Sinister Errand E-Book

Peter Cheyney

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

KALEIDOSCOPIC pictures of last night's party presented themselves between myself and the ceiling. One or two faces— one of them was certainly Sammy's face, the other that of an attractive woman— flashed across my memory. I felt a little sick and did not want particularly to think about them. In fact I did not want to think about anything.
You wouldn't get any funny ideas about me, would you? You wouldn't come to the conclusion that I was just another of those people who've become bored with the war and try to "sublimate" their annoyance by getting cockeyed all the time? I'm not a bit like that. But— and I think I should point this out now— when one has been in the sort of racket that I've been playing around in for the last few years, it's a very good thing for a man to relax occasionally— if you get me— just to stop himself going entirely nuts.

Leseprobe

SINISTER ERRAND

(Sinister Murders)

Peter Cheyney

1945

© 2022 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782383835844

Contents

1: The Heap of Feathers

2: Mrs. Vaile

3: Janine

4: Alison

5: Sammy!

6: Freeby

7: The Great Ravallo

8: Guelvada

9: Bettina

10: The Boss

1: The Heap Of Feathers

KALEIDOSCOPIC pictures of last night's party presented themselves between myself and the ceiling. One or two faces— one of them was certainly Sammy's face, the other that of an attractive woman— flashed across my memory. I felt a little sick and did not want particularly to think about them. In fact I did not want to think about anything.

You wouldn't get any funny ideas about me, would you? You wouldn't come to the conclusion that I was just another of those people who've become bored with the war and try to "sublimate" their annoyance by getting cockeyed all the time? I'm not a bit like that. But— and I think I should point this out now— when one has been in the sort of racket that I've been playing around in for the last few years, it's a very good thing for a man to relax occasionally— if you get me— just to stop himself going entirely nuts.

I lay looking at the ceiling. The back of my neck felt as if I had been wearing an iron clamp. There were spots in front of my eyes and my tongue felt as if somebody had gone over it with a piece of sandpaper. I felt like nothing on earth. I lay there making up my mind that I'd get up somehow.

Eventually I did. I sat on the edge of the bed looking at the disordered bedroom. My clothes were strewn all over the place. My black soft hat was perched precariously on the head of a small bust of Napoleon that stood on the mantelpiece. There was only one thing to do about it. I got to my feet; found my trousers and felt in the hip pocket. It's a funny thing but no matter how cockeyed I am, I usually manage to collect a pint of whisky. Sure enough the flask was there— and full! I unscrewed it and took a long stiff drink. It made me shudder but it pulled me together.

I went back; sat on the bed; considered the situation. I tried to sort out details of the party. I wasn't very successful. I'd arrived expecting something important to happen; that Sammy was really going to start something. Instead of which I found him so cockeyed that it was just nobody's business. Why? After which I proceeded to do a little drinking myself.

Then there was that girl. I had a vague idea about her. I remember her as a personality, but I couldn't remember what she looked like. I'd talked to her. Was she with Sammy or wasn't she? I didn't know.

And I had an odd idea about Sammy. Sammy didn't seem to want to talk to me. Most peculiar that. Somewhere at the back of my aching head was an impression that I'd tried once or twice to get something out of him. I also had the idea that he'd been very disinclined for anything of the sort.

All very odd and peculiar.

My watch was on the dressing-table. I walked over and looked at it. It was six o'clock— a lovely summer's evening. Somewhere I could hear a "doodle-bug" flying. I suppose I'd been asleep when the alert went.

I began to think about the Old Man. What the hell was he playing at? Directly I'd got off the boat yesterday I'd telephoned him. All I could get from him was that I was to see Sammy as soon as I could and then take it easy; and keep away from the Old Man. It seemed as if he was being damned leery about something. I wondered what.

I began to feel a little better. I went into the bathroom; took a hot shower and then a cold one. Then I rang downstairs for some coffee— strong black coffee. I shaved, unpacked some fresh clothes and dressed myself. I dressed rather carefully because I felt that after last night I'd better do something to get my morale cracking. Everybody drinks a lot in wartime, but it seemed to me that I must have drunk enough to float a couple of battleships. I still felt a little dizzy.

I was nearly dressed when the coffee came up. I drank it, began to pick up my clothes. More out of habit than anything else I went through the pockets. Sometimes after I've been to parties I've found something there before— a visiting card or something— you never know. In my left lower waistcoat pocket was a piece of paper and written on it was:

"S— 23 Kinnoul Street, S.W.1."

