in the hall, please,” he said to me, entered Madge’s flat.