Complete works of peter.., p.141
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 141
"I didn't," I tell her. "Carlette Francini, who has decided to swing a fast one across her pals, wised me up. And now, if you do not mind, you an' me are goin' to do a little fast work."
I take out my cigarette pack an' give her one. I help myself and light both cigarettes. She says:
"I would like to arrange my hair and I want to wash and get tidy. It's not been nice being in this place."
I nod my head.
"The washin' will have to wait," I tell her. "You an' me have got to have a little talk an' we've got to have it now. Before I go back an' talk to Carlette. I'm sorry but that's how it's got to be."
She tosses her head.
"I don't know that I agree," she says. She looks like the Queen of Sheba in a temper.
"Look, lady," I tell her. "What you agree with an' what you don't agree with does not matter to me at this minute. What does matter is this. Ever since this job started you have been musclin' in an' mixin' things up. You are now goin' to finish doin' things like that. What you are goin' to do is to tell me what I wanta know, after which I am goin' to get you away to London where the police can look after you till we got this mob pulled in."
Her eyes flash. I reckon that Geralda is not used to bein' talked to like that.
She says:
"Do I have to answer your questions? I must say that for a Federal officer you do not seem to have handled this case too intelligently from the start. First of all... "
I put up my hand.
"Just save it, sweetheart," I tell her, "otherwise I am goin' to smack you harder than I did when we met before. I have not got any time to waste because things are poppin'."
"I have no time to waste either," she cracks back at me. I can see her eyes are blazin'. I'm tellin' you mugs that she looks marvellous. "And there's something else you might care to know, Mr. Caution. If you hadn't been so unintelligent on the Florida the mix-up would not have happened. If you hadn't fallen so easily for that Carlette Francini woman I should have known who you were in the first place."
"O.K.," I tell her. "So they told you about that... did they?"
She smile sorta sarcastic.
"Kritsch the man who, at first, pretended to be you told me," she says. She smiles some more. "The story lost nothing by the telling," she says. "Apparently you fell very easily for the charms of Carlette Francini. They seem to have made a fool of you, Mr. Caution."
"Not such a fool as that boy friend of yours made outa you," I tell her. I am feelin' as bad-tempered as an old goat. "Right from the start," I go on, "you have done everything the wrong way. Ever since this job started you played right into the hands of this goddam bunch of thugs just because you gotta stick your nose inta something that don't concern you. Besides which," I say with a grin as sarcastic as hers, "you have the goddam nerve to complain about me fallin' for Carlette. Well, what about you? You wasn't good enough to keep your boy friend Whitaker, who you was supposed to be goin' to marry, from bein' pinched from right under your nose by Carlette. But maybe you haven't got as much allure as that dame?"
"I do not wish to discuss allure with you," she says.
"O.K.," I tell her. "Well, we will not discuss it. Because although you are one of the swellest lookin' dames I have ever met there are moments when I could smack the pants off you an' like doin' it."
She says in an icy voice: "I am not interested in individuals who go about smacking the pants off people."
I grin at her.
"No?" I tell her. "But you would be if it happened to you. All right... well, now just relax an' try an' forget that Whitaker took a run-out powder on you which has made you feel sore about thing an' that you made a mug outa yourself by lettin' Kritsch kid you he was me. Another thing," I go on, "I think you are also forgettin' that if I hadn't turned up at that dump in Hampstead an' stuck you in that garage even if I did smack your tail while I was doin' it you would be in such little pieces by now that nobody would know how pretty you are."
"I'm most obliged to you," she says with her nose up in the air. "But while I must thank you for having saved my life on that occasion I would like to point out that if you hadn't allowed your identity papers to be stolen I should never have believed that Kritsch was you and I should never have gone to that house."
"All right, delicious," I tell her. "Well, now if you will stop behavin' like the first woman dictator for a few minutes maybe we can get down to brass tacks. I wanta know some things.... "
"What things?" she says. She goes over an' leans against the wall of the garage. She has got her hands behind her an' she looks so goddam beautiful an' provocative that I could eat her all in one piece.