I grinned. That was a little better. It seemed that I'd had enough sense to skewer Sammy's address out of him. I began to think about Sammy. It seemed the best thing I could do would be to go round there right away, have a meal with him and talk.

I took my hat off Napoleon— a process which made him look a great deal more serious— and went out. As I got out into the street the "All Clear" went. It was a nice fresh evening. As I walked along I began to feel better. My circulation speeded up a little and my head cleared.

I walked to Kinnoul Street. The street was an old-fashioned street with rather nice houses that looked like good class apartment houses on each side. No. 23 had been freshly painted. I rang the bell and when nothing happened knocked on the door. I stood there for about five minutes; then I gave the door a push. It was open, so I went in. I closed the door behind me and stood in the hallway and coughed and made the usual noises. Then I called: "Is anyone there?" But nothing happened.

I went to the top of the basement stairs, opened the door and called some more. The place was quite silent. I went back into the hallway, I looked into a sitting-room on the right of the front door. Then I began to walk up the carpeted staircase. There was a landing halfway up with a room on each side. I opened a door and looked in. It was Sammy's bedroom all right. I recognised the tie hanging over the mirror on the dressing-table. When I saw it I remembered it from last night. I'd admired it. It was a nice heavy Spitalfields silk tie in grey and black— the sort of dressy thing Sammy goes in for.

The room looked worse than mine had looked when I woke. It looked as if somebody had driven a Bren-gun-carrier over it. There were clothes and shoes all over the place. There was a half bottle of brandy, a glass and a half-used siphon on the dressing-table. Obviously Sammy had been doing a little additional drinking.

I began to think about Sammy. I walked round the room, stepping over odd articles of clothing. Then I went back to the dressing-table and I saw something that seemed a little odd to me.

In the centre of the table was a black ebony bowl— the sort of thing you use to put studs in. But there weren't any studs in it. In the middle was a little pile of white swansdown. I wondered about that. I went over to the bed, which had been slept in, and I could see that somebody had slit one end of one of the pillows. A little more swandsown was sticking out of the hole.

I lit a cigarette. I was drawing my first lungful of smoke when the door opened and a woman came in. A nice looking woman of somewhere about forty years of age with a clear complexion and very blue eyes. She had a hat on and had obviously just come in.

She said: "Well, you've made yourself at home pretty quickly. Can I do something for you?" Her voice was well-bred and she clipped her words concisely.

I said: "Thanks. You can. I came here to see my friend."

She said: "You mean Mr. Carew?"

I said: "That's right. I mean Mr. Carew. I rang the bell and did all the normal things, found the door open, came in and yelled. Nothing happened, so I investigated. Do you know where he is? I want him rather urgently."

She said in a flat sort of voice: "How urgently?" She didn't sound as if she were trying to be funny or anything.

I said: "Well, his aunt was killed this afternoon by one of those 'doodle-bugs.'" It was the first thing I could think of.

She said: "Well, I didn't know he had another aunt, but I suppose if you say so..."

I said: "What do you mean— another aunt?"

She said: "Well, I happen to be Sammy's aunt, you see. That's all."

I grinned at her. I said: "Well, that's very funny, isn't it? The other one— the one he told me about— must have been not his aunt. Perhaps she was his cousin. Anyway, do you know where he is?"

She said: "No, I don't. All I know is that he came in at an early hour this morning so drunk that I thought he'd pass out at any moment. I came up the stairs just now expecting to find him still asleep. Quite obviously, he's got up and gone out. But I don't know where he's gone to."

"Therefore," I said, "you won't know when he'll be back?"

She nodded.

I said: "Look, is there a pub or a place somewhere round here called The Feathers?"

She said: "Yes, there is. That's an idea. He might have gone there to have a 'hair of the dog that bit him.' There's a place round in Mulbery Street— just round the corner. It's called The Heap of Feathers."

I said: "Thank you very much. If I find him I'll bring him back in good order."

She stood aside as I moved over to the doorway. When I got there I said to her: "I think Sammy's pretty lucky to have an aunt like you. I think you've got something."

She said: "I'll tell you one thing, young man. You've got a hell of a nerve, haven't you?"

