You Can Call It A Day E-Book

Peter Cheyney

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

VALLON came out of his bedroom; closed the door; stood for a moment in the corridor. The scent hit his nostrils— Narcisse Noir. Vallon, who had a nose for perfume, wondered when he had last smelt Narcisse Noir. He thought it might have been in Paris. He wasn't certain. He walked slowly down the curving staircase into the hotel lounge; stood at the bottom looking about him, watching the people.
He wore a dark blue, double-breasted suit that had been cut by a good tailor, a cream shirt, a blue tie. He was just under six feet and thin. His face was long, triangular shaped; his eyes sombre, deepset but with a sardonic light lurking in them. He was dark and his well-kept hair was inclined to wave. He weighed a hundred and seventy pounds and kept his weight well forward on the balls of his feet like a boxer. He looked tired.
Everything about Vallon was quiet. He moved lazily; talked in a quiet voice with a peculiarly attractive timbre to it. He preferred to remain unnoticed but never succeeded in this. In spite of himself an odd and engaging personality came out of him and affected most people with whom he came in contact. Especially women. Women found him fascinating because he never tried to be like that. He had spent a considerable portion of his life trying to avoid them. With little success.

Leseprobe

YOU CAN CALL IT A DAY

Peter Cheyney

1949

© 2023 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782383839637

Contents

1: Narcisse Noir

2: Coeur de Carnation

3: Fleur de Lilas

4: Fougère

5: Mitsouko

1: Narcisse Noir

VALLON came out of his bedroom; closed the door; stood for a moment in the corridor. The scent hit his nostrils— Narcisse Noir. Vallon, who had a nose for perfume, wondered when he had last smelt Narcisse Noir. He thought it might have been in Paris. He wasn't certain. He walked slowly down the curving staircase into the hotel lounge; stood at the bottom looking about him, watching the people.

He wore a dark blue, double-breasted suit that had been cut by a good tailor, a cream shirt, a blue tie. He was just under six feet and thin. His face was long, triangular shaped; his eyes sombre, deepset but with a sardonic light lurking in them. He was dark and his well-kept hair was inclined to wave. He weighed a hundred and seventy pounds and kept his weight well forward on the balls of his feet like a boxer. He looked tired.

Everything about Vallon was quiet. He moved lazily; talked in a quiet voice with a peculiarly attractive timbre to it. He preferred to remain unnoticed but never succeeded in this. In spite of himself an odd and engaging personality came out of him and affected most people with whom he came in contact. Especially women. Women found him fascinating because he never tried to be like that. He had spent a considerable portion of his life trying to avoid them. With little success.

On the other side of the lounge in the corner was the bar. Vallon looked at his strap-watch. It was nine o'clock. Most of the people in the hotel had finished dinner. The lounge was beginning to fill up. He went over to the bar; sat on one of the high stools. He ordered a double Bacardi and when it was served sat looking at it. He realised he didn't want it.

Life, he thought, was rather like a Bacardi cocktail. If you wanted one you wanted it like hell; if you didn't want it it was either too weak or too strong. They'd put too much of this or that in it or left it out. But you still drank it. He thought that drinking Bacardi was rather like making love to women. Or wasn't it? He thought he didn't know. He decided he couldn't care less.

He wondered why he had come to this place. Then he remembered three weeks ago somebody had told him that Paignton was an amusing place; that Devonshire was the best county in England. So he'd come. Now that he was here so what? Devon was a fine county all right. The earth was red and the grass greener than any place he'd seen it. If you got bored with Paignton you could always go to Torquay, and if you got bored with Torquay you could always go back to Paignton. You could be certain of one thing— you'd find a bar in each place. And when all is said and done a bar is a place which helps a man to remember the things he wants to remember and to forget the things he wants to forget.

He drank the Bacardi and wondered whether he was trying to remember something or forget it. He decided he wouldn't know that either; that he didn't care anyway. He smelt Narcisse Noir again— just a subtle whiff, but it was there. He finished the drink, closed his eyes and wondered what she'd look like. He opened them and found he was wrong.

