Complete works of peter.., p.109
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 109
Rodney starts to feel queer. Maybe the stuff don't work too quick for him to do a spot of thinkin'. Maybe he thinks that he has only been doped. Anyhow he feels lousy an' wants to get away. But he also wants me to know that he is around, so he pushes his stick-pin inta the arm of the chair hopin' I will see it, an' then staggers along to the washroom.
Nobody is goin' to worry about this, because there are plenty guys who get high in Siedler's an' go rollin' around the place, but providin' they behave themselves nobody is goin' to take any notice.
O.K. Well, a little reasonin' shows me this: Geraldine Perriner has told me that she was with Nakorova when my radio arrived. She says that Nakorova saw it. So he knew that she was comin' to meet me. Well, why does she have to kill Rodney supposin' that she is the one who killed him?
The obvious reason for her wantin' to bump him seems to be that he has got next to Nakorova, that she knows that he has got the works on the Cossack an' that when he sees me he is goin' to wise me up. She makes up her mind that she is goin' through with this marriage an' she knows that if Rodney says his piece old man Perriner will cut off the dough like he says, so she thinks that she will bump Rodney before he has a chance to talk to me.
How does that sound to you? To me it sounds lousy. First of all this Geraldine is takin' a helluva chance when she sticks whatever it was that killed Rodney into his drink. Supposin' that he'd passed out then an' there? Another thing how did she know who Rodney was? How did she know that he was an F.B.I. man? Rodney would never have spoken to that dame before I got along. He would have hung about an' stalled around until he saw me blow in.
So she had to speak to him first. She had to tell him some sorta phoney story that would get him sittin' in that chair, opposite her, in the alcove with the curtains drawn so that she could give him the works. Maybe she knew that the stuff she was goin' to give him would make him feel lousy enough before it killed him to wanta get out into the air some place.
But when I start tryin' to kid myself that I am gettin' somewhere near what happened I look at myself in the mirror an' say this is all bull because hasn't the dame just told me that Nakorova is a good guy; that she don't mind any investigation into what she calls his "background." She knows good and well that if Rodney is dead I am goin' to be even more interested in Nakorova's background than if my old side-kicker was still with us. So she wouldn't have done herself any good that way.
No. Rodney was bumped because he had to be bumped quick. He had to be put out of the way, whatever the risk, before I got round, an' the reason for that would be that Rodney was wise to somethin' that would have made things plenty hot for Geraldine an' Nakorova if he had got the chance to spill it to me. Whatever the risk was Rodney had to be got outa the way.
There is a slim chance that somebody else bumped Rodney before Geraldine got to Siedler's; but it is so slim that it don't matter. The guy on the door says that he sorta remembers Rodney comin' in, an' not so long ago. Just long enough for Geraldine to spot him, get into conversation with him, get him inta that alcove an' give him the works.
Me I am gettin' a very funny sort of idea into my head an idea that if it was right would sorta match things up.
Maybe old man Perriner wasn't so wrong after all! Just for a minute look at it this way: Supposin' Nakorova contacts Geraldine originally because he reckons that he can make a play for her, knock her off her feet an' marry her. He knows that she is a spoiled kid, that her father eats outa her hand, an' he thinks that the old man will say yes to everything.
But he finds that he was wrong. He finds that Pa Perriner ain't havin' any. But he don't mind because he has a second string to his bow. He reckons that if somebody snatches Buddy Perriner he will have the old man where he wants him anyway. If Pa Perriner consents to the marriage everything will be O.K. If he don't he will presently get a little ransom note asking for a coupla million dollars. But this note will not come from Nakorova. Some other guy will be put in to do that so that he can still be the big-hearted Cossack hero.
An' wouldn't it be a funny thing if the guys who was put in to do the snatchin' an' send the note was Juanella an' Larvey Rillwater.
It would be right up their alley an' if this guess is right then that would account for Juanella bein' on the Fels Ronstrom an' comin' over here, an' that would also account for her gettin' that radio askin' about me an' signed "the Boy Friend."
