better start worrying about your neck. Ever since you arrived in this
country you’ve been mixed up in murder. I warned you to mind your
own business, now perhaps you wish you had.”
“And to think we called each other by our Christian names, and
you ate the food I paid for,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, my mother
always told me not to trust a policeman. Go ahead, Corridan, and try
to hang something on me. I don’t think you’l succeed, but you can
try. The trouble with the British law is that the onus is on you to prove
me guilty, not for me to prove myself innocent. Until you have a few
reliable witnesses I don’t think you should get too inflated with your
cock-eyed theories.”
He got to his feet, turned to the door. “When I lay my hands on
Netta Scott and Julius Cole I shall have all the witnesses I want,” he
said quietly. “Those two, I think, will talk fast enough for me to get my
hands on you. Don’t forget I haven’t yet failed to solve a murder
case.”
“The exception always proves the rule,” I said hopefully. “Maybe
you’re heading for your first great failure.”
He took from his pocket a small cardboard box. I recognized it
immediately. It was the box I’d borrowed from Crystal the previous
night, and in which I had sent Corridan the four diamond rings I’d
taken from Bradley. The rings had worried me. If they weren’t
connected with the Jacobi case, I was on a spot. I had decided to send
them to Corridan anonymously in the hope he would identify them.
“Seen this before?” he asked abruptly.
I shook my head. “Don’t tell me one of your fans has sent you a
present?”
He opened the box, shook the four rings into the palm of his
hand.
“Or these?”
Again I shook my head. “No, what are they? Part of Jacobi’s loot?”
He looked sharply at me. “What makes you think that?”
“I still have my Ouija board,” I said, smiling. “You’d be surprised at
the surprises it gives me.”
“They’re not part of Jacobi’s loot,” he returned, fixing me with a
hard look. “They came to me anonymously through the post this
morning. Did you send them?”
“Me?” I repeated, blank. “My dear Corridan, as much as I like you,
I think I should be able to resist sending you four diamond rings. “
“You’d better cut out this fooling,” Corridan said, his face growing
red. “I have an idea these rings came from you.”
“Quite, quite wrong. What gives you that idea?”
“It won’t be difficult to trace them to you,” he went on, ignoring
my question. “The box and wrapping will tell me what I want to
know.”
“If you ask me,” I said, beginning to get worried, “some lag stole
those rings, had a change of heart, and sent them to you to return to
their rightful owner.”
“I thought so until we checked the rings,” Corridan returned. “But
we have no record of them being stolen. Try another yarn, and make
it a better one.”
“I must say you’re damned unpleasant this morning,” I said.
“Suppose you try. Why should I send you diamond rings? Tell me
that.”
“You might have stuck your nose into something that doesn’t
concern you, found the rings, and taken them, thinking they were part
of Jacobi’s loot. You had no means of checking them, so you sent
them to me, knowing I’d recognize them if they belonged to Allenby.
Well, they don’t. I’m now going to look for the original owner, and if I
find him, I’m going to persuade him to prosecute the thief. Maybe he
knows who the thief is, and if he turns out to be you, my friend, I’ll do
my best to get you a stretch.” He turned on his heel and stamped out.
I drank my whisky at a gulp, blotted my brow. And I thought
Corridan didn’t know his business! If Bradley talked it looked as if I
was going to be in a nice jam. The first thing to do was to warn Crystal
to be prepared when Corridan produced the box. Since it was her box,
he might easily shake her if she wasn’t forewarned. I called her
number, explained what had happened.
“He’s on his way right over,” I said. “And he’ll spring that box on
you. Look out for it.”
“Leave him to me, precious,” Crystal said. “All my life I’ve wanted
to be grilled by the police. I’l handle him.”
“Well, don’t be too sure of yourself,” I warned her. “That guy’s
nobody’s fool.”
“Nor am I,” she returned, “only over you. Did you enjoy yourself
last night?” she added coyly.
“Enjoy is an understatement,” I returned, grinning. “It was an
experience that’s marked me for life. I’l be back for an encore in a
little while.”
I hung up, lit a cigarette, brooded. I’d have to watch my step now.
Corridan was after my blood, and if he couldn’t hang a murder rap on
me, he might easily get me a stretch in jail.
I began to pace up and down. A gentle tap sounded on the door. I
crossed the room, opened up, gaped.
Julius Cole stood in the doorway, his eyebrows raised, his head on
one side.
“Hello, baby,” he said, moving into the room. “I want to talk to
you.”
Chapter XXI
A WAITER passed, pushing a table on wheels before him. The
table was set for someone’s belated breakfast: a simple meal of
coffee and rolls. He eyed Julius Cole; I noted his look of snobbish
contempt. He went on, disappeared around the bend in the corridor,
but Julius Cole didn’t disappear. He sauntered into my room, smiling
his secret smile, wagging his head, very sure of himself.
“Nice to see you again, baby,” he said.
I let him in because I was too surprised to exert the effort to keep
him out. Somewhere in my sub-conscious mind an alarm bell was
ringing, warning me that trouble was on the way.
“What do you want?” I asked, leaning against the door.
Julius Cole looked around the room, peered out of the window.
“How nice,” he said, his hands in his baggy trouser pockets. The
grey suit he wore was shiny at the elbows, even on the back of the
coat he had managed to collect grease spots. His bottle- green shirt
was frayed at the cuffs; his white tie was grubby. “I’ve often wanted
to see the Savoy from the inside. I had no idea they did you as well as
this. The view alone must be worth the money.” He gave me an arch
look. “What do they charge for a room like this?”
“Suppose you tell me what you want,” I said. “And then I’l call
Corridan. He wants to see you.”
He sat on the window seat, raised his eyebrows.
“I know,” he said. “But you won’t call Corridan.”
I wondered if it might be a sound idea to hit him in the left eye,
but resisted the temptation. I sat down.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Something’s crawling about in the thing you
call your mind. What is it?”
He took a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one.
Smoke drifted down his narrow nostrils.
“I want to borrow a little money,” he said.
“I won’t stop you,” I returned briefly, “but you’re in the wrong
room. Try the desk. They might trust you. I don’t.”