She had what it takes in a very big way, Vallon decided. She was wearing a navy blue suit with a skirt fitting so well that it looked as if it had been pasted on her. Under her coat was a blouse that came out of France— a fine hand-made georgette in a faint lemon colour with hand-sewn tucks. Her shoes were hand-made and the seams of her stockings were dead straight up the back of the calf. Vallon thought that she would be about thirty-five. Judging by the rings on her fingers she had money.

He ordered another Bacardi. The bar-tender raised an eyebrow. He had served Vallon with at least twelve cocktails during the course of the evening. He thought Vallon certainly knew how to drink.

He said cheerfully: "You like Bacardi, sir?"

Vallon looked at him seriously. "No, I don't like anything." He looked at the woman sideways. She was sticking a cocktail pick in a bottle of maraschino cherries. He watched her put it into her mouth. Her mouth was raspberry-coloured and she had full, promising lips. Vallon thought that she was cute. He thought she was the cutest woman he'd seen since he'd been in that part of the world. He drank some Bacardi.

She said: "It's a lovely evening, isn't it?"

He didn't know whether she was talking to him or the barman. "If you meant that for me," he said, "I'm not interested in the weather. It doesn't make any difference to me whether the sun's shining, if it's raining or Christmas day."

She smiled. When she smiled she looked very attractive. She said: "You're either very unhappy or very happy."

"Believe it or not," said Vallon, "I'm not either. I just don't care about the weather. Do you mind?" He smiled at her.

"No... " She looked a trifle bewildered; then she smiled again. "I think you're a unique person. You express yourself very... succinctly... I think that's the word."

Vallon said: "I think it's a very nice word." He ordered a large Bacardi. "I have a good idea," he went on.

She raised her eyebrows.

He said: "You're sitting too far away from me. You're at least four stools away. If I move towards you you might think it impertinent. So you come here."

She said: "There isn't any question about your originality."

"They tell me my mother said that too."

She asked: "What did your father say?"

He shook his head. "They never told me, but I believe he wasn't very pleased."

She got off her stool. When she moved he saw her legs. He thought they were very good legs.

She said: "Well, here I am. If you consider it would be impertinent to move towards me, perhaps you think it forward of me to come to you."

"No one who looks like you has to worry about being forward. Have you ever drunk Bacardi?"

She nodded.

He said: "Drink one with me."

Whilst the bar-tender was serving the drinks, he said: "I smelt you upstairs in the corridor when I came out of my room. You'd just passed. I've got a nose for scent. It's Narcisse Noir, isn't it?"

"I'm beginning to be a little scared of you, Mr.— — ?"

"My name's Vallon. I'm glad you're scared."

She raised her eyebrows. "You haven't told me your first name."

"My name's John, but most people call me Johnny. I've never discovered why."

She asked: "Why did you say you were glad I was scared?"

"When a woman says she's scared," said Vallon, "she means she might at some time be interested. Let's do something."

She asked: "What?"

He pointed with his finger through the open windows of the lounge, across the gardens, to the fair on the sea-front. The three-quarters of a mile of lawn between the road and the esplanade was filled with wagons, coconut shies, roundabouts, and most of the inhabitants of Paignton. The darkness was beginning to fall and the thousand and one lights, from coloured electric bulbs to humble acetylene gas lamps, twinkled in the half light. The scene was attractive, alive but, for some reason, imbued with an odd feeling of unreality.

"I don't believe it's true. Why don't we go out there and see whether the fair really exists, Mrs.— ?"

She said: "My name's Gale."

"I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Gale," said Vallon.

"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Vallon. Shall I buy you a drink?"

"Yes, thank you very much. I like being bought drinks." She ordered one double Bacardi. He noticed she'd scarcely touched her own drink. He drank it. He got off the stool. "I'll repay your hospitality with a couple of coconut shies," he said. "By the way, what's your Christian name?"

"A rather peculiar name— Querida. Do you like it?"

"I think it's wonderful. You'll always be Mrs. Gale to me." He grinned at her. They walked across the lounge, down the steps, through the gardens.