Geraldine said that she showed that radio to Nakorova. I reckon that the radio that Juanella got was from him.
O.K. Well, supposin' for the sake of argument that somethin' had happened to Buddy. Maybe Geraldine didn't know about the original kidnap plan. Maybe she didn't know that Buddy had been snatched as an alternative scheme. Then, at the crucial moment Nakorova discovers that Wilks is hangin' around an' knows the whole works.
Well... what a set-up for Geraldine! Nakorova is in a jam. He knows durn well that the Federal punishment for kidnappin' an' takin' over a state line is a life sentence at Alcatraz. An' the only person who can give Nakorova away except Buddy who is safely on ice somewhere an' can't talk is Rodney Wilks.
I reckon that if Geraldine was keen enough on Nakorova she coulda killed Wilks to save the Russian from a life sentence. I know enough about dames to know that when they get well an' truly stuck on a guy they will do any durn thing to keep him around.
I go back to the alcove. She is still sittin' there with the same quiet an' charmin' smile on her pan.
My second drink is waitin' on the table but I give it a miss. I say to her:
"I can't get this stuff about Wilks. I just telephoned his flat an' one or two other places where he might be but he ain't there. I reckon it ain't any good waitin' around for him."
She pulls her cloak around her.
"Well," she says, "Mr. Hickory, what would you like to do now?"
I grin at her.
"It's a bit late," I tell her. "But I'm sorta keen to get this business over an' get back to New York before Hitler runs out of submarines. Would it be O.K. for us to go along an' see this fiancГ© of yours. I reckon after what you've told me about him that I would like to meet the guy who is lucky enough to give you blood-pressure even if he is a Russian Count."
She laughs.
"Why not?" she says. "Let us go around to Sergius' flat. He will be glad to know you. I will telephone him."
I tell her that will be fine. She gets up an' we walk over to the telephone booth on the other side of the vestibule. This booth is in an alcove. When I open the door for her I see that it is not a coin-box instrument.
I close the door an' streak over to the waiter. I show him a fifty-dollar bill.
"If there's an extension on that booth line," I tell him, "an' you put me on to it you get fifty dollars."
He grins.
"This way, M'sieu," he says. "I also am sometimes curious about what the ladies are saying."
He takes me across the vestibule an' into an empty office in the passage beyond. He points to a telephone on the table. I give him the fifty bucks an' he scrams.
I grab off the receiver. I listen for just five seconds an' then I get it. I don't wait to hear anythin' much at all, I just streak back to the vestibule an' wait for her to finish phonin'.
After a bit she comes out. I'm tellin' you that she looks so lovely that you'd think that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
"Sergius will be delighted to see us," she says. "He is waiting for us."
I tell her that this is swell. I order a taxi an' we wait outside for it. When it comes I put her inside an' get in myself.
It is as dark as hell. After a bit I reckon that we are goin' somewhere near the Place de l'Opera. She pulls her cloak closer about her an' moves a little bit towards me. When she does this her knee touches mine an' I can smell the perfume she is wearin'. It is one of them quiet an' subtle scents that make you wonder what you are gettin' het up about an' why.
This dame has got plenty. She has got everything it takes an' then a packet. To look at she is the doctor's favourite treatment, an' she has also got brains.
In the darkness I can sorta feel her smilin'.
She says: "Being a private detective must be a wonderful life. I expect you get a lot of thrills, Mr. Hickory?"
I grin. I tell her yes. I tell her that sometimes I get one too many.
She moves a little bit closer. I can hear her breathin' softly.
I just don't do a thing. Me I have had my moments with dames an' I hope there's some more comin', but kissin' this baby would be like makin' love to a green snake.
I think she is just poison.
CHAPTER III. FIREWORKS
IT is about half-past one when we pull up outside some swell apartment block. I pay off the cab while she opens the main door. We go up in an electric lift to the second floor an' walk along a passage an' she rings the bell on the end door.
This place is class. There are thick carpets an' the passage furnishin's are swell. I reckon that this Sergius guy has either got some dough or he is gettin' some nice credit.