"First of all," I tell her, "I wanta check on what Carlette Francini has told me. When Whitaker took a run-out powder on you, where did you scram? When I was up in Kansas City lookin' for him I was also lookin' for you. After that guy had gone why didn't you stick around an' help the authorities to find the guy?"
"Because I knew that he would come over here," she says. "And I intended to come here after him. He needs me. Elmer Whitaker is a genius. He must not be judged by the standards which might apply to other men. He is foolish about women and is inclined to be weak about them, but at heart he is perfectly sound."
"Hear me laugh," I tell her. "The idea of a guy takin' a run-out powder with Carlette Francini an' bein' perfectly sound at heart gives me the willies. He was so goddam sound at heart that he was scared stiff after he got a threatenin' letter from the Panzetti bunch. And, although he is a swell inventor of airplanes, outside that he is just a pint size punk with as much brains as you could stick in your eye without noticin' the fact."
She falls for this one. She says:
"Why do you say he has no brains outside his inventions?"
"Honey," I tell her, "any guy who left a dame who looks like you look for a dame like Carlette Francini must be nutty."
She throws her cigarette stub down an' puts her little foot on it. She don't say anything.
"All right," I tell her. "Let's go on from there. Tell me... what did you think you were goin' to do after you came over here? An' why did you come? Did you know that Panzetti had got his hooks inta Whitaker. Did you think that you could protect Whitaker? If you thought that Panzetti was after him why didn't you go to the Federal Authorities?"
"I came over here because Elmer wrote to me before he left America," she says. "He wrote to me the day before he sailed. I received the letter after he had gone. He told me that he was afraid of some people who were trying to get his invention. He said that he thought he would be safe over in England and that he would be able to complete the blue-prints in peace."
"Why hadn't he completed them before?" I ask her. "I can answer that one. Because he was too busy runnin' around with Carlette. That's the sort of mug little Elmer is."
She shrugs her shoulders.
"Why should I try to prove anything to you," she says. "You are so stupid. I can tell you why Elmer did not complete the blue-prints. He explained the reason in his letter. Whilst the blue-prints were incomplete the main secret of the dive-bomber was safe. Elmer had no intention of completing the plans while there was the slightest chance of their falling into the hands of the people who wanted them."
"Maybe," I tell her. "But what about Kritsch and his bunch? Panzetti's over here an' he's got little Elmer an' the plans an' everything he wants. He had you too, until just now. An' then you say that Whitaker ain't a mug."
"Panzetti can do nothing with the plans until they are complete," she says. "And Elmer will never complete them he'll die first."
"Hooey," I tell her. "A guy who was as weak-kneed as Elmer was over this job, a guy who was afraid of a coupla threatening letters an' who had not got enough sense to stay put, tell the mob to go to hell, finish off the blue-prints an' turn 'em over to the U.S. Government like he said he was goin' to do, is not good enough to stand up to Panzetti if that boy gets tough."
Her lip curls up. She looks marvellous. She says:
"Why should I argue with you? Apparently you know everything. I can't even understand why you should want to ask questions."
"I've got some reasons, honeypot," I tell her. "An' you are one of 'em. I do not wish to have to spend my time rushin' around after you because you are always gettin' yourself snatched by some bunch of yeggs so that they can hold you as an extra inducement to get a quarter of a million dollars. That is one of my reasons. Another thing," I go on, "when you spoke to me on the telephone this evening, just after Panzetti had spoken to me, were you in the same room? Did you hear anything else that was said?"
She shakes her head.
"I wasn't in the room when Panzetti spoke to you," she says. "I was brought in afterwards by a man they called 'Frisco.' Kritsch handed the telephone to me and told me to say what I did."
"I see... " I say. "So you was just brought in an' told to tell me that unless I carried out the instructions I'd received you were goin' to be bumped nice an' slow an' then sent to me in a packin'-case. You didn't know who was with me when you were talkin' to me?"
"No," she says. She looks at me with her eyes wide open.
I give a big laugh.
