No Business of Mine

“And here’s something to remember me by, Fatso,” I said, hauled off and landed him a sock in his right eye.

He reeled back against the wall, his hand to his eye. For a moment he remained there, stunned, then he cringed away, moaning.

“You beast!” he whimpered. “Oh, you beastly, rotten cad!”

I made a threatening move towards him. He rushed to the door, yanked it open. Waiting for him in the passage outside was an over-sized, plainclothes dick.

Cole blundered into him, received a violent shove which sent him staggering back. The plainclothes dick smiled at him.

“Hello, dear,” he said.

Cole, still holding his eye, stared at him for almost a minute, then his face crumpled and his knees sagged.

The dick advanced on him. Cole retreated.

I kicked the door shut when the dick was in the room.

“So you anticipated you were going to have trouble with me, did you?” I said grimly. “Boy! Is that an understatement.”

I crossed over to the bathroom, opened the door. “Okay, O’Malley, you can come out now.”

Detective-Inspector O’Malley came out, followed by another plainclothes dick who had a notebook in his hand.

“Did you get it all down?” I asked.

“Every word,” O’Malley said, rubbing his hands. “The sweetest little statement I could wish for. If he doesn’t get ten years, may I be hung for a liar.”

The three dicks grinned at Cole. O’Malley walked up to him, touched his arm.

“I’m Detective-Inspector O’Malley of Bow Street, and these are police officers,” he said, waving his hand to the two plainclothes dicks. “It’s my duty to arrest you and charge you with attempted blackmail. And I have also to caution you that anything you say will be written down and may be used in evidence at your trial.”

Cole’s face turned green.

“You can’t do this to me,” he squeaked. “That’s the man who must be arrested. He’s a murderer.” He pointed a trembling finger at me. “He killed Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns. I saw him do it! You can’t arrest me. I’m an honest citizen.”

O’Malley grinned.

“You can tell that to the judge,” he said soothingly. “You come along with me.”

The two plainclothes dicks closed in on him. One of them whisked my money from Cole’s pocket, handed it to O’Malley.

“We’ll have to keep this,” O’Malley said to me. “But you’ll get it back after the trial.”

“I hope so,” I returned with a grin. “I’d hate to think it might go to your sports fund.”

The three dicks laughed.

“Come on,” O’Malley said to Cole. “We’ll make you nice and snug in a cell.”

Cole started back. “He’s a murderer, I tell you,” he shouted frantically. “Arrest him! He’ll leave the country if you don’t. Do you hear? He’ll leave the country.”

“Now don’t excite yourself, dear,” one of the plainclothes dicks said. “If you come quietly I’ll give you a nice cup of cocoa at the station.”

Cole took his hand away from his eye which was closed and swollen.

“He assaulted me,” he shrilled. “I wish to charge him with assault. Arrest him!”

O’Malley looked pained. “Did you do that?” he asked me, shaking his head sadly.

“Me?” I said, shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. He was so anxious to spend his money, he hit his poor eye against the door handle as he rushed out.”

O’Malley guffawed.

“You must have been in a hurry,” he said, winking at Cole.

I walked up to Cole, smiled. “So long, louse,” I said. “The next time you try blackmail, don’t pick on a newspaper man. See you in ten years’ time.”

They took Cole away. He went speechless, dazed, stupefied. At the door, O’Malley looked over his shoulder.

“See you tonight,” he said.

“Sure. Corridan’ll be back then,” I returned. “I wouldn’t miss seeing his face when I spring my little surprise for all the Scotch in London.”

“Speaking as a teetotaller, nor would I,” O’Malley said piously.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The clock in Mrs. Crockett’s hall was striking the half-hour after seven as I crept up the stairs to Madge Kennitt’s flat. No one saw me enter the house. It was a relief to know that Julius Cole wouldn’t appear on the landing to waggle his head at me.

I listened outside Madge’s door, heard nothing, tapped gently.

“It’s Steve,” I said.

There was a pause, then the door opened. Netta, in a red and white silk dress, let me in.

I entered the room, closed the door.

“Hello,” I said.

“You’re early, Steve,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “Is it all right?” Her eyes were deep set in dark sockets. She seemed anxious, nervy.

I nodded. “I think so,” I said. “I’ve talked to Bix. He wants to see you.”

“Wants to see me?” she repeated, frowning. “But, why?”

“You don’t know Bix. He’s a crazy guy,” I returned. “He says he won’t risk his job to fly some dumb-belle to the States. I told him you were the ace of pin-ups, but he thinks the women I go around with wear over-shoes and red flannel. The only way to convince him is for you to meet him. If you kid him along he’ll take us. It’s just his way of making things difficult. I’ve fixed for us to have a drink with him right away.”