No Business of Mine

Cole giggled. “There isn’t one, baby,” he said. “Corridan would love to get his hooks into you. Besides, what’s five hundred pounds to you? It’s nothing.” His grey-green eyes wandered around the room. “You’re used to the good things of life. You wouldn’t like to spend weeks in a cell. That’s what it’d mean, even if they didn’t prove you guilty: Weeks in a cell.”

“You’re quite a salesman,” I said, getting to my feet. “Come back at three-thirty this afternoon. I’ll either tell you to go to hell or I’ll have the dough for you.”

Cole shifted his fat carcass out of my reach. “All right, baby,” he said, watching me. “Have the money in pound notes.” He looked once more around the room, wagged his head. “It’s nice. I might even book a room here. It’d make a change after that beastly flat of mine.”

“I shouldn’t,” I said. “Not in that suit, anyway. They’re fussy here.”

A faint flush stained his pasty face. “That’s not kind, baby,” he said.

I watched him go, the frame and build of a truck-driver, sauntering along softly, insolently, like a dancer.

When he had rounded the bend in the corridor, I returned to my room, poured out a stiff shot of whisky, sat down by the window. Things were breaking a little too fast for me. I was being crowded. If I was going to solve this puzzle outside a cell, I’d have to move fast.

I thought for a few seconds, finished my drink, decided I’d have to see Netta. I jumped up, grabbed my hat, made for the door.

The telephone rang.

I hesitated, picked up the receiver.

“Harmas?”

I recognized Bradley’s voice, wondered what he wanted.

“How are your front teeth, Bradley?” I asked. “I’m still undertaking painful extractions. If you have any left, let me know. I’ll fix it for you.”

I expected him to blow his top, but he didn’t. He sounded almost mild.

“All right, Harmas,” he said. “Never mind that stuff. We’re quits now. I gave you a bad time, you gave me one. Let’s forget it.” I could scarcely believe my ears.

“So what,” I asked.

“But I want my rings back. Harmas. They’re worth two thousand pounds. Maybe you did take them for a joke. I’m not saying you stole them, but I want them back.”

That was reasonable enough, I thought, but how was I going to give them back?

“Corridan’s got them,” I said. “You’d better ask him for them.”

“I’m not interested in who’s got them,” he snapped. “I’m only interested in getting them back. You took them. You return them.”

I wondered if Corridan would part, doubted it. I began to sweat.

“But I can’t get them back without being arrested,” I returned. “Suppose you ring Corridan, tell him I took them for a joke, and ask him to return them to you. He’ll try to persuade you to file a charge against me, but you needn’t do that. That’s the only way to get ’em back.”

“If you don’t deliver those rings by four o’clock this afternoon, I’ll file a charge against you and I’ll see it damn well sticks,” Bradley snarled, hung up.

I brooded for a moment, rang Whitehall 1212. Someone told me Corridan was out of town, wouldn’t be back until late. I thanked him, put the receiver on its cradle, scowled.

“Oh, the hell with it,” I said.

I hurried to the elevator, rode down to the ground level, took a taxi to Cromwell Road.

I entered Mrs. Crockett’s house, mounted the stairs to the first floor, stood for a moment listening. I heard nothing to alarm me, crossed to Madge Kennitt’s door, rapped.

I called, “This is Steve, honey.”

The door opened immediately. Netta stared at me, her eyes opening wide. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Julius Cole watching me. He wasn’t. I stepped into the room, closed the door.

Netta was wearing a suit of almost transparent pyjamas. She looked cute, and if I hadn’t so much on my mind she’d have given me a buzz. As it was I said sharply, “Put on some camouflage, kid. For interesting places a tourist map has nothing on you.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, grabbing a silk wrap, putting it on. “Why have you come? Is something wrong?”

“Plenty,” I said, sitting on the arm of a chair. “Things are moving. They’re moving too damn fast for me, and I thought I’d better have a word with you.”

She sat down on the chaise-longue. I thought of Madge Kennitt and the way she had looked, lying there with her throat cut.

“Don’t sit there,” I said sharply. “That’s where she was found.”

“Pull yourself together, Steve,” Netta said, not moving. Her eves had hardened, were watchful. “You’re not losing your nerve, are you?”

“Hell, no,” I said. “Okay, sit there if you want to.” I stared at her for a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with your nerve, is there, Netta?”

She shook her head. “Not so long as you’re with me. What’s wrong, Steve?”

I told her how Corridan and Cole had visited me and what they had said. I told her about Bradley’s phone call, too.

She listened without interrupting.

“Well, that’s the set-up,” I concluded. “How do you like it?”