"This is funny," I tell her. "They put a dame in to get me down to some house Casino Lodge at a place called Burghclere. When I get there I find a guy who says he is Whitaker, who says that the only way to settle this business is for me to get the 250,000 dollars an' hand it over to him. That he will then get the blue-prints back an' be set free an' you will be allowed to go too. You are put on the telephone probably from this dump to tell me that is right an' that if I don't agree they are goin' to bump you an' sell to the Germans. So you see these guys are clever. The boyo who was supposed to be Whitaker was a fake. He was just another of the mob. They got the real Whitaker salted away somewhere. Maybe they're cuttin' his nose off or somethin' right now.... "
She says: "This man... the man who said he was Whitaker... what was he like?"
"He was an ordinary lookin' cuss," I tell her. "About one hundred an' sixty pounds, about five feet nine or ten, with black hair an' a thin face with big mournful eyes. He looked the usual sorta punk to me.... "
She says: "My God... are you a fool or are you!" She looks at me like I was nuts.
"Listen, Geralda," I tell her, "you cannot... "
Right then I hear a peculiar sorta bump. It comes from somewhere outside. I pull the Luger out an' give it to her.
"Look, baby," I tell her, "I gotta go. There is something screwy goin' on around here. Stick around an' if anybody starts anything let 'em have it. But don't go outa this place. Here's the key. Lock the door from the inside."
I scram across the garage through the thicket, across the lawn an' back into the house. When I get into the kitchen I stand there listenin' but I cannot hear a thing.
I gumshoe down the passage to the room where I left Carlette. I push open the door an' I go in.
I cannot see Carlette. All I can see is that the table with the drinks on it has been turned over. I walk over there an' take a look. Then I see her.
She has got it right through the pump. The whole front of her frock is stained dark with blood. I reckon somebody has put half a dozen bullets inta her. Her eyes are wide open, starin' at the ceilin'. One of her hands is clenched but the other one is open an' in the palm of it somebody has put a penny the old mob sign for a squealer's pay-off.
I put the drinks table back on its legs an' bend down over Carlette. Round the edges of the bloodstains I can see that the front of her dress has been burned a bit. I reckon whoever it was gave it to her was shootin' at pretty close range. That means that she let 'em get up close; that she recognised 'em. Maybe the guy had the gun behind his back an' she didn't know he was goin' to crease her.
I reckon this is a bit tough for Carlette. Here is one time she has got herself bumped for squealin' an' she ain't even had time to squeal!
I pick up one of the bottles of bourbon that has got the cork in it an' a glass. I pour myself a stiff one an' take it in front of the fire an' drink it. It looks maybe as if somethin' is goin' to happen around here. Back of my head I have got an idea as to how I am goin' to play this.
I go back to the table an' get another shot of bourbon. I am just turnin' around to walk back to the fire when somebody says:
"I hope you like your drink, pal."
I take a look at the guy. He is a tall, thin guy. He has got a thin face with high cheek-bones an' long eyes with flashy eyelids. His overcoat is well-cut an' he is wearin' a black fedora at a slant over his left eye. He looks a very smart guy an' a trifle tough.
Hangin' down by his right side, held sorta loosely in his fingers, is a three millimetre Mauser automatic. He don't look as if he is worryin' about anything very much.
He say nice an' easy: "You wouldn't try an' start anything, would you, Caution? If you do I'll give it to you."
He goes over to the drinks wagon an' pours himself out one. He keeps lookin' at me along his eyes.
"I bet you would, fella," I tell him. "Just like somebody gave it to her." I grin at him. "Just another of these brave guys who bump frails like that one. If it wasn't payin' you a compliment I'd tell you what a lousy yellow bastard you are."
"Don't let me stop you," he says. "The name's Kritsch Willie Kritsch maybe you heard it some time. Maybe you heard it from that." He points at Carlette with the barrel of the gun.
"I heard plenty," I tell him. "But nothin' I've heard is goin' to give me so much joy as the pig's squeal you'll put up when they're draggin' you along to the hot seat. An' I hope they turn the current on slow so's you get the pants burnt off you first an' die nice an' easy, you cheap lug."
"Yeah... " he says. "You don't say."
He comes over to me an' hits me across the face with the gun. Then he throws the bourbon inta my face. I'm tellin' you it don't feel so good either.
