Complete works of peter.., p.175
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 175
I shake my head. "I'm goin' to see this guy now," I tell her. "I'll be back. Don't lose all that money you made."
She smiles at me. She can put something into a smile that one. She says:
"You be back by two o'clock. If you don't, I'll disappear and you'll never find me again."
"I'll be back," I tell her. She goes off.
I get myself another whisky an' soda. I stand there drinkin' it slowly an' wonderin' what the hell everything is about. I get that way sometimes. They tell me it's nothin' to worry about. When I have finished the whisky I light a cigarette an' get my hat an' scram.
I got an idea that the next act is goin' to be goddam funny.
III. ENTRANCE FOR CARA
I.
AT the Le Duc, Travis is sittin' on the other side of the lounge. He sees me an' gets up.
As I walk towards him I notice something different about this guy. I am not quite certain what it is but it's there all right. Maybe he looks a bit more pleased with life or does he? Maybe it's just my fancy.
He offers me a cigarette. He says:
"Well, here we are." He grins. "You know, Pleyell," he says, "there's a funny side to all this business."
I look at him. "Is there?" I ask. "It depends on what you think funny is."
"Well, I think it's funny," he says. "After all the time that Cara and I have been hating each other we have to wait till there's a war on and then we have to meet in London. And then she has to identify me just so that Uncle Sam shall know that I really am me. If you think that's not funny I should like to know what is."
"O.K.," I tell him. "But maybe my sense of humour is wearin' thin right now. Let's go."
We get inta the taxi that I got waitin' outside the Le Duc an' we drive down to the Carlton. We go up the lift an' a bell-hop takes us along to Suite 16. He taps on the door an' scrams. We go in.
The room is a drawin'-room. Everything about it is nice. It makes a good settin' for the woman who is standin' in the middle of the floor lookin' at us.
Boy! I'm tellin' you that whoever it was said that this Cara had a helluva lot knew something. I stand there just inside the doorway lookin' at her with my mouth open, because although I have seen some beauties in my time I have never seen anybody who looks like her.
She is tall and slim but the curves are in the right places, and just like they oughta be. She is a real honest-to-goodness blonde with that sheen on her hair that never came out of a bottle and the sorta skin an' eyes that go with it. She is smilin' an' there is a devil-may-care goddam insolence about her that hits you for a home run every time you look at her. You got me? At the same time this baby is definitely dignified she has a sorta quality that you can't quite put your finger on, but that sticks out all the time. Definitely a frill this Cara.
She is wearin' a long, white satin house-coat that wraps itself close around her at the right times an' in the right places. Down the front of this house-coat are a coupla lace panels in turquoise blue. The coat is high up at the neck, caught with an antique turquoise-blue clasp, an' there are more clasps down the front of it. The coat has got long full sleeves caught at the wrists with turquoise-blue velvet ribbons an' lace to match fallin' over her hands. Underneath the lace I can see some very nice ice sparklin' on long slim fingers. Jeez... is this Cara a doll or is she?
When she moves I can see she is wearin' turquoise velvet mules an' no stockin's. She has got high heels an' a high instep.
I reckon that if anybody wanted to divorce a momma like this one the guy has got to be bughouse. He has to be. Whatever she has done or not done it oughtn't to matter one goddam. Any female who looks as good as this one does is good enough to keep as a museum-piece. Because you ain't gonna see many more like it in one lifetime. I'm tellin' you an' I know.
She says: "Well, well, I am glad to see you." She smiles at us a slow, wicked smile.
I told you about her voice before. I told you it was low an' smooth, an' it matches up with the rest of her. I give a little sigh. I reckon here is a dame that men would do a murder for. I'm wonderin' where the hell you produce a dame like that from.
She goes on: "Don't you think this ought to be a celebration? Believe it or not, I've got a bottle of champagne."
An' she has. On a little table is a bottle of champagne an' three glasses.
She says: "But why are you so surprised? Come in... sit down. Don't be shy, Lon! Or are you still hating me so much that you can hardly bear to look at me?"
Travis looks uncomfortable. He is almost wrigglin'. "I've never really hated you, Cara," he says. "You know that. You've just made things damned tough for me."