"I'm not so young," I said, "but I hope my nerve's all right. Bye-bye, Auntie!"

I went down the stairs and out into the street. Actually I didn't like it at all. Not one little bit.

Mulbery Street was "one of those" places. A place with an atmosphere that, for some inexplicable reason, did something to you. I expect you know what I mean. That kind of street that strikes a memory chord in your mind although you've never seen or heard of it before.

Here it was, right in the middle of London, with the Piccadilly traffic not five minutes away. Yet it was quiet and the street might have been set in the heart of the country. It was an odd crooked street with little houses. One of them was painted blue. There were four public houses in the street— old-fashioned little places with signs hanging outside. The second sign down the street had the words "The Heap of Feathers" painted on it. I could read it quite easily.

I wasn't feeling particularly happy. I was a little worried about the way things were going. The great thing was I wanted to have a talk with Sammy— to get things straightened up with him.

There were four or five stone steps leading into the saloon bar of the Heap of Feathers, which was in a little passage just off the street. The bar was very small. There were half a dozen people in it. Standing in the corner, working out a crossword puzzle, was a young man with black hair and a thin white face. I had the impression that he was wearing some make-up. His clothes were fancy and much too well-cut. A pansy, I thought.

There was a man with one arm who was drinking a pint of bitter beer out of a glass mug in sips; there was a blonde woman— a rather nice looking woman— whose skirt was too tight and too short who was sitting on a high stool showing more than the standard allowance of leg. She was quite cockeyed and seemed very happy about it. In the corner opposite to the pansy was a young man in a rough tweed coat with a Merchant Navy badge in the lapel. There were two other nondescript men talking about racing in a corner. But no Sammy.

After a minute, a pleasant faced woman came into the bar. I ordered a glass of beer. When she brought it I said: "Perhaps you can help me. I expected to meet a friend round here— name of Carew. He's tall, very good looking, fair haired, rather thin, attractive, face. I wonder if you've seen him. I thought perhaps he might have left a message for me."

She shook her head. She said: "I believe I've seen your friend some time. I seem to remember him by your description. But I haven't seen him this evening."

I said: "Thank you." I felt a peculiarly heavy sense of disappointment. I finished my beer and turned towards the door. I was nearly through when the pansy said in a rather high falsetto voice:

"Oh, excuse me, but I might be able to help you. Your friend was in here about an hour ago."

The woman behind the bar said: "Yes, he might have been here then. I was upstairs. I wouldn't have seen him." She said to the white-faced young man: "Did he leave any message?"

He said: "I don't think so. He went off with Janine."

I moved over towards my effeminate young friend. I gave him a charming smile. I said: "You're being very helpful. I suppose you wouldn't know where he and Janine were going?"

He smiled cynically. He said: "Well, I could make a guess. I should think they were going to Janine's place."

I said: "I see. And would you know where Janine's place is?"

He smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile. He said: "I should think everybody knows that. Anyway, if you go straight up to the end of Mulbery Street and turn to the right you come to a place called Daisy Place. Go across it, and there's a little street on the other side— Verity Street." He simpered a little. "It's quite a nice street— most amusing— old houses and all that. Janine lives at No. 16, I think."

I said: "Thank you very much. Would you care for a drink?"

He said: "That's very kind of you. The only thing is I'm inclined to be expensive. I like brandy and soda."

I said: "Have a brandy and soda by all means. I'll have one myself."

I ordered two brandies and sodas. When he put his hand up on the bar to take the glass I noticed he was wearing a signet ring on the little finger of his left hand, but the ring was turned inwards so that one could only see the gold band. It was a flat band. There was a mark on it as if someone had tried to file it.

He said: "Well, cheerio! Thank you for the drink."

We drank the brandy. I said good-night and I went out.

The sun seemed to have disappeared. The atmosphere was rather depressing and grey. Walking along I wondered what the hell was the matter anyway. I seemed to be behaving like an old lady with the jitters.

I began to think about Sammy. A peculiar one that one. You were never absolutely certain where you were with Sammy. I don't mean that he was weak or fatuous or anything like that, but he had a way of flying off at a tangent. He used to say that there was method in his madness. Maybe there was, but in this particular case I thought he was rather giving me the run-around— and for what? He knew damned well what the Old Man had said, yet here he was playing around with this Janine piece— whoever she might be— amusing himself, while I didn't even know which way I was pointing. Or was he amusing himself?