She thought he was the most attractive man she had ever met.

IT WAS ELEVEN o'clock when they came out of the South African mystery man's tent after watching that swarthy gentleman eat fire. People milled about them; throwing rings at four for sixpence over gorgeous looking objects which were seldom won; trying to get balls into holes to win a gold watch; riding on the cart-wheel; doing all those things which people do at fairs and imagine they like doing.

She said: "I think this is rather an adventure. I like it. Do you?"

"I've been to a lot of fairs in America, in France, all over the place," said Vallon. "I came out of a fair once in Avignon, and they were trying to push a large elephant into a very small truck. It took five men to get it in. I asked one of them if he didn't think it was too small for the elephant. He said no; the other elephant was already inside." Vallon looked at her. His eyes were sardonic, yet somehow smiling. "I think that's awfully funny, don't you?"

She said: "Supposing I don't?"

"What do I care?" asked Vallon. He took out his cigarette case; offered her a cigarette. She shook her head.

He was lighting his own cigarette when he saw Hipper.

Hipper was standing at an illuminated table trying to throw rings over watches set out on the mirrored surface. He was obviously a little drunk.

Vallon said: "You wouldn't be tired by any chance, would you?"

"No... " She smiled at him faintly. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr. Vallon?"

He said: "I'm not trying to, I'm going to. You see, I've just remembered something. Go back to the bar in the hotel and wait for me. I promise you I won't be long."

She asked seriously: "Do you mean that?"

He nodded. "Every word of it."

She said: "Well, thank you for a very pleasant evening." Vallon asked: "Shall I see you in the bar?"

She smiled. "Who knows? Perhaps... That depends on how long you are."

She went away. He watched her walking through the crowd. He thought she walked very well.

When he looked round Hipper was gone. Vallon began to walk about the fair-ground looking for him. He thought it was like looking for a needle in a haystack; qualified it by the thought that if you looked long enough for a needle in a haystack you found it. He found I-sipper after thirty minutes' search. Hipper was throwing wooden balls at coconuts.

Vallon came up behind him. He said: "Enjoying yourself, Hipper?"

Hipper dropped the wooden ball on the ground. It made a peculiar thudding noise. He turned round and looked at Vallon.

He said: "This isn't so good, is it?"

"It might be," said Vallon. "It just needs a little explanation. Let you and me go and have a drink."

Hipper started to talk. "Listen... "

Vallon said: "Shut up. We'll talk in the bar when we find one."

They went to a bar in an hotel along the esplanade. Vallon ordered two whiskies and sodas.

He said: "All right. Now let's have it. And make it good."

Flipper drank some of the whisky. He was a short, fat man. His face was bloated with drink. He had nice eyes but his mouth was pursed up like a woman's. He was inclined to boldness and there was a greasy ring on the inside of the soft hat which he had placed on the stool beside him.

He said: "You've always had it in for me, haven't you, Mr. Vallon? But I'm human. What the hell!"

Vallon yawned. "Who told you you were human? Well, let's have the story, Hipper. What are you doing here?"

"Look, have a heart," said Hipper. "I got the job done in Somerset. I got everything— the report and everything. It's all right. Every bit of evidence the firm wants will be there. So I thought I'd have a night here and go back to-morrow."

"On the agency's expense account, hey?" Vallon queried.

Hipper said: "No."

Vallon grinned.

"I tell you it's not on the firm's expense account," said Hipper. "I put the report and the expense sheet in the post before I left Somerset."

Vallon raised his eyebrows. "You don't say! You don't mean to tell me that you came over here on your own money when you could have charged it to the firm. Well... well... wonders will never cease."

There was a pause; then he asked: "When are you going back?"

"First thing in the morning." Hipper's tone changed. "Look, Mr. Vallon, you don't have to do anything about this. You don't have to, do you?"

"You mean tell Chennault?" Vallon grinned. "You think if I told Chennault he'd sack you. I don't have to tell him. But I could sack you myself. Don't you know that?"