She opens a silver cigarette-box, offers it to me, an' to him, an' takes one herself. I light the cigarette for her. While I'm holdin' my lighter up I look inta her eyes. I can remember once some guy writin' in a book about a woman's eyes an' sayin' that they looked like limpid pools. Well, believe it or not, that's how this baby's eyes look. I'm tellin' you monkeys I could go on for hours talkin' about this babe. She does things to me.
She says: "If anybody's made things tough, Lon, you've made them tough for yourself. You're that sort of person."
He says: "Look, do we have to re-open all that? If you'd played ball everything would have been all right. The trouble with you, Cara, is you're not on the level. You can be goddam mean and ordinary if you want to."
She interrupts. She says: "Lon, you bore me. Because a woman doesn't want to do what you want her to do all the time; because she fails to regard you as being the last thing in men; because she doesn't hero-worship you, she's mean and ordinary."
Travis says: "You know what I mean. Anyway, one or even two men aren't enough for you."
She laughs. "Why should they be?" she says. "I'm very selective, that's all, and the more experience I have of men the more I want to practice. Naturally I get bored now and then and want to move on to something new and exciting. That's logical, isn't it, Mr. Pleyell?"
I say: "Mrs. Travis, anythin' that you say is logical to me. Candidly, if you was to tell me that I was standin' on one ear I think I should be inclined to believe you."
She looks at me seriously. "Now why do you say that, Mr. Pleyell?" she says. "Are you going to say something nasty?"
"I'm just going to tell you the truth," I tell her. "You can get away with anything with me, but then I'm a guy who has always been susceptible to beauty. I reckon you're so goddam lovely to look at that you could get away with a murder any time."
"Thank you, Mr. Pleyell," she says. "Any time I want to get away with murder I'll ask you to help me. Lon, will you open the champagne?"
Travis puts his hat on the sideboard. He starts openin' the champagne bottle. I can see his fingers are tremblin' as he tries to undo the wired cork.
I say: "Look, Mrs. Travis, before we have this little drink, I think we might as well get the formal part of this job over. Do you actually identify Lieutenant Travis here as being your husband that is himself?"
She nods. "That's Lon all right," she says. "Mr. Pleyell, you can take it from me that there isn't anybody else like him." She makes a little grimace. She says under her breath: "Thank God!"
I say: "That's all right, Mrs. Travis, but have you any particular reason for knowin' that this is your husband some little special mark of identification or anything like that?"
She says: "Well, there ought to be a little tiny mole just at the end of his collar-bone about three inches under the Adam's apple that is unless he's had it removed." She looks at me sideways wickedly. "I was always rather fond of that mole. Do you remember, Lon? I used to kiss it."
He goes as red as fire. I reckon he could kill this baby. I go over to him. "Hold up, Lieutenant," I tell him.
I undo the top buttons of his tunic an' shirt. I pull his shirt open an' look inside. Sure as a gun, just over the sternum, two three inches below his Adam's apple, is a mole.
"Well, that's O.K.," I say. "We have now established the fact that you're Travis an' nobody but."
He pours out the champagne. He hands her a glass an' gives me one.
He says sorta moodily: "I would like to know who was fool enough to start the rumour that I wasn't."
"That's easy," I tell him. "I can make a guess about that. I should think it was Wynn. Work it out for yourself, Lieutenant. You came over here with those divorce papers. You're mad keen to get this divorce goin'. When you get over here Wynn doesn't hear a thing from you. So he gets in touch with the Army authorities in U.S. an' they get in touch with headquarters over here, who tell 'em that Travis is here an' been here some little time. Well, it's natural that Wynn should think it was odd. Then the story of the ship bein' torpedoed comes out an' somebody gets wonderin', so they think they may as well check up an' find out that you are you."
He nods his head. "I suppose they've got to be careful," he says.
"You're tellin' me," I tell him. "I wonder how many fifth column an' Hitler Bund guys there are in the United States at the present moment. They're ropin' them in in dozens. Besides, it's better to be on the safe side."
He says: "I suppose you're right."
