“Well, he thought you were something to look at,” Marsh, said, with an oily smile. “You’re seeing everyone this morning.” He looked at the stairs thoughtfully. “Now I wonder what’s going on up there.”
“Who was that?” Susan asked, wondering what was going on up there herself.
“That’s Gilroy, the dance band leader. I don’t hold with niggers myself, but he isn’t a bad chap,” Marsh returned absently. It was obvious that he was more interested now in Rollo’s meeting than in Susan.
Somehow, Susan thought, I’ve just got to get upstairs.
“Before I go, Mr. Marsh,” she said, trying to look coy, “could I—er— powder my nose?”
Marsh blinked. “Of course. The Ladies’ room’s just upstairs on your right. You can’t miss it. It’s written on the door.”
Susan smiled. “Then I’ll go up before I put on my hat and coat.”
At this moment, the telephone rang and Marsh hurried to answer it. Susan, seizing the opportunity, Lipped upstairs. The stairs led in a half circle to the next landing. Halfway up was the Ladies’ room, but Susan did not pause. She ran on until she came to a long passage. The thick carpet deadened her footfalls. she sped down the passage, pausing at each door she came to, listening and then speeding on. The door at the far end of the passage had private written on it in gold paint.
She leaned forward to listen, her head almost against the panels. Voices came to her distinctly.
* * *
In the big, lonely house on Wimbledon Common, somewhere in one of the many empty rooms, a telephone began to ring.
Sarah, the old housekeeper, peeling potatoes in the dark kitchen, glanced across at Joe.
“ ‘Oos that, I wonder?” she said, jerking her head towards the ceiling. “You’d better go. I don’t ‘old with them things. Lot of nasty whispering in your ear.”
Joe was already moving to the door. He hurried up the twisting narrow stairs that led to the hall and entered the big sitting room which overlooked the front garden. The furniture was covered with white dust sheets and the heavy, brocaded curtains were drawn. There was a creepy, lonely atmosphere in the room.
He picked up the telephone. “Hello?” he said, a little crossly, expecting a wrong number.
Susan said in a tight, urgent voice, “Is Mr. C there, please?”
Joe sat on the arm of a chair. “Yes,” he said, recognizing her voice. “This is Joe.”
“I’ve got the job at the Gilded Lily,” Susan said, after a pause. She waited hopefully, expecting a little praise.
“I know that,” Joe snapped. “I told Fresby to get you in there. He does what I tell him. Well? What happened?”
“They’re expecting Mr. Weidmann tonight,” Susan said, a little crushed.
“There was a meeting in Rollo’s room. They were all there and I managed to get upstairs and listen.”
“Who were all there? Why don’t you begin at the beginning?”
“I’m trying to tell you,” Susan said, feeling irritated that he should take it all so calmly. “There was a little man named Doc Martin. He did most of the talking. Then there was a girl they call Mademoiselle Celie— she’s a negress or a Creole. I don’t quite know which, but she’s very dark and awfully attractive.”
Joe made impatient noises. “Never mind that,” he said. “Who else was there?”
“There was a negro—Gilroy. He’s the band leader. Then the man in the black shirt. He recognized me. I thought at first he was going to be suspicious, but I bluffed him.”
Joe’s face twisted. She bluffed him! Was she lying?
He recalled his own fear of the man in the black shirt. “What do you mean?” he demanded, not wishing to believe her.
She told him, not without pride, what had happened.
Joe could not bring himself to praise her. “Maybe he’s pretending. Maybe you didn’t fool him after all,” then he added spitefully, “Maybe he’s just waiting to trap you.”
Such a long silence followed that he wondered uneasily if he had frightened her away.
“Hello?” he said. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” she returned. He could tell from her tone that he had hurt her. “I thought you’d be pleased. But you’re not. You’re being horrid.”
“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m worried. You’ve done well. You’ve done very well.”
She kept him waiting for a few seconds and then she went on, “Well, it wasn’t very nice for me. I was scared. I keep thinking I shouldn’t be doing this. They’re all rather frightening, especially Butch Egan—that’s the man in the black shirt.”
He immediately lost his feeling of irritation. “Yes,” he said. “You’d better be careful.” Then he repeated, “You’re doing well. You’re the right sort. I know. You’ve got guts.”
“Well, it’s what I’m being paid to do, isn’t it?” she said, as if she were trying to convince herself. “But I mustn’t waste time. They’re expecting Mr. Weidmann tonight. I couldn’t understand what they were talking about. It was something to do with voodoo.”
“With what?” Joe’s eyes became vacant.
“Voodoo. Isn’t that some kind of witchcraft? Doc Martin was giving Gilroy instructions. I couldn’t hear everything that was said. I didn’t have time to listen to it all, but the word zombie was used a number of times. I don’t know what it means, do you?”
“No, but I’ll find out,” Joe said, a little bewildered and out of his depth.
“Doc said it would be worth a lot of money. He said something about a million pounds. They discussed how they would divide it up between themselves. They seemed to be quarrelling about it, but I couldn’t stay any longer. I had been up there over five minutes and the man in the reception desk was waiting for me. But I have found out something, haven’t I? I haven’t wasted time?”
“No,” Joe said. “We’ve got something to go on now. Zombie, did you say? I must find out about that. Will you be there tonight?”
“Yes. I work from seven o’clock to midnight. I’ll try to find out more. They said Mr. Weidmann would be along about eleven o’clock.”
“Well, he won’t,” Joe said grimly. “I’ll put the car out of action. I’ll see he doesn’t go. I’ve got to keep him away from those people. You leave that to me.”
“All right,” Susan sounded relieved. “They’re bad. I’m sure they’re bad, but we’ll have to be careful. A million is an awful lot of money, isn’t it? They all sounded very anxious to get hold of it.”
“Listen,” Joe broke in. “I’ve sent you a key. Keep it carefully. If anything happens to me, you’ll be given a steel box. The key opens it.”
“What should happen to you?” Susan asked, alarmed. “What do you mean?”
“I like being prepared. I might get run over. Anything might happen.” He made an effort not to dramatize his fears, but he could not resist saying, “The man in the black shirt might do something. I’m not saying he will, but you never know.”
Susan was now badly frightened. “Don’t you think we ought to go to the police?” she pleaded. “I mean that’s what they’re there for—to give protection.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “Whatever happens, you mustn’t go to the police. I’ve told you why. They’d put him away. It’d be even better to let them have all his money than for him to be put away.” He gripped the telephone tightly.
“You’ve got to promise me. Whatever happens, you won’t ever go to the police.”
“I can’t make a promise like that,” she returned sincerely, “I mean—”
“You’ve got to,” he said urgently. “They won’t believe you and they’ll just put him away. Promise me.”
“All right,” Susan returned weakly. “I promise, but I may not be able to go on with this.”