Hipper nodded. "I know it."

Vallon said: "All right, Hipper. I'll forget it. It'll cost you a large whisky and soda."

Hipper grinned. "I always knew you were all right, Mr. Vallon. I'd like to buy you a drink." He ordered the drinks. He went on: "It's pretty nice of you to take this angle on my coming here."

Vallon picked up the glass and drained it.

He said: "That's what I thought. Good night, Hipper." He went out of the bar.

He thought Hipper was a liar.

IT WAS LATE when Vallon went into the lounge at the hotel. The bar was closed. There were two double Bacardis on one of the lounge tables near to it. There was nobody in the lounge. Vallon went over and sat at the table with the drinks on it. There was a note under one of the glasses written on a piece of telephone message paper in a regular, delicate handwriting. It said: "Why should I wait for you? Here's your drink, Q.G."

Vallon sighed. He drank one of the Bacardis; then the other. He got up; lighted a cigarette; crossed the lounge; began to walk up the stairs. He was going into his room when a door opened down the corridor. She came out.

She was wearing an attractive pink lace and black velvet negligee and satin mules. She had a handkerchief over one eye. Vallon began to walk towards her.

She said querulously: "I don't know what to do. I've got something in my eye. The pain's abominable."

Vallon said: "That's easily dealt with. Go back to your room. I'll be with you in a minute."

He went to his room; got an orange stick, a soft handkerchief, a small bottle of olive oil. He went back to her room; opened the door; went in. She was sitting at the dressing-table, the handkerchief to her eyes.

Vallon said: Put your head back and take that handkerchief away. I'm not going to hurt you.

He stood behind her, rolled the eyelid back over the orange stick. He did it deftly with long, nervous fingers. He dropped a little of the oil into the eye. He said: "Now close your eye and keep your fingers away from it."

She murmured: "Thanks... you big; bully... "

After a minute he told her to open her eye. He asked: "How does that feel?" He held the eyelashes back; saw the speck; removed it with a corner of the handkerchief. "It'll be sore for a little while, but that's all. It's a painful business, isn't it?"

She nodded her head. Standing above her Vallon could see the sheen on her dark hair; the shape of her slim neck. She sat looking at the bottles on her dressing-table. He saw the flask of Narcisse Noir.

He said: "Good night."

She got up. She asked: "Did you find your Bacardis?"

He nodded. "I'll buy some for you some time. Thanks a lot. Good night, Mrs. Gale."

She took a quick step towards him. She said: "You're just a big bully... aren't you? A big bully with an attractive style to you, a lazy walk and God knows what... And you don't care a damn for anything or anybody... do you?"

Vallon said: "No... not much. So what?"

She said quietly: "To hell with you, Johnny... " She put her arms round his neck.

2

Vallon stopped the car on the right-hand side of Lower Regent Street. He looked at his watch. It was two O'clock. He locked the car; stood by the door on the pavement wondering why he was undecided. For a moment he thought about Mrs. Gale, but only for a moment. He decided it wasn't any good thinking about anything. Not even Mrs. Gale.

He began to walk up Regent Street. He was almost on the corner of Jermyn Street when somebody said: "Hallo, Johnny!"

Vallon turned round. He smiled. "Hey. Strype... what do you know about this?"

Strype said: "Boy... what do you know... !" You could have cut his American accent with a knife. He went on: "Say, fella... the last time I saw you was on the corner of some damned track on Okinawa with a Japanese light tank comin' round the corner. D'you remember? D'you remember what we did to those bastards? Did I getta kick when I saw that grenade you threw go right through the air-vent at the back. Boy, you made a mess of those guys."

Vallon said: "Those were the days."

"Yeah... or were they? I wouldn't know. Maybe we got inta the habit of thinkin' backwards. Maybe bein' in a war does something to you. You're frightened an' pleased. You don't know which, but you never forget it. Whenever you get bored or steamed up with life you think about it. Howya doin', Johnny?"

Vallon said: "All right... "

Strype looked at his strap-watch. "Hey, what about a snifter? I know a dump near here where they got rye."