Cara Travis makes a little gurglin' sound. She's lookin' at us over the edge of her glass. She's laughin'. She says:
"So you're going to divorce me, Lon darling. That's going to be awfully nice for you, isn't it?"
He says: "Look, Cara, that's something that I'm not going to discuss with you."
She sits down. She crosses her legs. I can see that her calves an' ankles are as good as the rest of her.
She says: "Why not? Aren't you an extraordinary person, Lon? Why you can't sit down and discuss an ordinary normal thing like divorce I don't know. Or is it that you don't think you'd do so well in the ensuing argument?"
He says: "Look, I'm not having any argument. I'm just not talking about it. If you want to talk to anybody about it you talk to Pleyell here. He's a partner in the firm of attorneys who work for me. Maybe it'd be a good thing if he did talk with you."
I say: "Yeah, maybe it would." I grin at her. "It might help things along a bit."
She says: "Well, why not? I'd love to talk to Mr Pleyell about it. After all, I'm reasonable. I'd be the last person to stand in the way of anybody's happiness."
"Like hell you would," says Travis. "There's only one reason why you wouldn't stand in the way of anybody's happiness."
"And what is that, honeybunch?" she asks. She makes a little mouГ© at me. God, this dame is pretty!
He scowls at her. "Jack," he says. "Dough jake money! That's about all you think of."
"No, darling," she says, "you've got me wrong. Money never means anything to me whilst I've got enough of it."
Travis finishes his champagne. He puts the glass down.
He says: "Well, so far as I'm concerned this sГ©ance is over. I'll be on my way."
She looks at me. "And what about you, Mr. Pleyell?" she says. "Would you like to stay and discuss this divorce thing or will you come and see me some other time?"
"I'll get in touch with you, Mrs. Travis," I say. "I think it might be a good thing if I hadda talk with you. It's gonna save an awful lot of time."
"All right," she says. "Call me, will you?"
"I'll do that," I tell her.
Travis gets his hat off the sideboard. He says:
"Good-night, Cara." He doesn't look so pleased about something. "And be damned to you!" he says.
"Good-night to you, Lon," she says cheerfully. "And be damned to you too. And good-night to you, Mr. Pleyell. I look forward to seeing you again."
I say good-night. We go out.
I think to myself so that's that. I feel sorta contented about things. It is dark outside. Travis says:
"Would you like to come back to the Le Duc and have a drink? Perhaps you'd like to talk over what you're going to say to her when you see her."
"Don't worry about it," I tell him. "I'll fix it. Thanks for the offer, but right now I've gotta date." I light a cigarette. "Talkin' about that date," I tell him, "there's somethin' you might do for me at that."
"Such as?" he asks.
I say: "Look, this is how it is. I ran into Gayda Vaughan this evening "
He says: "What do you mean you ran into Gayda Vaughan? It was goddam funny you running into her so soon, wasn't it?"
I grin. "I didn't exactly run inta her," I tell him. "Last night when I was up at the house I sorta fixed it up with her."
"Like hell you did," he says. "You're a pretty fast worker, aren't you, Pleyell?"
"I don't know what you mean," I tell him. "Anyway, you've got me wrong. Gayda wanted to go to some place she knows an' do a little gamblin'. She asked me to go along. I went. I left her there in order to get this job done. She's lucky, that one," I tell him. "When I left she was about eight thousand pounds ahead of the market."
He whistles. "What do you know about that?" he says.
"It was nice goin'," I tell him. "I was thinkin' this way. I've gotta get back to headquarters some time, see? You've gotta remember I am workin' for Uncle Sam. I'm not a free agent I'm a Marine. I'm only an attorney on the side now. I didn't quite like the idea of that baby runnin' around with eight thousand pounds in her bag. I thought maybe she'd be thinkin' of goin' back to her hotel some time an' I thought maybe you'd like to take her back."
"Oh," he says, "that's quite an idea, isn't it? I'll come along anyway. I'd like to see this joint. What's it like?"
"It's quite nice," I tell him, "all grey an' black an' gold. She gets around that Gayda, hey?"
"You're telling me," he says.