She rings two or three times but nothin' happens. Then she turns an' looks at me with a little smile an' shrugs her shoulders.
"Sergius is funny," she says. "When I telephoned through he said he would be delighted if we would come round. Now it seems he is out. I expect he will be back in a little while."
She gets a key out of her handbag an' opens the door. She walks in an' switches on the hall-light. I close the door behind me an' go after her.
We go into a long, swell room with a low ceilin'. The place is furnished so that it looks like Sam Goldwyn has been doin' his best with the Arabian Nights scene. Everything is expensive an' colourful. The floor is varnished black an' the middle is covered with a thick white rug about fifteen feet square. When I walk on it it is like trudgin' through snow.
There is a big fire goin' an' the gold curtains are pulled close. On each side of the fire is a big white an' gold armchair an' in front of the fire is a white an' gold lounge settee that is so big that if Hitler hadda seen it he woulda wanted to occupy that too. All over the place are cushions an' things in colours that have been picked by somebody who knows their onions in the furnishin' line, an' there is a sorta heavy sweet perfume hangin' around the place that makes me feel like Ali Baba workin' up a little atmosphere before ringin' for two tons of sherbert an' the harem dancin' girls.
I take off my coat an' put it on a chair. She goes over to the big table that is covered with drinks an' glasses an' pours me out a four-finger whisky. She gives herself some vodka in a little glass. Then she throws off her fur coat an' comes over to me where I am standin' with my back to the fire.
She hands me the drink. She looks at me under her eyelids.
"Here's to Mr. Hickory!" she says.
I grin.
"I think that's sweet of you, lady," I say. I look at her an' take a drink. "At the same time," I go on, "I wish this Sergius guy was here. Why does he have to take a powder on us just when I wanta talk to him?"
She drops on her knees an' starts pokin' up the big fire. The way she is I can see that she has got everything in the way of shape an' that her calves are as good as her ankles. She says, lookin' round at me:
"Sergius is temperamental. That is why I adore him. Temperamental men drive me mad. They affect me. It's an odd thing but there it is."
She puts the poker down an' stands lookin' at me with a funny sorta smile playin' about her mouth. All of a sudden it hits me like a ton of bricks that this dame is a dope.
"Are you temperamental, Mr. Hickory?" she says.
I grin.
"No, lady," I tell her. "I am anythin' else but. But it looks as if you thought that Rodney Wilks was! Maybe you thought he was gettin' a bit too temperamental for you an' your boyfriend... hey?"
She takes a step back an' sits down on the settee. She is still smilin'. The smile is sorta fixed like the smile on a doll's face.
"And what the hell do you mean by that?" she says.
I take out my case an' light a cigarette. I stand there lookin' down on her. I am still grinnin'.
"First of all," I tell her, "if you are Geraldine Perriner then I'm Mussolini's girl friend. You put on a very sweet act to-night down at Siedler's place, but it didn't work. The second thing is you killed Rodney Wilks down there to-night. I found him in the washroom lyin' around with the dirty towels. He crawled in there to pass out after you slipped some stagger-juice inta his drink. But he managed to put one over on you first. He left a little message for me."
"Did he?" she says sorta sweet. "What did he say?"
"He didn't say anythin'," I tell her. "This is the message he left. He stuck his scarf-pin in the arm of the chair I was sittin' in. I gave him that pin. He reckoned that if I saw it I would get wise."
I take the pin outa my coat pocket an' show it to her.
She shrugs her shoulders. Then she gets up an' walks over to the table where the drinks are. I am watchin' her like a cat. She opens a box an' takes out a cigarette an' lights it. She turns about an' leans back against the table, smokin' an' looking at me. She is as cool as a couple of Esquimaux in the snowball season.
"You interest me," she says. "You seem to have an intelligence not always associated with private detectives."
She draws a mouthful of smoke down into her lungs and sends it out of her nostrils. They quiver when she does it. Everything about this dame, her face, her walk, the way she smokes, everything, is sorta cool and calm an' decided, but underneath I reckon she is a tiger.