I arrived at 16 Verity Street. It was a narrow street, old-fashioned and clean, and the houses were a good sixty or seventy years old. No. 16 had some flower boxes on the ground-floor window-sill. I went up the three stone steps and stood looking at the bell-pushes on the right hand side of the door. There were three— Ground, First and Second floors— and underneath each one in metal frame affixed to the wall was a visiting card. The middle card said: " 'Janine' 16 Verity Street." Just that— nothing else.

I punched the bell and waited. After a minute there was a click and the front door opened a bit. It had been opened from the first floor by one of those remote control switch things. I pushed open the door and went up the stairs. The stairs curved round to the right and on the first floor landing, leaning against the door-post of one of the two rooms was a woman.

What a piece! A hell of a piece, I'm telling you. Although she looked as if she didn't give a damn whether you thought so or not. I've never seen a woman look so bored in my life. But she'd got plenty of everything it takes and she was worth taking a long look at. Definitely a personality.

She was an ash-blonde— real, not a peroxide one— and she had violet eyes. Her hair was naturally waved and a little untidy. But it hung attractively over her shoulder tied with a ribbon. She was wearing a sapphire-blue Shantung silk housecoat that came down to the floor, with rose-coloured collar, cuffs and sash. The way she was leaning against the door-post caught the thin silk close against her thigh and outlined a shape that was very good. She had on rose-coloured velvet mules with very high heels and very sheer suntan silk stockings. Where the housecoat had opened a little I could see a vieux rose suspender.

I thought: Well... well... well... Sammy certainly does find 'em. He certainly does.

I said good-evening. I told her I was looking for a friend called Sammy Carew. I said I'd been told he was here.

She looked at me for a bit without saying anything. Her eyes were sombre. She looked as if something was getting her rather badly.

She said: "Was Sammy Carew a friend of yours?"

I nodded. "How do you mean— was?" I asked.

She pushed herself away from the doorpost. She pushed herself away from it with her shoulder and, as she turned one beautifully moulded leg came out of the housecoat. I've seen some very good legs in my time but this one had the best pair I've ever come across. Altogether she was a hell of a dish. I was beginning to get a little interested in her myself.

She said: "You'd better come in." She had a husky voice— a low and very soft sort of voice— and she spoke in a rather lazy manner that indicated that she didn't give a damn whether she said anything or whether you listened if she did.

She went into the room. I crossed the landing and went in after her. I stood in the doorway, with my soft hat in my hand, looking at her and the room.

The room was pretty good. It was large, very clean and well-dusted, and very nicely furnished. It was the sitting-room of a person of taste. The walls were primrose; there were one or two good prints and quite a lot of flowers. I wondered where she could get that quantity of flowers in July 1944, but after a second's consideration I came to the conclusion that some man was probably cashing in with them. After all, if a man is stuck on a woman he gets flowers somehow. And she was the sort of woman that ninety-nine men out of a hundred would be well and truly stuck on. The hundredth man would have to be blind or stupid.

She stood in the middle of the room looking at me. She was relaxed and poised but she looked faintly worried and fearfully bored with everything— including me.

She said: "If Sammy Carew was a good friend of yours this isn't going to sound so good to you." She looked as if she was about to yawn, and put her long fingers over her mouth. She was wearing a couple of diamond rings that had cost quite a lot of money. However, she decided not to yawn. Instead: "You'd better sit down, hadn't you?" she said. "If you want a cigarette, there's one in the box on the little table."

I said thank you and sat down by the little table. I took one of the cigarettes and lit it. It was a good Turkish cigarette— fat and expensive.

I waited. She stood quietly in the middle of the room, looking at me. She said: "You aren't very interested or curious, are you? You don't seem at all excited to know about Sammy Carew. Or don't you care?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I said: "I don't see what that's got to do with you, Janine. I'm just waiting to hear all about it. I'm a very patient type."

She said casually: "I didn't tell you you could call me Janine...."

I said: "I don't mind what I call you. But you've got Janine on the card by the door downstairs and if you don't want to be called that you ought to have your proper name on the card."

She didn't reply to that one. She moved, gracefully, to the settee on the other side of the room and sat down. When she sat down some more leg appeared. I realised that this wasn't done deliberately. She just didn't care if she showed some leg. I began to think that this Janine was wasting her time at 16 Verity Street. She could have made a million in pictures.

