“What do you know about this Hedder woman?” Celie asked abruptly, taking no notice of his gesture towards the chair.
Fresby shifted his eyes. He hadn’t expected such a direct approach. “Butch was asking about her,” he mumbled, and to give himself time, he poured out another cup of tea. “Will you have a cup? I don’t suppose you will. A cocktail is more in your line, isn’t it? But I don’t have such things.”
Celie’s eyes darkened. “I don’t want anything,” she said shortly. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Why should I answer it?” he asked, smirking at her. The tea no longer interested him. He left it on the table and came close to her. “I’m tired,” he went on. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit down.” He didn’t wait for her permission, but sank down into the chair and looked up at her. She was only a few inches away from him and with a slight movement he could have touched her skirt.
“I haven’t much time,” Celie went on, sensing his confused desire for her. “It would be better if you answered my question.”
“Didn’t Butch tell you? “ Fresby asked, trying to look unconcerned. Was she threatening him? “I told Butch all I know about the girl.”
“No, you didn’t,” Celie returned. “You had better tell me the truth.” She stared at him for a long moment, and then went on, “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Fresby gnawed at his moustache. He found it difficult to concentrate. What nice feet she had and how extraordinarily long her legs were. He found that rather exciting. He eyed the contours of her buttocks under her tight skirt. How he disliked women who were as flat as a board. What was she saying? He jerked his mind out of its grimy corner. Worth my while. Did she mean she would pay for information?
“I don’t understand,” he said and again his mind crept back into its dusty corner.
“Tell me what you know about this woman and I’ll give you a hundred pounds,” Celie said. “Only you must hurry.”
Fresby pondered. A hundred pounds! That was what Butch had promised him. Anyway, it was a figure on which to bargain.
“Five hundred pounds would be more like it,” he said and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. He suddenly had a desire to reach out and touch her.
She laughed. “Don’t be a fool.” There was doubt and anger in her voice. “A hundred pounds is all you’ll get, so you’d better make up your mind.”
“Five hundred,” he repeated. He would be glad to argue with her all night.
He hated to think of this room without her.
She moved impatiently and the hem of her skirt touched his knee. His thin, muscular body reacted as if he had touched a live wire.
“Do you know where the body is?” she said, after a pause.
He stiffened. It was a movement beyond his control and it betrayed him as sure as if he had spoken.
“So you do,” Celie went on, her voice hardening. “You fool! You’re wasting time. Tell me where it is and I’ll give you a hundred pounds.” She opened her bag and showed him four thin white notes. “Look, I have it with me.”
He crossed his legs. “Not nearly enough. Rollo would give me a thousand.”
Celie turned away so that he could not see the look of frustrated fury on her face.
Any moment Rollo might, somehow or other, find the body. This was no time to bargain. Even if it meant giving Fresby half the fantastic sum, it would be better than letting Rollo get his claws on the lot. It might even be possible to engineer a little accident for Fresby after he had shown her where the body was. If only Butch were here! They might have persuaded Fresby to talk by other means than bribery.
She turned back to Fresby. “There’s money hidden on the body,” she said, clenching her fists. “Now do you understand? If anyone finds it while we are arguing, you’ll be sorry.”
Fresby’s eyes narrowed. So that’s why Rollo was so anxious to find Cornelius. And to think he had spent all that time putting wax on the dead man’s face and it had never occurred to him to search the body.
“Money?” he repeated. “How much money?” Celie hesitated. He would know before long so she might as well tell him.
“Three million pounds.”
Fresby huddled down into his chair. The sum stunned him. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Don’t sit there staring at me. If you know where the body is, we must hurry. Rollo may find it at any moment.”
Fresby thought this was unlikely, but he didn’t say so. “If you take me to where you have hidden it, I’ll share the money with you,” Celie went on after a pause. Already an idea was taking shape in Fresby’s mind. Three million pounds! A staggering, unheard of sum of money. Share it with her? Why should he? He knew where the body was—she didn’t. All he had to do was to go to Ted Whitby’s place, collect the money and leave London. In a few days he could be out of the country.
Celie was watching him uneasily. She knew it was dangerous to tell him about the money, but what else could she do?
“What are you thinking about?” she said sharply.
He got to his feet and pushed the chair back. “All right,” he said. “It isn’t far.”
He was in two minds what to do. Whether he should do it now or wait until they were at Whitby’s. He’d better do it now, he decided. It might not be so easy in that cramped space full of wax figures. Here, at least, he had more room.
He glanced round. The table was in the way. It would have to be moved. He mustn’t give her any warning. The thing to do was to get his hands on her throat. Once he had her by the throat, he knew she wouldn’t last long.
“I’ll change my boots, if you don’t mind,” he said, smirking at her. “My feet ache. I won’t keep you long.”
Before she could say anything, he stepped to the door. As he did so, he purposely lurched against the table.
“Why can’t she leave it in its proper place?” he murmured, as if he were talking to himself. He pushed the table against the wall and then he went out, closing the door behind him.
Celie looked at the empty space he had cleared by moving the table. Why had he done that? Her mind was alert with alarm. Was he planning something?
After waiting several minutes, she opened her bag and took out a gun. It was a tiny, toy-like thing with a mother o’ pearl handle, so small that she could easily conceal it in her hand. As she moved towards the door, she heard him coming back and she quickly took up her position again before the empty fireplace.
He came into the room and closed the door. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright and watery. He didn’t look at her directly, but out of the corners of his eyes.
Celie’s uneasiness increased. He was up to something, she thought. She still didn’t realize that she was in danger. She just thought that he was thinking of a way to leave her and get to Cornelius’ body on his own.
“Now,” he said, “I think we’re ready. Shall we go?” His voice was thick as if he had something in his mouth. He had to get her away from the fireplace. After the way Vera Small had struggled, he knew he would have to seize her throat from behind and ram his knee into the small of her back.
“Yes,” Celie said, watching him suspiciously. “Where is the place?”
“Not far,” he returned. He was now standing quite close to her and she could feel the heat from his body.
As she moved to cross the room, she suddenly realized what he was going to do. In the second of time that her brain refused to work, his hands closed round her throat.
She felt his bony knee drive into the small of her back and she could no longer breathe.
Celie did not lose her head. She knew that she had little chance of saving her life, but there was still a chance. Fresby’s grip was terrifying. It was as if a steel band had been clamped round her throat and had been twisted tight by a spanner*. Perhaps she had some sixty seconds before she lost consciousness.