out.
Corridan twisted under me, hit me a sledge-hammer blow in the
chest. I grabbed him, tried to hold him down, but he was much too
strong for me.
For two or three seconds we fought like animals. Both of us were
half crazy with fear, and we punched, bit and kneed each other in a
frenzy of waving arms and legs. Corridan was tough all right. He knew
every dirty trick there was to know in fighting. If I hadn’t had a Ranger
training as a war correspondent, I wouldn’t have lasted two minutes
with him.
I got a head lock on him after a moment, tried to throttle him by
squeezing his throat with my forearm, but he hit me so heavily about
the body, I couldn’t hold him. I broke from him, jumped to my feet.
He had me around the legs before I could step clear, and I came
down on my back. My breath whistled out of my body, and for one
second I was helpless. That was a lot of time to a guy like Corridan. He
was kneeling on my arms by the time I had my wind back, and it was
like being sat upon by St. Paul’s Cathedral.
“Let’s look at you, you bastard,” he panted.
I heard a rattle of matches. If he saw who I was I was done for. I
hadn’t a chance being caught with Littlejohns.
I made a terrific effort, brought my legs up, managed to boot him
at the back of his head. He fell forward on top of me and I got my
arms free. But he came back, grabbed at my head, tried to smash it
down on the floor. By keeping my neck stiff I defeated this move, sank
a punch into his belly that went in a foot.
He gasped, gagged, fell off me. My hand closed around one of the
table legs. I swung blindly at him, felt a jar run up my arm as the table
leg connected, heard him flop.
I lay gasping for breath, feeling as if I’d been fed through a
mangle. I knew I couldn’t waste a moment ; I struggled up kicked his
legs off mine, reached out and touched him. He didn’t move. For one
horrible moment I thought I’d killed him, but then I heard him
breathing. Any second now he’d come to the surface. I had to get out
while the going was good.
I got to my feet, staggered out of the room, peered into Netta’s
room. The window was open. She had gone. I grabbed hold of the
banister rail, nearly fell down the stairs. Reaching the front door, I
waited a moment while I pul ed myself together, opened it, stepped
into the dark cul-de-sac. The night air helped me to come to the
surface, but I was still groggy as I half ran, half walked to the main
road.
I kept on, found myself in Russell Square, then Kingsway. I
reached the Strand, and by that time I was walking steadily. I had to
get myself a cast-iron alibi; an alibi so good that Corridan couldn’t
even suspect it. I wondered if he had recognized me. I hadn’t made a
sound while we fought, and it had been almost pitch dark. With luck,
I’d get away with it.
I passed a telephone booth, hesitated, entered, called Crystal. I
didn’t expect she’d be back from the Club as yet. It was only eleven-
fifteen, but to my relief she answered.
“It’s Steve,” I said. “No, don’t talk. This is serious. How long have
you been back from the Club?”
“An hour. I had a headache and thought I’d come home. Why?”
“Anyone see you come home?”
“No. What’s the matter, precious?”
“Plenty,” I said grimly. “I’m on my way over. I’ve been with you for
the past hour, and I’m spending the night with you. Is that all right?”
“Is it all right?” Her voice shot up a note. “You bet it’s all right!
You come right over.”
“I’m coming,” I said, hung up.
As I turned to leave the booth I had an idea. I put in two more
pennies, cal ed Fred Ul man of the Morning Mail.
When he came on the line, I said, “Pin your ears back, Fred. I’ve
got the biggest story that’s hit the head-lines for years! It’s exclusive
and all yours. Will you earn it?”
“I’ll earn it, if it’s as good as that, but you’ll have to convince me.
What do you want me to do?” he returned.
I leaned up against the wall of the booth and told him.
Chapter XX
I RETURNED to the Savoy the following morning soon after eleven
o’clock. As I asked the clerk at the Inquiry Desk for my key, I felt a
hand touch my arm. I took the key, glanced around.
Corridan, looking very massive and dour, was standing at my side.
“Well, well,” I said, with what I hoped was a friendly smile. “My
old pal again, always turning up like Boris Karloff. What brings you
here? Lost your way?”
He shook his head. His eyes were frosty, his mouth set in a hard
line. “I want to talk to you, Harmas,” he said. “Shall we go to your
room?”
“Let’s go to the bar,” I returned. “It’s just on opening time. You
look as if I need a drink.”
“I think we’ll go to your room.”
“Well, if you insist. Come along then. You don’t look your usual
sunny self. What’s troubling you? Don’t tell me you’ve fal en in love,
or is it indigestion?”
“This isn’t a joking matter,” he returned, walking with me to the
elevator.
“That’s the usual trouble with you,” I said. “You haven’t a sense of
humour.”
We entered the elevator, rode up to the second floor.
“If you did have a sense of humour you’d be a truly great man.
Take me for example,” I said, as we walked along the corridor to my
room. “Where should I be if I couldn’t crack a gag now and then? I’ll
tell you. I’d be in the depths of despair. And why? Because I’d think
you were going to arrest me.”
He shot me a sharp look. “What makes you say that?” he
demanded, pausing outside my door while I unlocked it.
“You have the appearance of a well-meaning flatfoot about to
make an arrest,” I returned. “Only you’re going to be disappointed.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, entered the room, took off his hat,
faced me.
I noted the livid bruise on his temple where I had hit him with the
table leg, hoped he hadn’t any proof to connect me with the assault.
“Hello, hello,” I said, eyeing him. “My turn to gloat now. How did
you get that bruise? Trying to beat your head against a brick wall, I
suppose.”
“We’ll cut out this fooling if you please,” Corridan said. I had
never seen him so serious before. “Where were you last night? “
Here it comes, I thought, and wandered over to where I kept a
bottle of whisky.
“That is no business of yours,” I returned gently. “Have a drink?” I
unscrewed the cap, poured whisky into a glass.
He shook his head. “It is my business, and you’d better realize that
this is a very serious matter for you.”
I sipped the whisky, eyed him.
“Now I wonder what’s got into your head, Corridan?” I asked. “In
other words, what the hell’s biting you?”
“Ever heard of Henry Littlejohns?”
I nodded. “Sure. He’s a private dick. Why?”
“You employed him, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes. I still employ him for that matter. What’s it to do with
you?”
“Quite a lot. He was murdered last night.”
I gave what I hoped was a surprised start, put down my whisky,