“Not tonight,” said Turnbull. “A chap he wanted was here, and Peel is the type to stay all night.” Wray gave him a hand, and he climbed on to a window sill. “Lend me a torch, will you?”
Wray climbed through and shone a torch about the scorched walls and the untidy rubble. They scrambled over the debris toward the far corner, where two walls formed a narrow passage.
“This is as far as it goes,” Wray said, as he reached the passage. “If he’s not—”
The light of the torch shone upon the inert figure of a man. It was Peel.
At first Turnbull thought that the young DO was dead. He had been knocked over the head savagely, and did not seem to be breathing. A policeman went for an ambulance, as Turnbull and Wray examined the victim in the torchlight. He was breathing after all, and raising his eyelids, Turnbull saw that the pupils were pinpoints.
“Looks like a drug,” he growled. “Knocked out first, and then given the needle.”
“Drugs are new in this case, aren’t they?” Wray asked.
“They’ve been used once before,” Turnbull remembered. “And on Peel.”
For Peel had been ill after drinking with Tenby.
A light shone under the door of Eve’s apartment, or even Roger would have hesitated about knocking so late at night. She opened the door, and stood staring in the semi- darkness, for she had not switched on the hall light. He noticed that she clutched the door.
“Who—who is it?”
“West,” Roger said, brusquely.
There was a pause. Then: “Why, Handsome!” The giggle which followed surprised Roger as much as the “Handsome.”
“What a time of night to come and see a lady! Come— come in!” She flung the door wide open, and backed away, unsteadily, “I hate drinking alone,” she went on. “Come—come and have one. Yush—Yush a li’l one!” She put a hand on his shoulder, and pushed him toward the sitting-room. “Don’t be shy—I’m quite nishe, really!”
Her hair was neat on one side, and falling loose on the other; she had kicked off her shoes and, judging from the gin bottle and the glass on the table, had been lying on the settee, drinking herself stupid. Her cheeks were flushed, almost as red as her scarlet dressing gown, and her eyes glowed wickedly.
“What’ll you have?” she asked, and giggled again. “I’ve only got gin. Have a gin?”
“Not now, thanks.”
“Oh, don’t be a stiffneck. A little drop o’ gin’ never hurt a man yet. Look at me—I’ve had a lot of li’l drops!” She went to a cupboard, and took out another glass. “Drowning my sorrows, that’s what I’m doing,” she said. “Nice way to drown, isn’t it? Do have a drink.” She picked up the bottle, but gin spilled out on the floor. “S’no use,” she said, and waved airily. “Help yourself.”
She flopped on to the divan.
Roger poured a little gin into a glass, put the bottle down, and glanced over his shoulder. DO Allen was on the landing; he hoped the man would have the sense to come into the hall, so that he could hear what went on.
“Don’t be mean,” protested Eve. “Pour me out a li’l one, too.”
Roger obliged.
“Now let’s be friendly,” said Eve, coyly. “Come ‘n sit down. You know—” she looked at him with her eyes brimming over with mirth—” you know I don’t like being bad friends with a good-looking man. It’s not like me. Did anyone ever tell you how handsome you are, Handsome?” She giggled. “Paul told me that they call you Handsome.”
“Just his joke.” Roger did not sit down, and she seemed to forget her invitation.
“It’s the truth,” she assured him, earnestly. “Nice eyes, nice nose, nice mouth, pretty hair—I’ll bet you’ve got a fat wife! Like Ma—ugh! Do you know, I positively hate Ma. Old bitchy-witchy Ma. Hate her. Always did, and always will.”
“A lot of people don’t like her,” said Roger.
“Fat old sow,” declared Eve. “I think Paul’s going to fire her.”
“Is he?” My God.
“He as good as said he was fed up to the back teeth with her,” Eve told him. “Handsome, dear—come right here.” She put out a hand, took his, and pulled him toward her. “Secret,” she whispered gravely, close to his ear. “Promise you won’t tell.”
“Cross my heart.”
“Paul an’ me are engaged I” She kissed his ear. “Isn’t that wonderful? Wonderful! I can hardly believe it. I thought he was cooling off. Bitchy-witchy Ma scared me. Said he would get tired of me. Fat lot she knew!” She put her hands against his cheeks and squeezed his face. “Isn’t it wunnerful?”
“Wonderful.”
“I knew you would understand,” Eve said, solemnly. “I knew you weren’t the sourpuss you pretended to be. Me and Paul!” She pressed her nose against his. “I’ll have everything I want—every blooming thing! He had to leave me early tonight, he’s sush a busy man, so I had to come home alone. Couldn’t sit here and do nothing, couldn’t go out, so—I had a li’l drink, and another li’l drink won’t do you any harm!” She began to croon, swaying from side to side. “I’ve never been so happy, all my dreams come true!”
Roger freed himself. “So there’s nothing more you want?” he asked, lightly. ^
“That’s exactly right—except to get rid of bitchy-witchy Ma. And I will, before I’ve finished. You know what? She knows she won’t las’ a month after I get establish’ as the lady of die house, so she tried to buy me off. Offered me five thousand quid—I saw it. In beautiful notes, too. Why, that was the lash time you were here. You didn’t know you were standing next to a cool five thousand, did you, Handsome?”
“I certainly didn’t. Did Ma want anything else?”
“I wouldn’t like to say what she really wanted; you can never tell with a creashure like that.”
“When’s the great day to be?” Roger asked.
“Soon,” crowed Eve. “He promised me that it wouldn’t be long. He’s handling some very big bishiness deals just now, and as soon as they’re finished, we’re going to elope! He’s given me the address of a li’l country cottage where we’ll meet, and then—whoops!”
“I’ve often wanted to live in the country,” Roger remarked, casually. “Whereabouts are you going?”
“Thash another secret,” Eve declared, and laughed in his face. “I’m not as drunk as I seem, Handsome, you needn’t drink you can get anything out of me. Boyo! What a night! Do you know wha’? I’m going dizzy! The room’s going round and round and your eyesh are getting closer together; you look jush like a monkey. Ha-ha-ha! Handsome Wesh looks like a monkey—whoops!”
She fell back on the pillows, looking at him through her lashes, and seemed to be laughing at him. Her lips were pursed provocatively; she held her head a little to one side. “Handsome,” she cooed.
“Yes?”
“You haven’t even top me why you came to see me.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I’ve been worried about you ever since Tony’s murder.”
“Murder?” she echoed, in a squeaky voice; the word seemed to have sobered her in a flash. “Did you say murder?”
Roger said: “Well—”
“That’s what she said,” said Eve, deliberately, “but I don’t really believe it. Paul wouldn’t allow a wicked thing like that. Tony killed himself because I had turned him down, that’s what happened.” She straightened up. “Handsome, tell me he wasn’t murdered.”