Suspects—Nine (21 page)

“Got it in one,” said Bobby. “Oh, I wanted to ask Miss Maddox something. About Martin.”

“Oh, that's it, is it?” said Olive. “Well, come in behind. I don't want all my customers running away.”

“Shall you ask him to sit down?” inquired Vicky, with another glance at the crease, the lovely crease, those trousers showed. “Would it be—safe?”

Indeed and in truth, it was with care and with precaution that Bobby accepted an invitation to be seated.

“But I've been asked about him,” protested Ernie, who had gone very quiet now. “He spoke to me just as I was getting into the car. He wanted me to employ him. He said he could help. He said he could find out things.”

“What things?” Bobby asked, as he adjusted himself and his chair to the crease of his trousers.

“He wouldn't say. He wanted me to give him money first.”

“Did you?”

“No, I said I must think about it and I was in a hurry. He asked me to let him come with me part of the way so we could talk it over.”

“Did you do that?”

“Yes, I didn't want to, but he got in the car and I should have had to make a fuss, telling him to get out. He kept hinting.”

“What kind of hints?”

“Oh, I don't know. About what he knew. About the police were suspicious and how he knew things and could find out things no one else knew about. I stopped the car at last when there was a policeman near and told him to get down. He asked me to drive him as far as Barnet. I did, to get rid of him. It was out of my way, but I did. I gave him half a crown and told him I would let him know.”

“Did he give you an address?”

“Yes. At a club. I forget exactly what he called it. It was a funny name. I didn't take much notice, because I didn't want to have anything to do with him.”

“Was it the Cut and Come Again club?”

“Something like that. He must have been watching me all day. He was waiting for me when I got back home and he knew where I had been. Both places. He followed me into the entrance, he wanted to come up to my flat. I told him if he didn't go away I would call the porter. He pretended to be very polite then, he bowed and smiled and acted as if he had been a friend who had brought me home. He frightens me. I don't trust him.”

“Don't,” said Bobby grimly. “If you see him again, would you mind making an appointment and telling me so I could keep it for you?”

“I don't want to have anything more to do with him,” Ernie said determinedly.

“He wants to have something to do with you,” Bobby retorted. “And he's not easily got rid of.”

“Well, I will,” Ernie declared, with undiminished determination and little knowledge of such men as Martin.

“Have you told Lady Alice?” Bobby asked.

Ernie nodded, with, Bobby thought, an increased uneasiness, an increased caution in her manner.

“What did she say?” Bobby asked.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Ernie answered reluctantly.

To Bobby that seemed strange, and he thought that to Ernie, too, it had seemed strange.

“Was it before or after seeing Lady Alice that you went to Mr. Patterson's?”

“After,” said Ernie and then looked startled. “How did you know? Oh, were you watching, too?”

“Oh, dear no,” Bobby assured her, “but it wasn't very hard to guess, was it?”

“I suppose not,” agreed Ernie, but a little uncomfortably still.

“Did you tell Mr. Patterson about Martin?”

“Yes. He said he would give Martin a good thrashing,” answered Ernie, a dimple appearing suddenly in her cheek. “Of course, I made him promise not to.”

“Promise conditional on future circumstances, as they say of international treaties these days,” observed Bobby. “All the same a good thrashing's no good with Mr. Martin. He's had one or two already. Quite ineffective, I should like to see Mr. Patterson, though. He's coming on here, isn't he?”

Ernie gave another jump.

“Oh, how do you know?” she gasped.

Bobby looked—or tried to look—mysterious. The shop bell rang. Vicky assumed that majestical air she reserved for customers, but returned immediately to the normal.

“It's Mr. Patterson,” she said.

“I suppose you saw him coming,” said Ernie with a relieved look at Bobby, who grieved to think this unjust explanation had quite spoiled the effect of his look of mystery.

“Hullo,” said Judy as he appeared, and then paused and was dumb, seeing Bobby all arrayed in such sartorial magnificence as all the lilies in the field put together could never match or equal.

“It's all right,” Bobby explained, “I'm disguised. Nothing to go all goggle-eyed about. Never heard of a detective disguising himself?”