She moves away from the table an' she walks towards me. She stops right in the middle of the white rug an' she stands there with the cigarette held up in front of her. She looks marvellous.
"Why do you say that I am not Geraldine Perriner?" she says.
"That was easy," I tell her. "When you went into the 'phone booth I saw it wasn't a coin-box booth. I gave a waiter fifty bucks to put me on the main line. I heard you talkin'. You were talkin' Russian. Maybe you are a Russian. Maybe that's why you speak so slow. So that you don't make any mistakes."
"Au contraire," she says. "I am not Russian. I should not like to be a Russian. I am French. I am very proud of the fact."
"O.K.," I say. "Well, I hope it's goin' to do you a lotta good. I'd like to be there when you try an' get the judge to believe that bumpin' Rodney Wilks was a crime passionel. You'll get life. Even a dame as pretty as you gets life for premeditated murder even in France. Maybe they'll cut your pretty head off."
"Perhaps," she says.
She begins to move. She walks around the end of the settee and comes up to the fireplace. She throws her cigarette into the fire. She stands there with her white hands restin' on the mantelpiece lookin' down into the flames. She is considerin' somethin'. I watch her sideways.
She stays there lookin' down for a coupla minutes. It seems like years. This dame is beginnin' to give me the jitters. She is too goddam beautiful and she is too sure of herself.
She steps back from the fire. She takes a step sideways that brings her dead in front of me. She stands there lookin' at my eyes. She is so near that I can almost hear her breathin' an' I can smell that perfume she is wearin'. I don't sorta go for that perfume. It gets you. I reckon if a guy smelt a lot of that stuff when she was wearin' it he might qualify for a nut-house before he knew which way he was pointin'.
She starts talkin'. Her voice is low an' soft an' there is an odd sort of vibrancy in the way she speaks.
She says: "There is something about you that I find extremely attractive. You have intelligence and a very quick brain. Because I am a little afraid of you and what you may do, you become even more interesting to me each moment."
I give a little grin.
"So we're talkin' business," I say. "Well... I'm still listenin'."
She turns away an' she walks back to the table slowly. She takes a fresh glass an' pours out some rye. She squirts a little soda into the glass an' brings it back to me. She hands me the glass in an odd sorta way that makes me begin to feel that she is givin' me the crown jewels or somethin'. That is the effect this dame has.
"You need not be afraid of the drink. There is nothing harmful in that glass."
She smiles. She has got herself back to where she was before, standin' right in front of me, watchin' my eyes.
"Yes, my friend," she says. "We are talking business as you so aptly put it. I will tell you what I have to offer. And you need not be afraid that we shall be interrupted. Sergius will not return here to-night. At least I do not expect him."
I swallow the liquor.
"That's a pity," I tell her. "If he was here we could have a really nice party, couldn't we?"
She says:
"I wish to be serious. I wish to tell you that I have a great deal of money here, in this place, which is at your disposal. I wish also to tell you that I am at your disposal. I include myself only because of the rather peculiar attraction that I find in you. I did not think that any man would be able to make me feel as you do."
I do not say a word. I am beginnin' to get a little hot around the collar. I am trying to work out whether this dame is schemin' for time, whether she expects the Nakorova guy to come back an' do a rescue act, whether she is playin' me for a sucker, or whether she is speakin' the truth. Because this dame is so goddam hypnotic that she would make George Washington's ghost believe that he was President Roosevelt an' like it.
I give her a sweet smile.
"Lady," I tell her, "you might as well give up. Because I am a very funny guy about seein' a job through to its logical conclusion. Dames have tried to make me before. But I am not a guy who is made durin' business hours well, not much. Maybe if you hadn't mixed that hell broth for Rodney Wilks I might get myself so bull-dozed lookin' at you an' listenin' to you talkin' that I would even fall for that swell line you are puttin' over an' go haywire. Maybe I would strip an' run up the wall, or bite the necks off bottles or do some of the other funny things that I reckon you have got guys doin' for you. But not this time, baby. Didn't they tell you the F.B.I. was tough?"