They sat at the bar drinking rye whisky, talking about the Japanese.

Then Strype said: "What're you doin', Johnny? You look good. But you always did, hey? Are you makin' out?"

Vallon shrugged his shoulders. "I'm doing all right. Remember Chennault— the guy I worked under after I was wounded— the guy in the U.S. Office of Strategic Service?"

"Yeah... I remember... a fat fella with a weak heart. So you're workin' for him?"

Vallon nodded. "He came over here before I got here. He started a detective business. I work for him."

Strype laughed. "For cryin' out loud! You in a racket like that— crawlin' around lookin' through key-holes tryin' to find co-respondents. Boy... !" He took a gulp of rye. "Say, Johnny... you don't like that, do you?"

Vallon said: "No... not much. But I like Chennault. He did me a good turn once. He's not really fit to run his business. He has good and bad days, you know, and anyhow I don't have to snoop through key-holes. I'm the Staff Manager. I look after the eggs who do the snooping. I see they do it."

"Yeah?" Strype signalled the bar-tender; ordered more drinks. He went on: "So you're working for Chennault. How's that wife of his?"

"She's all right," said Vallon. "I've only seen her two or three times."

Strype said musingly: "Yeah? Look... you tell me something. How does an old mug like Chennault with a weak ticker manage to get himself a frill like that. Is she a looker! Some momma! I saw her once. Some guys have all the luck." He looked sideways at Vallon. "It's lucky for Chennault that he ain't got some good-lookin' mug around the place— somebody who's got what it takes— somebody like you."

There was a pause; then Vallon said: "I told you Chennault did me a good turn, Strypey."

Strype grinned. "You don't haveta get steamed up, sweetheart. I never said anything, did I?"

There was another pause. They both drank rye whisky.

Strype said: "Say, what's the matter with you, Johnny? You usta be full of this an' that. Full of pep an' what it takes an' what-have-you-got. You're sorta serious these days. What's hit you?"

Vallon drank some more whisky. He shrugged his shoulders. He didn't say anything.

Strype said: "Maybe I got it. You know, there's a sort of air of depression around this place that you could cut with a knife. I've been all over the world an' I've been here in London plenty. But, boy, is it grim... ! You remember Churchill said that England could take it. I reckon that guy was right. But, by God, they're taken' it hard! They don't laugh much an' I don't wonder. What the hell have they got to laugh about? Everybody's sorta walkin' around lookin' as if they've lost their bill-fold an' are wonderin' where the next dollar's comin' from. Me— I don't like it."

Vallon said quietly: "Maybe you're right. But they'll pull out." I He grinned. "The English take a lot of beating, you know."

"Yeah," said Strype. "You don't know a lot about 'em. How many years of your life have you spent here? Your mother was English, but that was all."

"That's a lot," said Vallon. "I like them. I've been everywhere and done most things." He grinned. "But it's a nice place to come back to. To me it's home, even if it is tough."

Strype said: "Yeah... maybe you're right. But give me the U.S. all the time where they still have some bright spots— where you can still go some place on a Sunday— where somebody still has a little dough— where babies are babies!"

Vallon grinned. "Meaning that some girl has given you the air? I wondered what had got into you, Strype."

"Aw... hell... !" said Strype. "I should worry about dolls givin' me the air. There's always another one. Who was it said there's as good fish in the sea as those that came out of it?" He sighed. "Me— I like women. My old Pa usta say they were the most pleasant of nature's mistakes. But they're hard to get— very hard." He looked sideways seriously at Vallon. "Maybe not for you, because you've got some sorta special line I've never got around to. You're quiet but you get what you want. Maybe you've got something they never told me about."

Vallon shrugged his shoulders.

Strype said: "Talkin' of mommas, do I get a jolt just after lunch to-day? Boy, did I see a dream walkin' or did I?" Vallon said nothing. He drank a little rye.

Strype went on: "I'm comin' past the Hungaria— the restaurant just around the corner— an' she comes out. For crissake... ! I've never seen anything like it. Boy, I wish you coulda seen it."