“That's not a disguise, that's just fancy dress, like Red Indians and ancient Viking warriors,” declared Judy.

“Bond Street and Piccadilly,” said Olive.

Judy shook his head.

“Bond Street and Piccadilly see no such sights to-day,” he averred. “Fifty years ago, perhaps. They'll take him for an advertisement of somebody's pills. Out of a strip perhaps. After washing with Lifebelt soap or something.” He shook his head at Bobby. “Won't do,” he said. “No one will believe you. You don't know the ropes. Got to show a bit more intelligence than that in your get-up.”

“I do my best,” said Bobby meekly.

Judy at this gave Bobby a gentle, patronizing smile, the kind of smile those are well used to who do not bawl aloud their own merits in a world in which, as international affairs have proved, the methods of the bully and the blackmailer are those which win success.

“Police johnnies are a bit comic,” he said. “There have been some of 'em—tell 'em by their boots—raking through the dump where my dust-bin's emptied down by the cottage. Hope they liked the job.”

Bobby, knowing only too well how groundless was this hope, said nothing. Ernie looked a little uneasy. She said, “What were they looking for?”

“Incriminating evidence, I suppose,” Judy answered, grinning at Bobby. “Got it into their heads I did in that poor devil of a Munday. Hoped to find something to prove it, Lord know what.”

Bobby looked as expressionless as he could. The three girls looked uncomfortably at each other. Judy was still grinning, but with defiance, as he watched Bobby. He was, evidently, in a highly excited mood. There was a sparkle in his eyes and Bobby told himself that Judy was one of those who find a certain exhilaration in danger. He thought Ernie had the same impression. She said softly,

“Judy. Please.”

“Bad reputation,” Judy said, still looking at Bobby. “Got to run in somebody, our police, and easiest to fake up something against a bloke with a bad name. That's the idea, isn't it, Mr. Policeman?”

“If you have a bad name, it may be partly owing to bad manners,” observed Bobby quietly, and Judy had the grace to look a trifle ashamed.

“Oh, well,” he said, “if a chap's trying to hang a chap, well, a chap is apt to feel a bit peeved.”

“A man has been killed,” Bobby said.

“Yes, I know,” Judy agreed. “It wasn't me. You think it was because—”

He paused suddenly. He was looking at Ernie now. Bobby had the queerest feeling that Judy had forgotten any one was present save himself and Ernie, that it was to her he was speaking as though they two were utterly alone.

“I'm not blaming any one for thinking I'm a murderer,” he began, slowly, his gaze intent on her, intent and fierce in its absorption. “Bully, gambler, all the rest of it. That's me. Why not murder, too? I started wrong. Married a barmaid at Oxford, got sent down, cast out by family, found the kid wasn't mine, after all. God, how that woman hated me. When ever I did get a job, there she turned up, probably drunk, wanting money. I hit her on the nose once. Forty shillings or a month and you ought to have heard what the magistrate said, especially when he saw my old school tie I put on for the occasion. She's dead now. Couldn't stand the drink. The kid's dead, too. Lucky for the poor little devil. Now I live by gambling. Horses. Cards. Cards, chiefly. Straight play. Needn't believe that, of course, but it is. And before we start I tell 'em I'm about as good a player as they'll find anywhere and I've got card sense, too, so they'll be up against it. Sometimes that puts 'em off, sometimes it brings 'em on. Their affair but they've been warned. Sometimes I lose. Generally I win. Card winnings last year near three thou. Horses about even. I'll drop horses, I think. Cards are my strong suit. Poker, not bridge. No partner at poker to let you down. Oh, and I've never yet pressed a man for payment, if I thought he was really hard up. There's a tidy bit out owing me I never dun for. Only I don't play again with debtors. And if they lose and get sore, I get sore, too. One man threw the cards in my face and I picked him up and dropped him in the pond opposite. That was at the cottage. Sometimes there is crooked play. I don't start it but if I see it going on, I take my own steps. I've had operators from the American liners at my place. They thought I was a rich mug. I acted the pigeon and they came to pluck me. They got plucked instead. One of them drew a gun and I took it from him and he went into the street, head first. He told his tale to the policeman who picked him up and how he had been sharped but he couldn't prosecute because he had to go back to the States that week. Very sympathetic policeman. Had heard of my poker parties before, he had. Well, the johnny had been sharped all right. I saw him park a couple of aces so I parked a royal flush and when he showed four aces, I showed my flush. That was when he showed his gun, so I stood him on his head to collect winnings in cash before I threw him out. Other gains and losses cancelled that night but I was up seven hundred on what that bird dropped over his four aces and my royal flush. Plenty of people didn't believe my version. The club asked me to resign and I told them nothing doing except an action for damages if they wanted one. They didn't. It's not been the only time. If wide boys choose to roll up, I take 'em on at their own game. Straight play or crooked on tap, as preferred. A bird tried the blackmail game on me a little time ago. He didn't stop to discuss it. He ran. I nearly got my hands on him but he was too quick. I think I would have killed him if I had caught him. He thought so, too.” 