She got up, came over to the table, helped herself to a cigarette, lit it with a lighter produced from her housecoat pocket, went back to the settee and sat down again. This time she saw that she was showing some leg so she casually covered it with the housecoat.

She said: "Carew came here very early this morning— about four o'clock. I'm not certain of the time. He was here about an hour. Then he went off. Apparently when he left the house a War Reserve policeman saw him go. He went up the street, turned into Fells Street and then started to cross the Square. The policeman, who was at the top of the street by this time, could see him crossing the Square. Just as he was passing the place where some road repairs are being done, a flying bomb came over and dropped in the Square. The truck belonging to the road repair people was blown over and Carew was underneath. When the policeman got there he was dead. So the policeman came back here and told me about it. He thought I was a relative— or something like that."

I said: "So he was killed by the truck being blown on top of him?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows?" she asked. "The policeman said that he must have been dead before the truck hit him— the blast must have killed him."

I got up. I said: "Thanks a lot. I suppose he's in the local mortuary?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose so," she said.

I picked up my hat. I said: "I'm grateful to you for being so helpful. I suppose Sammy was a great friend of yours?"

She got up. She stood looking at me with half-closed eyes. She said: "Do you?"

I moved over to the door. "Thanks for the cigarette, Janine," I said. "I hope we meet again."

She was standing in the middle of the floor. The cigarette, held between the fingers of the left hand, that hung by her side, sent up a spiral of smoke.

She said slowly: "Well... if you want to I suppose you will."

I smiled at her. "You really think that?" I asked.

"Most people do what they want in the long run," she said. "People like you, I mean...."

I asked: "What do you mean by people like me?"

She made a movement with her hand. The smoke spiral from the cigarette was broken. She said: "Must we become involved in long discussions about things. I'm very tired. Good-bye."

I smiled at her again. I said good-bye and went down the stairs. I closed the front door carefully behind me and began to walk towards Fells Street.

I'd been right in my idea that things weren't so good.

When I got outside I looked at my watch. It was eight-thirty. I walked down Verity Street and into the Square I could see the place where the flying bomb had fallen. It was railed off and a repair section was at work. I walked over and asked one of the men where the nearest police station was. He told me and I went along there.

The station sergeant was agreeable and sympathetic. I said: "A relative of mine— a cousin named Carew— was killed early this morning by one of these flying bombs— the one that came down in the Square. I thought I ought to make a proper identification."

He said he'd look into it and went away. I leaned up against the desk and smoked a cigarette.

When he came back he said: "That's quite right. Apparently somebody— a civilian— saw him come out of a house in Verity Street. He saw him go across the Square just about the time the 'doodle-bug' came down. It blew a truck that was in the square on top of him. He could have been killed either by the bomb or the truck. If you'd like to see him he's round in the mortuary. I'll take you round there. By the way, could I have your name and address?"

I produced an identity card; then we went round to the mortuary.

It was Sammy all right. His face was practically untouched. He looked better looking than ever, I thought. The rest of him was covered over with a blanket. I stood there looking at him, thinking about the old days. I thought it was a bit tough that Sammy who'd been in so many tight corners should be finished by Mr. Hitler's V1. I wondered exactly what he'd had on him when he died; whether there was anything he wouldn't have liked found.

I said to the Sergeant: "I suppose there were some effects?"

He said: "Yes." He looked at Sammy. "You're satisfied about him?"

I said: "Yes, that's Carew. There's no question about it."

He asked: "Are you the next of kin or is there anybody else?"

I said: "Yes, there's an aunt. I didn't want to worry her about it till I was quite certain. I'll let her know about it."

He said: "By the way, I'd like you to look at some of the things we found on him. Strangely enough, he had two identity cards, both of which seemed to be legitimate. One is in the name of Carew, and the other in another name. I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that?"

I said: "No, I wouldn't know anything about that."

He went to a drawer and produced a silk handkerchief; I remembered it— a rather nice Chinese silk thing that Sammy had had a long time. He brought it over and put it on the desk. There was a rather badly torn pocket-book, a few coins, a twisted tiepin and a .38 Colt Automatic. I looked at the things.

The Sergeant said: "I wonder what he was carrying a gun for."