Vallon sighed. He said wearily: "I know... she was a blonde... she was buxom with a small waist and good legs. She had what it takes and she threw you a hot look." He grinned at Strype. "Right?"

"Wrong to hell... this one wasn't my type. But, boy, was she something! I'm just passing the restaurant when she comes out. She's wearing a black suit— a coat an' skirt cut by some egg who certainly knew his pineapples. She's streamlined an' she's got legs you dream about an' little feet an' neat shoes. Everything about this baby is wonderful. She's wearin' one of those nifty sorta hats that you get only in Paris an' it makes a sorta frame for her auburn hair. I tell you I could have eat this baby without even usin' the cruet."

Vallon stifled a yawn. "So what... ?"

"So just at this moment," Strype went on, "she's gettin' inta a taxicab that the doorman's got for her, an' she drops her handbag, see? What didn't come out of it was nobody's business— lipstick, keys, bill-fold, a little phial of perfume... So I watch 'em while they stick around collectin' this stuff an' I see something. Some finger-ring has rolled over to my feet. I pick it up. Boy, is it a ring! I reckon you an' me have seen plenty jade in China, Johnny, but this was the loveliest stuff you've ever seen in your life. A sort of eternity ring with roses carved in the centre an' little diamonds an' rubies set in the middle of each rose. You've never seen such lovely stuff in your life."

Vallon asked: "So what did you do with it— snatch it?"

"Have a heart. Me— I wouldn't do a thing like that. I picked it up. By this time they'd got all the rest of the junk back in her bag. She's just steppin' inta the cab an' I say: 'Excuse me, lady, but maybe you'd like to have this.' I pick up her left hand— she's got a white kid glove on it— an' I put the ring in the middle of the palm. 'Maybe you oughta give me something for that,' I said."

Vallon asked: "What did she say to that one?"

"She smiled at me," said Strype. "That smile took years off my age. She said: 'I'd like to give you something for it. I'd like to say thank you. It's very precious to me.'"

He sighed. Vallon thought it was like a whale coming up for air.

Strype went on: "She got inta the cab an' she went away. Me— I woulda liked to know that frill, I'm tellin' you!"

"Do you want another drink?" asked Vallon.

"Nope... I've turned over a new leaf as the English say. I practically never touch the stuff... well, not much... maybe a bottle a day... never more."

Vallon said: "When are you going back, Strypey?"

"I'm flyin' over next week. I'll be seein' you, Johnny. If you come over, look me up. I'll be in New York."

"I'll do that," said Vallon.

Strype got off the stool. "So long, soldier... I'll be seein' you."

"So long... " Vallon watched Strype as he walked out of the bar into the sunshine. Then he put his elbows on the bar. He was looking straight in front of him at the rows of bottles set before the mirror behind the bar. He sat there for a long time. The feeling had come again. The peculiar feeling of faintness in the stomach that always came when he thought about her. Or maybe it was the bullet they'd spent such a long-time chiselling out of his insides. Maybe both...

The bar-tender said: "Another drink, sir?"

Vallon nodded. "A Bacardi... "

He sipped the drink slowly. Watching him, you would have thought he wasn't tasting it. When he'd drunk half of it he put some money on the counter and got off the stool. He went out of the bar; began to walk in the direction of the Hungaria restaurant.

WHEN the cab stopped outside the apartment block, Vallon got out and looked at his strap-watch. It was three o'clock. He thought maybe he ought to have phoned through to Chennault; decided it didn't matter. He paid off the cab and a picture of Hipper came across his mind.

Vallon thought Hipper was a damned liar. The inquiries he'd been making in the Somerset divorce case would have carried the costs of his fare to Paignton, his entertainment there, a few drinks and anything else he'd wanted. But for some reason best known to himself, Hipper had put the account in with the evidence he'd collected in Somerset, and then gone to Paignton at his own expense. Which meant that he didn't want anybody to know he was going to Paignton. Hipper had realised that if he'd put the extra amounts on his charge account he might have been asked to explain them. So he left them out and paid them himself.

