you?” I said grimly. “Boy! Is that an understatement.”
I crossed over to the bathroom, opened the door. “Okay,
O’Malley, you can come out now.”
Detective-Inspector O’Malley came out, followed by another
plain-clothes dick who had a note-book in his hand.
“Did you get it all down?” I asked.
“Every word,” O’Malley said, rubbing his hands. “The sweetest
little statement I could wish for. If he doesn’t get ten years, may I be
hung for a liar.”
The three dicks grinned at Cole. O’Malley walked up to him,
touched his arm.
“I’m Detective-Inspector O’Malley of Bow Street, and these are
police officers,” he said, waving his hand to the two plainclothes dicks.
“It’s my duty to arrest you and charge you with attempted blackmail.
And I have also to caution you that anything you say will be written
down and may be used in evidence at your trial.”
Cole’s face turned green.
“You can’t do this to me,” he squeaked. “That’s the man who
must be arrested. He’s a murderer.” He pointed a trembling finger at
me. “He killed Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns. I saw him do it!
You can’t arrest me. I’m an honest citizen.”
O’Malley grinned.
“You can tell that to the judge,” he said soothingly. “You come
along with me.”
The two plain-clothes dicks closed in on him. One of them
whisked my money from Cole’s pocket, handed it to O’Malley.
“We’ll have to keep this,” O’Malley said to me. “But you’ll get it
back after the trial.”
“I hope so,” I returned with a grin. “I’d hate to think it might go to
your sports fund.”
The three dicks laughed.
“Come on,” O’Malley said to Cole. “We’ll make you nice and snug
in a cell.”
Cole started back. “He’s a murderer, I tell you,” he shouted
frantically. “Arrest him! He’ll leave the country if you don’t. Do you
hear? He’ll leave the country.”
“Now don’t excite yourself, dear,” one of the plain-clothes dicks
said. “If you come quietly I’ll give you a nice cup of cocoa at the
station.”
Cole took his hand away from his eye which was closed and
swollen.
“He assaulted me,” he shrilled. “I wish to charge him with assault.
Arrest him!”
O’Malley looked pained. “Did you do that?” he asked me, shaking
his head sadly.
“Me?” I said, shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. He
was so anxious to spend his money, he hit his poor eye against the
door handle as he rushed out.”
O’Malley guffawed.
“You must have been in a hurry,” he said, winking at Cole.
I walked up to Cole, smiled. “So long, louse,” I said. “The next time
you try blackmail, don’t pick on a newspaper man. See you in ten
years’ time.”
They took Cole away. He went speechless, dazed, stupefied. At
the door, O’Malley looked over his shoulder.
“See you to-night,” he said.
“Sure. Corridan’ll be back then,” I returned. “I wouldn’t miss
seeing his face when I spring my little surprise for all the Scotch in
London.”
“Speaking as a teetotaller, nor would I,” O’Malley said piously.
Chapter XXIII
THE clock in Mrs. Crockett’s hall was striking the half-hour after
seven as I crept up the stairs to Madge Kennitt’s flat. No one saw me
enter the house. It was a relief to know that Julius Cole wouldn’t
appear on the landing to waggle his head at me.
I listened outside Madge’s door, heard nothing, tapped gently.
“It’s Steve,” I said.
There was a pause, then the door opened. Netta, in a red and
white silk dress, let me in.
I entered the room, closed the door.
“Hello,” I said.
“You’re early, Steve,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “Is it
all right?” Her eyes were deep set in dark sockets. She seemed
anxious, nervy.
I nodded. “I think so, I said. “I’ve talked to Bix. He wants to see
you.”
“Wants to see me?” she repeated, frowning. “But, why?”
“You don’t know Bix. He’s a crazy guy,” I returned. “He says he
won’t risk his job to fly some dumb-belle to the States. I told him you
were the ace of pin-ups, but he thinks the women I go around with
wear over-shoes and red flannel. The only way to convince him is for
you to meet him. If you kid him along he’ll take us. It’s just his way of
making things difficult. I’ve fixed for us to have a drink with him right
away.”
“But there isn’t time,” she said, worried. “And it’s dangerous; the
police may see us. I don’t like this, Steve. Why didn’t you bring him
here?”
“I couldn’t,” I said. “He had to do things. There’s nothing to worry
about. We’re meeting him at a pub off Knightsbridge. I have a car
outside. We’l talk over things with him; then he’ll go on back to the
airport, we’ll come back here, pick up your luggage and fellow on. The
plane doesn’t leave until ten- thirty. There’s plenty of time.”
I could see she didn’t like the idea, but there was nothing she
could do about it.
“All right, Steve,” she said. “You know best. I’ll put on a hat and
I’m ready.”
I waited for her, wandered around the room, thought of Madge
Kennitt, felt spooked.
Netta came out of the bedroom after a moment or so. Her hat
looked like a saucepan lid, but it suited her.
“He’ll fal for you all right,” I said, regarding her. “You look swell.” I
slipped my arm through hers. “Come on. On your toes. We don’t want
Mrs. C. to jump us on our way out.”
We sneaked down the stairs and into the Buick I had rented for
the evening.
As we drove along the Cromwell Road, Netta said, “What’s been
happening, Steve? Did you give Ju the money?”
I was expecting that one, and had my lie ready.
“Yeah,” I said. “he got it, the rat, and I only hope he won’t double-
cross us before we get out of the country.” I gave her a quick look,
saw she had turned pale, was tight-lipped.
“When did you give it to him?” she asked, a catch in her voice.
“Three-thirty this afternoon,” I told her. “Five hundred pounds.
It’s a lot of money, Netta.”
She didn’t say anything, sat staring straight ahead, a hard look on
her face.
As we pulled up outside a small pub in a back street off
Knightsbridge, she said, “And Jack Bradley? Have you heard anything
from him?”
“No,” I said. “There was nothing I could do about him. Corridan
was out of town. I couldn’t get the rings without asking him first.
Bradley’s ultimatum expired at four o’clock. For al I know the cops
are looking for me right now. If they are, they’re too late. I pulled out
of the Savoy this afternoon. All my stuff is in the back of the car. I’m
ready to go.”
We got out of the Buick.
Netta looked up and down the street. “You’re sure it’s safe,
Steve?” she asked, hanging back. “It seems madness to me to come
here where we can he seen.”
“Take it easy,” I said. “It’s safe enough. This pub’s as dead as a
dodo. They’d never think of looking for us here.” I hurried her across