I said I wouldn't know. I said that Carew had been a rather dramatic sort of person— one of those people who like carrying pistols. I picked the gun up and took the clip out. I looked at it: slipped it back again.

I said: "I wonder why it is men want to carry automatic pistols. I suppose it's a theatrical habit."

He nodded. He wrapped the things up in the silk handkerchief; put them back in the drawer.

I said: "You've been very kind. I'll go off now and have a word with his aunt. I expect she'll come round. You'll want all the ends properly tied up."

He said it would be rather nice if she could.

I said good-evening, went out of the police station, walked down the road until I found a bar. I went in and bought myself a large whisky and soda. I drank it slowly and wondered what I was going to do about Sammy and one or two other things. The situation looked as if it was going to be very difficult, I thought. If I got in touch with the Old Man he'd probably be damned annoyed. He gets like that. He expects people to work out their own salvation and I couldn't see myself working out anything at all on this job.

I had another whisky and soda, walked around for a bit until I found a telephone call box, went inside and rang the Old Man. His voice came over the wire as terse and acid as ever.

I said: "Listen, I'm not very happy about anything. I want to talk to you."

He said: "For God's sake— what do you have to talk to me for? I thought you were intelligent. You've got the reputation for being intelligent anyway. What's the matter? Haven't you seen Carew?"

I said: "No, and I'm afraid I shan't have the opportunity either."

There was a pause; then he said: "I see. All right. I'll be at the Half Moon, off Bruton Street, in fifteen minutes' time. There's a little private bar at the back."

I said: "All right," and hung up.

It took me the fifteen minutes to walk to Bruton Street. I went into the Half Moon, through the saloon bar into the private bar on the other side. I bought myself a drink and carried it over to the table in the corner where the Old Man was sitting. He'd got a large glass of port in front of him. His face was more lined than ever, but his hands were still young looking and strong. Standing there, looking at him, I thought he was a rather marvellous old boy when you came to consider it; he hadn't aged much since I'd seen him last, two years before.

He said: "Sit down. What's all this damned nonsense about Carew?"

I said: "It's not a bit of good losing your temper. It's not going to get anybody anywhere. Here's the story. After I spoke to you on the telephone I called Sammy. I got through to him because he hadn't telephoned me. He was going to a party. He told me to meet him there. This was last night. Well, I went there. It was quite a good party— the usual sort of thing— you know, some very attractive women and a lot of liquor..."

He interrupted. He said: "You didn't get a chance to talk to him?"

"That's right," I said. "I think he'd had a couple. I tried to get him into a corner once or twice, but he didn't want to talk."

The Old Man said: "Probably he didn't want to talk there. Maybe he was scared of something."

I raised my eyebrows. "I wonder what would scare Sammy," I said.

The Old Man looked at me. His eyes were a little tired, I thought.

He said: "He was scared all right about something. All right, what happened then?"

I said: "Well, when I saw that we weren't going to get down to any sort of business I suppose I got drunk too. I went home. I got up late this afternoon. I'd got his address written down on a piece of paper in my pocket. I went round there. It looked as if he'd got up in a hurry. I looked around to see if he'd left any sort of tip-off and I found a little pile of swansdown in a tray on the dressing-table. There was a woman round there— a nice looking woman. She suggested he might be at a pub called The Heap of Feathers. I went round there. There I got on to another place he'd been to. He'd been there with a woman, Apparently he left there early this morning. Some civilian saw him leave the place; saw him turn across into the Square. Then a flying bomb came down and a repair truck was blown on top of him. That was the end of him."

The Old Man never batted an eyelid. He said: "Have you seen him?"

I nodded. "I've just left the mortuary," I said. "It was Sammy all right."

The Old Man sighed. He said: "It's not so good, is it?"

I looked at him. "Isn't it?" I said. "Why isn't it?"

He said: "The trouble is I don't know what Sammy was doing. He was sent down here by you know who. He got in touch with me the day before yesterday. He told me he was on to something pretty big. He asked if you were around. I said we were expecting you back off the boat some time soon. He said if you arrived for you to be put in touch with him. He'd talk to you about it and you could let me know. He said there wasn't any time to be lost. He'd got to get a ripple on. He didn't particularly want to contact me. Now you know as much as I do."

I said: "Well, it sounds like one of those nice intelligent obvious set-ups... I don't think. Nobody knows anything about anything except Sammy— and he's dead."