Judy was on his feet now. Words had tumbled out, one on top of another, a torrent without pause. Ernie was sitting very still, very pale, her eyes very bright and intent. It seemed as though she, too, had forgotten they were not alone. Strange, Bobby thought, even at that moment, that these two should, as it were, speak naked soul to naked soul before others whose very presence they had forgotten. For though Ernie had said no word, every thing that she felt and thought was eloquent in her attitude. And now it seemed as though he flung back at her everything she had not spoken but had expressed.

“That's no good,” he said. “It's too late now. I am what I am, bully and gambler and all the rest of it. You don't change that, you little fool.”

He paused, staring at her challengingly. Still, she did not speak and still he understood, they, all understood.

“Well, you don't, that's flat,” Judy said. “I've had another rough house down at the cottage, too. Not about cards. Something else.”

“Yes, I know,” Ernie said then.

“You think you do, you don't,” he retorted roughly. “Not you.” He took out his handkerchief, he wiped his mouth, and his wrists where they had grown damp. “You understand nothing at all,” he said finally.

There grew the faintest smile about the lips of the listening girl, the softest light in her eyes. Judy turned as if to go, to run, indeed. Bobby stopped him.

“You say you took a pistol from an American card sharper,” Bobby said. “Have you got it still?”

The question seemed to recall to Judy that there were others present.

“What's that?” he asked. “I've been talking, haven't I? The pistol? Oh, well, you can find that out for yourself. No man obliged to answer incriminating questions, is he? Known to the police, I am. An inspector came to see me once, at least that's what he said he was. To ask questions, he said. I gave him two minutes to clear out before I threw him out. He said it wasn't a wise attitude to take but he went all the same. Now, pin a murder on me if you can, Mr. Sergeant Owen, or whatever your name is. I've told you what I am. Bully. Professional gambler. That's me. Make the worst of it.”

Still they were all very quiet and silent. The only sound in that little room behind the shop where now two women were trying on the latest thing in hats, was Judy's heavy, panting breathing. Ernie got to her feet.

“Don't you think you are being rather silly?” she asked mildly.

She came up to him and took his hand and led him out through the shop, past the two absorbed customers round whom little Jenny was hovering, eagerly assiduous, and so into the street. Olive said, drawing a deep breath,

“Well, that's the funniest offer of marriage I ever heard of.”

“Isn't he just going to catch it now?” said Vicky with deep satisfaction. “He's in for such a talking to as he won't forget in a hurry.”

Jenny came into the room.

“Oh, please,” she said, “they want a hat just like Norma Shearer wears in the new film, and we've got it, only they won't believe me when I tell them it's just the same.”

“I will come,” said Vicky, majestic. “In one moment.”

Jenny said.

“Oh, wasn't Mr. Patterson rude? He jumped into a taxi and left Miss Maddox standing there.”

“Ran for it,” said Vicky disappointedly. “Mean. Just like a man. He'll catch it worse afterwards, though,” she added, consoling herself.

Jenny returned to her customers and Bobby looked at Olive who had now a somewhat worried air.