Vallon shrugged his shoulders. All sorts of people did all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons— most of the time entirely different reasons from those you thought of in the first place— especially people like Hipper.

As he turned away from the taxicab he thought that the world was like that. Nobody ever really knew what anybody else was doing and what their motives were. Everybody had a private soul. Or had they? He wondered if he had a private soul. He grinned.

The apartment block lay between Lowndes Square and West Halkin Street. Vallon walked up the entrance steps, through the doors into the hall. A porter in a well-tailored grey uniform was sitting in his glass office. Vallon asked him: "Where does Miss Thorne live?"

"The third floor, sir... No. 3. Would you like to go up in the lift."

Vallon said: "No, I'll walk."

He began to walk slowly up the thickly carpeted stairs. There was the same sort of catch under the heart that he remembered from China— the same quickening of the breath— the same faintness inside his guts. He thought it was nice to get excited about something. Then he thought maybe it was a good thing not to get excited before you knew.

A middle-aged maid opened the door after he'd rung the bell.

Vallon said: "I have an appointment with Miss Thorne."

"Come in, sir," said the maid. "I'll tell her. Shall I give her your name?"

"No... it doesn't matter," said Vallon.

The maid shut the door; went away. He sat down in the high-backed chair in the large hallway. After a few minutes one of the four doors leading out of the hall opened. She stood in the doorway.

Vallon got out of the chair slowly. He was smiling. His eyes moved over her— from the small, beautifully shod feet to the crown of her auburn head.

He said: "So here I am... "

She put one hand against the door lintel. He noticed the length and delicacy of her fingers; the fineness of the lace ruffles over her wrist.

She looked at him for a long time; then she said in a quiet voice: "You heel, Johnny! So you've got the nerve to come here."

Vallon sat down in the chair again. He took out his cigarette case; extracted two cigarettes; lighted them. He threw one towards her. She caught it deftly. She put it in her mouth, her eyes still steadily on him.

She said: "Nell, what about it, Mr. Vallon?"

He got up. He moved towards her. She thought as he approached her that he always looked a little tired and rather lazy. No matter what the business was he always had the same lazy look— always...

He asked: "Do we have to deal in explanations? Explanations never mean a thing to anybody, Madeleine. If they're lies they don't matter, and if they're true, so what? If I shoot a story at you, you can either believe it or not. It might be true and it might not be."

She smiled a little. "You Englishman... ! Any explanation from you would probably be a lie."

"Yes, that's what I thought," said Vallon.

She threw the cigarette into a brass ash-tray on the hall-table. She put her arms round his neck. He could see the tears in her eyes. She said: "Oh, Johnny... you heel... !" She began to cry.

Vallon thought that that was pretty good. He put his arm about her shoulder; held her close. He smelt the light, attractive perfume she always wore— a perfume that reminded you of flowers and sunshine. He remembered it but he'd forgotten the name. She cried for quite a while.

Then he said: "Why don't you call it a day? Or do you want to have red-rimmed eyes and a red nose when we go out to-night?"

She stood away from him. She said: "You'd better come in here."

He followed her into the drawing-room. It was large, luxuriously furnished. He looked about the place; saw everywhere the evidence of her fastidious taste.

She said: "How do you know I'm going to dine with you to-night?"

He grinned. "How do I know my name's Vallon? Somebody told me! Can I sit down?"

She nodded. "If you want a drink there're some bottles in the cabinet." She motioned towards an oak cabinet at the end of the room.

"I don't if you don't," said Vallon.

She asked: "What about this explanation? How did you know I was here?"

"I had a break. I came up from Devonshire this morning. I left there early. I ran into a Yankee called Strype in Regent Street. I knew him in Japan in the war. We had a drink. He was the one who returned your jade ring when you dropped it this morning outside the Hungaria." He grinned at her. "I'm glad you didn't lose it. I found the taxi driver who brought you home. Luckily he came off the Regent Street rank. A pound tip did the rest... "

She asked: "What were you doing in Devonshire?" She looked sideways at him. "Some woman I suppose, as usual?"

