The Guilty Are Afraid

“Of course it’s true. And I’ll tell you something else. You discovered Thrisby was making a play for Thelma Cousins. He was getting bored with you and an innocent girl like Thelma would amuse him. You knew the police would hunt for the girl who had been seen with Sheppey. You saw your chance of confusing the investigation, and at the same time of getting rid of a rival. You went regularly to Hahn’s place for your drugs so you must have known Thelma. It wouldn’t have been difficult for you to persuade her to go for a swim with you. Probably you said you wanted to talk to her about Thrisby. You took her to the bathing station where you had killed Sheppey. The police had closed the place so you two were alone there. You stabbed her and left her for dead. You only just had time to get back to your apartment and change before I called on you. You hid your panic pretty well, Margot, but when I had gone you began to wonder just how much I knew. So you called me to tell me that Sheppey hadn’t been to the Musketeer Club and like a mug, I told you I had the match-folder. You went around to my hotel and found it, and you were smart enough to substitute one of the ordinary folders in the hope I wouldn’t know the difference.”

She shook her head wildly.

“No, Lew . . . you’re wrong! I swear I didn’t . . .”

“Thrisby knew you were a drug taker,” I went on. “He knew you had the motive for getting rid of Thelma. You realized he might give you away. When I told you Bridgette had threatened to kill him, you saw your chance to silence him and get rid of Bridgette. I’ll say this for you, Margot: you’re certainly a great opportunist. It was easy enough for you to get hold of Bridgette’s gun. You went out to Thrisby’s place and you shot him. His servant was still in the house so you had to silence him too. I don’t know how you felt when you discovered you had left your bag here and I had your match-folder again, but you must have been pretty desperate. That was when you decided to get rid of me, too, wasn’t it?”

She lifted her head and stared at me, her eyes dark with hate.

“You can’t prove any of this,” she said hoarsely. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Yes, you are, Margot. The guilty are always afraid.”

She stood up.

“There’s nothing you can do to me! There’s nothing you dare do!”

“I’m sorry, Margot, but you can’t be allowed to get away with this thing. Four people died because of you.”

“My father won’t let you do anything to me,” she said breathlessly.

“There’s nothing your father can do now,” I said. “I’m going to tell Rankin. Even this corrupt administration can’t hush up four murders.”

While I talked, she slowly backed away until she reached the chest of drawers, then she spun around, pulled open a drawer, dipped her hand into it as I started across the room towards her. I stopped abruptly as she turned, a .25 in her hand.

“Now . . .” she said, her eyes glittering. “I’ll show you I’m not afraid.”

A soft, effeminate voice said from the doorway, “Don’t act like a fool, Margot.”

She gave a faint scream as she spun around. I looked quickly over my shoulder.

Lee Creedy stood in the doorway. He was wearing a tuxedo: a white camellia in his buttonhole. His horn glasses rested on his forehead: a cigar burned evenly between his thin lips.

“Give me that gun,” he said, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, she went to him and gave him the gun. Her face was chalk white and she was shaking.

“Put some clothes on,” he said. “You look like a whore in that thing.”

She went quickly to one of the closets, jerked open the door, snatched out a dress and then ran into the bathroom and slammed the door after her.

Creedy’s expressionless eyes moved to me.

“You get dressed too,” he said. “I’ll wait in the lounge,” and he walked out of the bedroom.

I slid into my clothes. As I was putting on my jacket, Margot came out of the bathroom, smoothing the dress over her hips.

“He won’t let you do anything to me,” she said breathlessly.

“I know he won’t.”

She ran past me into the lounge and I followed her.

Creedy was pacing up and down. He still held the gun in his hand. His face was completely expressionless.

“Sit down,” he said to Margot, waving to a chair. Then, looking at me, he went on, “And you sit down too.”

We sat down.

He continued to pace up and down for several seconds, then he said, without pausing in his prowling, “Bridgette told me you had a man here. I thought I’d come down to see who it was. You are a disappointment to me, Margot, but most children are disappointments to their parents.

I dare say I haven’t been much of a father to you and your mother was a thoroughly rotten woman, but that doesn’t entirely excuse you.” He stopped as he came close to her. “I heard what Brandon was saying to you. Is it true?”

She couldn’t meet his cold, steady gaze.

“No, of course it isn’t,” she said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “He’s lying!”

“Then tell me why that icepick was under your pillow.”