The Old Man finished his glass of port. He picked it up, took my empty glass, went to the bar, ordered more drinks, brought them back. He put my whisky in front of me and sat down.

I said: "Where do I go from here?"

He looked at me and smiled. He said: "Well, there's two things can be done. We can either write Sammy off and let it go like that or you can try somehow to pick up the pieces and see what you can make of it. You and he were rather friendly, weren't you?"

I said: "Yes, Sammy was rather a friend of mine."

He said: "What a piece of luck that he should have to be killed at a time like this. That's what you'd call a bad break, isn't it?"

I got up. I said: "It's not so good. I'll be on my way." I smiled at him. "I think we'll take the second alternative," I said. "I'll see if I can put any of the pieces together. There's no harm in trying anyway."

He liked that. He gave me one of his big toothy grins. He said: "You're not a bed feller after all. You're damn conceited, but you're not so bad. You do what you can. If you want anything let me know."

I said I would.

He went on: "If I know anything about you, you're interested in something. Something's got you over this business, hasn't it? I suppose you were fonder of Carew than you're inclined to let on?"

I lit a cigarette. "Maybe," I said. "Maybe it's that, but there's another thing. He wasn't killed by any 'doodle' bomb. Somebody killed him."

He raised his eyebrows. He said: "So you think it's like that?"

I said: "I know it is. I'll be seeing you."

I went out into the street. I left him looking at the glass of port.

After a bit I began to walk back in the direction of Verity Street. Inside I was rather tickled with the whole business. I thought it was one of the funniest spots I had ever been in my life. So Sammy had been on to something that he hadn't told anybody about, but he was going to tell me. And then when he got the chance at the party last night he ducked. That was probably because he knew he was high and didn't want to talk then. Well, he certainly wouldn't talk now, and the Old Man had put me in a spot— a bad spot. I'd got to play this off the cuff. Whoever it was said "when in doubt don't" wasn't really very wise. If you're in doubt and you don't do anything, things get worse. The thing to do is to follow your nose. It's certain to lead you into something some time.

I stood in front of Janine's front door looking at her engraved card under the bell-push, wondering about her. After a bit I stabbed the bell with my forefinger. The door clicked open and I went up the curving stairs. She was standing on the landing leaning against the doorpost in practically the same attitude as when I'd seen her before.

I said: "Hello, Janine!"

She said shortly: "Well, what is it now?"

I smiled at her. "You sound tough," I said, "or, alternatively, you make me sound importunate— I think that's the word— importunate— isn't it?"

She said: "Is it? I don't think I mind. Did you want to tell me something or ask me something?"

I said: "You were perfectly right about Sammy Carew. I went round to the mortuary and had a look at him. He looked quite nice. His face wasn't touched at all."

She said: "Yes? And the rest of him?"

"The rest of him wasn't so good," I said. "He'd been messed about with considerably, I should say, by the look of it. By the way, I wish you'd tell me something. This policeman who came back to the house and told you that Sammy was dead— did he tell you that he'd seen him leave the house, or did he just say that Sammy had been seen leaving the house?"

There was a pause. The silence seemed almost heavy.

She asked: "Why?"

"Look, Janine," I said, "I'm the one who's asking the questions. You'll know all about it some time I've no doubt. Just tell me what I want to know. Did the policeman say he'd seen Sammy leaving the house?"

She said: "I don't remember exactly what he said. Why should I? You know, there wasn't any reason why I should be particularly interested in your friend Carew."

I asked: "No? What was he— just another caller?"

She flushed a little. She said: "What do you mean by that one?"

I said: "Whatever you want me to mean. All right. We've decided that you weren't particularly interested in Carew. Now try and remember about the policeman."

She said: "Perhaps I'm not sufficiently interested." Her tone was insolent. "What do you do about it if I don't even want to remember?"

I looked at her. I said: "You'll remember."

She brought one hand from behind her. There was a cigarette in it. She put it in her mouth and inhaled deeply. Her lips were raspberry colour. She had an almost perfect mouth.

She said: "I don't think the policeman said he'd seen Sammy leaving the house. I think what he said was a gentleman who'd been seen leaving the house had walked across the Square; had been killed there; did I know who he was?"

I nodded. I said: "Thanks a lot, Janine. That was very kind of you."