"If there was, why not?" said Vallon. "If I'd known you were here there never would have been any woman. You know that."

There was another pause. She sat down on the settee facing him. She said: "I'm still waiting for the explanation, Johnny."

Vallon sighed. She thought he had the most attractive jaw and mouth she'd ever seen in her life. His teeth were white and even. And behind the laziness was a brain.

He said: "Look, Sweet, maybe this is hard to believe but it's a fact. When I came out of hospital I had to go up to Tientsin. I thought I was coming back immediately. That's why I didn't even bother to say good-bye to you. When I got up there I ran into something— something I don't have to talk about."

"You mean some woman you don't want to talk about?"

"Believe it or not," said Vallon, "it wasn't a woman. Just a job. O.K. I got myself shot up. I was in hospital for sixteen weeks. The first five days I was unconscious. I was very ill for a long time, Madeleine, too ill to write or telephone. Then I got a long distance call to you at the hotel. You were gone." He smiled at her. "Was that kind?" He looked at her quizzically.

"What did you expect? You were supposed to be engaged to me. You walk out on me. I never hear anything of you again. For God's sake, Johnny, why don't you behave normally, like any one else?"

He said slowly: "I wouldn't know, Sweet. Maybe I'm not normal."

She came across the room and sat on his knee. She put her arm round his neck. She said: "You know what I'd like to call you?"

He nodded. "That dear old-fashioned word... bastard! But you don't like to say it. O.K. Take it as said. That's the truth. After I left the hospital I kicked around in China for a hell of a time. I tried to get a line on you. I even went and saw the old guy we bought that ring from... remember? Nobody knew where you were. Just another rather good-looking, wealthy, well-dressed American girl leaving no address behind her."

There was another silence. She asked: "Johnny, have you missed me?"

"What do you think? If I were given to poetic phrases I would say it was rather like having your intestines taken out and walking about with an empty inside."

She asked: "What have you been doing— besides drinking rye whisky... ?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Kicking around... working a little... "

She raised her eyebrows. "So you work? At what?"

"Believe it or not," said Vallon, "I'm in a detective agency."

"Wonders will never cease! You... Johnny... in a detective agency. What do you do there?"

"Not very much," said Vallon. "I stick around, look after the staff, smoke cigarettes and drink bourbon when I can get it. The boss is a friend of mine. He was the guy who gave me the job in Tientsin."

She nodded her head. "I know... one of those mysterious things where you get shot up and nobody knows what you're doing. And you go to hospital and lose me and never try to use your intelligence to find me. Some detective... ! Darling... I wonder why I love you."

Vallon said: "Me too... It's just a break for me, that's all, Sweet."

She got up; walked to the mantelpiece, took a cigarette from a box and lighted it. She said: "Well, where do we go from here?"

Vallon said: "I've one or two things to do. I have to do some work some time. What about the Hungaria at eight o'clock? I like that place— only because if you hadn't been there for lunch to-day I should never have found you. Put on a pretty frock and I'll try and find a dinner jacket."

"Supposing you aren't there," she said. "You've stood me up before... remember? I don't like sitting at a table by myself or waiting for any man... not even Mr. Vallon."

He said: "I'll be there at a quarter to eight. I'll be waiting in the foyer for you. Do you think I wouldn't be?"

He smiled at her. She thought that the slow, rather crooked smile had lost nothing of its charm.

She said: "All right. So we have dinner together at eight o'clock. But I tell you, Johnny, if there's any more nonsense with you... you know what I mean... I'm through with you. This time I mean it." She smiled at him. "I've stood more from you than I ever thought I'd stand from a man. But I'm not taking any more punishment. See, Johnny?"

He nodded. "I see... If you knew what a punishment it has been for me to be without you all this time you'd know I wouldn't take a chance on it."

She said: "And after we've had dinner, what then?"

"They tell me it takes three days to get a special licence," said Vallon. "To-day is Wednesday. So that makes it Saturday. How does that go with you, Madeleine?"