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He looked so solemn that I burst out laughing.

“That’s okay,” I said, lay back on my pillow and grinned at him. “I

bet they scared the daylight out of the poor old geyser. I don’t blame

him in the least. They nearly, but not quite, scared the daylight out of

me.” I looked at him, suddenly puzzled. “But why did you come here

to tell me all this? What’s it to do with you?”

Littlejohns pulled at his moustache. “I’m very sorry to be taken off

this case, sir,” he said. “Very sorry. You see, sir, I liked the excitement.

You may not believe it, but I’ve always wanted to be a detective ever

since I was a nipper. I’ve been disappointed with the work up to now.

Mr. Merryweather doesn’t get much business. The cases that do

come our way are the usual divorce cases. Not, as you will appreciate,

very congenial work: very dull, if I may say so. I dislike spying on

married couples. But I have to do the work. I’m not getting any

younger; jobs are difficult to come by. I thought I’d explain my

position, sir. I hope you’ll forgive me taking up your time. What I was

going to suggest . . .” He paused, looked embarrassed. “If you’ll excuse

the liberty, what I was going to suggest was that I should continue

with the case. I’d be very happy to take reduced fees, and Mr.

Merryweather has nothing for me at the moment. He pays me only

when I’m working for him. So I thought I’d offer my services, not that

you’d want to continue the arrangement, but I thought there’d be no

harm in mentioning it.”

I gaped at him. “But, look, if they’re threatening Merry- weather,

that’ll also include you.”

“I don’t believe in being intimidated by threats,” he said quietly. “I

assure you I wouldn’t be put off by that kind of thing. I’m at your

service if you still require me.”

I grinned at him, suddenly liking him immensely. “Sure, you go

ahead. The same terms suit you?”

He gaped, stuttered. “Oh, but surely, Mr. Harmas, they were

rather excessive. I would be prepared . . .”

“No, you’ll have what Merryweather got, so dry up,” I said firmly.

“Don’t make any mistake: you’l earn the money. There are a number

of things to do with this case that I haven’t told your boss. I’m going to

tell you, and you can then decide if you still want the job.”

“Thank you, sir,” Littlejohns said, his face lighting up. “There is

one thing I must report first. I’ve seen the young lady with the red

hair. She came out of the cottage late last night. The black-and-yellow

Bentley called for her. I saw her distinctly. She got into the car which

drove away along the London road; I was unfortunately too late to

follow it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Perhaps she’s decided to come to London. Well,

keep an eye on the cottage for a little while. Now, listen to what I

have to say.”

I told him the whole story without pulling my punches down to

Madge Kennitt’s murder and the attack on myself. I told him about

Jacobi, Selma, his wife, about Bradley and Julius Cole going to the

club.

“That’s about the lot,” I said. “These guys are a tough bunch.

You’ll have to watch your step.”

He scarcely seemed to hear me.

“I’m glad you’ve taken me into your confidence, sir,” he said,

getting to his feet. “I think I’ll have something for you in a day or so. I

would rather not discuss it now, but something you said just now has

given me the clue I’ve been looking for. “I’ll get in touch with you very

soon.”

“Hey!” I called as he picked up his hat and made for the door.

“What about Julius Cole? Has he arrived at Lakeham?”

“He arrived three nights ago, and is staying with Mrs. Brambee,”

Littlejohns said, opening the door. “I’ll have something for you in a

day or so.”

He didn’t wait for me to tell him again to be careful.

Chapter XVI

TWO days later, still considerably bruised and battered, but with

all my old vigour back and a sharp edge to my temper, I returned to

the Savoy.

Crystal was there to welcome me. The room was cluttered up

with a mass of flowers and smelt like a florist’s. There was a bottle of

champagne in a bucket, and it only needed a brass band and the Lord

Mayor to complete the home-coming atmosphere.

“Darling!” Crystal exclaimed, throwing her arms around my neck

and doing her best to strangle me. “Welcome home!”

“Who’s paying for the champagne?” I demanded, removing her

arms.

“You are, precious,” she said brightly. “Let’s open it and drink your

health. My poor little tonsils are withering for a drink.”

“Not at seven pounds a bottle we won’t,” I said firmly. “That goes

back to where it came from. I suppose I’m paying for all these flowers

too?”

“I knew you wouldn’t mind,” Crystal returned slipping her arm

through mine and pressing her face against my shoulder. “I’ll take

them home if you don’t like them, but you’ll have to pay for them as

I’m a little short right now. They do make the room look lovely, don’t

they?”

“Sure, but what are they going to do to my bank balance? This is

as bad as being married. Now, suppose you sit down and let me look

through my mail. I’ve been out of circulation for the past four days. I

shall have some catching up to do.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that,” she said. “Aren’t you glad to

see me? You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

I kissed her. “There, now sit down and keep quiet for a moment.”

“I do love you, Steve, in spite of your poor battered face,” she

went on, sitting down. “But I do wish you were a more romantic

type.”

“It’s nice of you to call it a face,” I said, glancing into the mirror,

grimacing. “Sorry about being the wrong type. You’d better get in

touch with Frank Sinatra if that’s the way you feel.”

She lifted her shoulders in a hopeless shrug. “At least I haven’t

any competition,” she said. “That’s the only_ advantage a girl gets in

going around with a fish like you.”

“One of these days, when I have the time, I’l prove to you I have

blood and not warm water in my veins,” I returned, smiling at her. I

picked up my mail, sorted through it. I read the letter from

Merryweather, full of apologies, but withdrawing from the case with

pathetic determination. There was a note from Corridan,

congratulating me on my recovery, hoping I would soon be going

home, and again advising me, now that I was lucky to be still alive, not

to interfere with what was obviously not my business. I tossed the

letter into the wastepaper-basket. The rest of my mail was from

America and needed immediate attention.

I shooed Crystal out, promising to meet her that evening, sat

down and worked solidly until lunch time.

After lunch, before settling down to the fourth of my articles on

Past-War Britain, I turned Jack Bradley up in the telephone book,

found he had a flat in Hay’s Mews. I noted the address, closed the

book with a vicious bang. Sometime during the night, I proposed to

call on Mr. Bradley, and he was going to remember my visit.