He goes back to the drink wagon an' pours another drink. I can feel the blood runnin' down my face but I don't do anything about it. I am not inclined to give this punk any satisfaction.
He sinks the drink an' then goes over to the chair that is in front of Carlette. He flops down into it. All the time he keeps watchin' me. After a bit he says:
"This is not quite so good. A lousy set-up an' somebody is gonna pay for it." He throws me a grin. "I reckon that somebody is gonna be you," he says.
He gets up an' goes back to the wagon for another drink. He gives himself a long slug of bourbon outa the bottle an' then meanders over to the door. This guy is one of them quiet guys who do not get very excited over anythin'.
When he gets to the door he puts his head around the corner an' calls out "Frisco." Then he goes back to the chair.
There are some steps along the passage an' then another guy comes in. This guy is short an' square. His eyes are slit like he had a Chinese pa an' his nose is sorta turned up so's you can see the insides of his nostrils if you feel inclined to look that way. His arms are long an' bent like a gorilla's.
He says:
"Hello there, boss." He takes a look at me an' grins. When he opens his mouth you can see a lotta black teeth like rocks standin' in dirty water. This bozo makes me feel sick to look at.
Kritsch looks at the guy. He has gotta sorta sarcastic look on his pan as if this guy Frisco was somethin' washed up by the tide. Lookin' at Kritsch I get the idea that he is a tough an' clever an' cruel guy.
He sits there with one leg, in nicely pressed pants, crooked over the arm of the chair, an' the gun hangin' down in one hand an' the bourbon bottle in the other. He points with the bottle behind him to what is left of Carlette.
He says: "How come?"
The other guy looks uncomfortable. He looks as if he's goin' to cry. He shuffles his feet about for a bit an' then he says:
"I didn't stick around all the time like you said. I wanted to take a walk. It's goddam close around here. So I went out. I reckoned everything was O.K. She was here sittin' by the fire, smokin'. I stuck around the Maidenhead dump for a bit. When I started to come back she passed me in the car. This guy was inside it talkin' to her from the back seat. I reckoned this was Caution all right an' that dirty little so-an'-so was gonna sell us out. When I got back here she was in here. I asked her what the hell an' where he was. She said he was in the lavatory an' that if I'd got any sense I'd get outa this while the goin' was good. She tried to get over to her handbag where her gun wa while she was talkin', but I was too smart for her. I let her have it."
Kritsch says: "So you let her have it, you goddam lug. You haveta start somethin' that maybe nobody can finish off properly. There ain't been a killin' in this goddam job yet that could be traced to this mob an' you have to pull one, you bughouse bastard. Why the hell don't you do what I tell you an' leave the thinkin' to me?"
The other guy looks at the floor. He says:
"I'm sorry, Willie.... I sorta thought she ought to have it... so I creased her... the lousy squealer."
Kritsch shrugs his shoulders.
He says:
"Frisco... meet Mister Caution, the big 'G' man. He gotta bit fresh so I smashed his pan a bit with the rod. Maybe I put his jaw on the slant. Go an' put it right, pal, will you?"
"Sure," says Frisco. He comes over an' stands in front of me. He says: "Boss... it would give me a big thrill to kick this smart guy in the guts. How about it? Maybe he wouldn't even squirm."
"No," says Willie. "You might croak him an' I wouldn't have that... not yet awhile. Mister Caution an' me have gotta do a little talkin' before he leaves us. So just attend to that jaw, Frisco, an' leave it at that."
Frisco steps back an' swings one. He is not worryin' very much about me because Kritsch, lollin' back in the chair, is holdin' the Mauser on me, smilin' nice an' pleasant
I am gettin' to be very angry with these two guys. An' I time Frisco's swing very nicely. As his arm starts comin' back I do a quick side-step that brings him between Kritsch an' me. I drop my head just as his fist misses, an' bring my knee up with a sweet jerk right into his guts nice an' low down. He gives a funny sort of yelp, then he drops an' starts rollin' about on the carpet. He makes animal noises for a minute an' then passes out.