We wait there on the pavement. Pretty soon a cab comes crawlin' along. We get in. I tell the driver to go to Mount Street. Inside the cab nobody says anythin'. There's one of those long pauses. I get an idea that somethin' is boilin' up in Travis's head. After a bit he says:
"You know, Pleyell, I don't think you're a bad guy."
I throw my cigarette stub outa the window.
"Thanks a lot," I tell him. "But why?"
"I don't know," he says, "but you're taking a lot of trouble over this Cara thing. I reckon if anybody can straighten that job out it's going to be you."
I nod my head in the darkness.
"So you wanta go through with that divorce?" I say.
"I'm not quite sure, but I think so," says Travis. He gives a little laugh. "Every time I see Cara I weaken," he says.
"I sympathise," I say. "She's certainly a looker. Even if she's bad she's still good."
"Anyhow," he says, "it's not going to do any harm for you to have a talk with her."
"That's what I thought," I say. "I'll just have a nice friendly conversation an' see what's in the back of her head; if she wants this divorce to go through. All right, let's play it anyhow. We can't do any harm in findin' out."
He says: "Yes." He don't say anythin' for a bit; then: "Some time maybe to-morrow you might call through to the Le Duc," he says. "I'd like to have a little talk with you myself. Maybe if you're not on duty you can manage it."
"Sure," I tell him. "Somethin' worryin' you?"
"Well, not exactly worrying," he says. "But there's something I'd like to talk over with you."
"I get it," I tell him. "Just one of those things where you think two heads would be better than one?"
"Something like that," he says. "And anyway, you're a lawyer. You've been trained to think, I haven't."
"I'll come along," I tell him. "I'll give you a call some time to-morrow afternoon. Maybe by that time I'll have had a talk with Cara too."
He says: "All right. Do that. I'll be grateful. I shan't forget all you're doing, Pleyell."
I think to myself like hell you won't!
II.
GOIN' up in the elevator at the Chez Clarence I lean back against the wall an' relax. But outa the corner of my eye I am watchin' Travis. Something is worryin' that guy. All the while he seems to be concentratin' on something an' now an' again he throws a quick look at me just as if he can't make up his mind.
I give a little grin inside me. I reckon if I was Travis I wouldn't be able to make up my mind either. The guy has got a certain amount of nerve but not so much that he's got any to spare. Right now I reckon he's on the top line if you get me. Right now he is wonderin' just how he can play this thing an' still come out the way he wants to. But he can't see it. He can't see how he's gonna do it, an' he's goddam right because it would take a cleverer guy than Travis to walk out of this Cara Travis set-up. I reckon that in a minute the big palooka is gonna wonder just what's hit him.
Maybe I'm bored with Travis. I wouldn't know. Me I am a guy who likes followin' his own nose an' just bitin' off enough to chew over before I take any more mouthfuls. You can do two things with any given situation or set of circumstances. You can either try to play the situation along or you can just sit in the corner an' let it play you along. I'm for the last idea. All my life ever since I started workin' for Uncle Sam anyway I've been sittin' in the corner an' lettin' things happen.
An' when something good an' goddam big comes along that is the time I come out.
Napoleon or Wellington, or whoever the baby was who said that the good soldier always lights where he wants and when he wants, definitely knew the bill of fare, an' what is good enough for Wellington is certainly good enough for Mister Caution even if I am only an enlisted man with a distorted vision due to tryin' to concentrate on the matter in hand and also to take a passin' peek at any doll with nice ankles who happens to be in the vicinity.
Just for a change I look at the janitor who is workin' the elevator. He has got a thin white face an' he has got red rims around his eyes. He looks as if he's been up all night for a week. I look at his uniform. It's a well-made, well-fittin' uniform but they left a lotta space when they was measurin' the collar. His neck, which is thin, sticks outa the collar of the uniform coat like a duck's. He looks plenty intelligent. We get outa the lift an' walk along the passage.
"You check your hat in the cloakroom," I tell Travis, "an' then come over an' meet me in the bar."
He says: "You want to tell Gayda I'm here?"
"That's right," I tell him. "I don't want her to get annoyed, see? She might think you was musclin' in."
