Complete works of peter.., p.176
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 176
I walk across the hallway an' go inta the bar. There is nobody else in the bar except Gayda. She is sittin' along at the end nibblin' a cocktail biscuit.
She says: "So you got back?"
I tell her yes. I ask her how she's been doin'.
"All right," she says. "I won a little more. I've won about eight thousand five hundred pounds to-night. What do you think of that, Sourpuss?"
"I think it's pretty good," I tell her, "An' I've got a big surprise for you."
She asks what.
"Lon Travis is here," I tell her. "I met him, so I brought him along. I thought he might be useful. With all that dough you've got you'll need an escort, won't you?"
She looks at me sideways. "I thought I had one," she says.
I grin at her.
"Meanin' me? You know, Gayda," I tell her, "you forget I'm in the Marines. I have to do duty some of the time. When I leave here I gotta get back quick."
"I see," she says. "So it was lucky you met Lon Travis, otherwise I suppose I should have had to go back to my hotel on my own. Is that it?"
I say: "Look, do you have to be difficult?"
She shakes her head. "No," she says. "Neither do you. In your owm vernacular, I think you're a goddam heel, Sourpuss."
"Look, honey," I tell her, "don't get that way. Just relax an' take it easy."
She makes a petulant little movement with her shoulder. Travis comes inta the bar. He is grinnin'. He looks plenty pleased about somethin'.
He says: "Hallo, Gayda. This is a pleasant surprise. I hear you've been winning a lot of money to-night. Can I have a little drink on that?"
She says: "Of course you can what you want. Ask the barman. I'll have one too."
The guy behind the bar starts fixin' the drinks. Gayda turns her back on me. Pretty soon she an' Travis get inta a close sorta conversation. I light a cigarette.
After a minute or two I ease away inta the roulette room. There is nobody there at all. I go inta the writin'-room an' take a piece of paper outa the stationery rack. I write on it:
"Work the old show-down act. You're only pretending to be Haas. You're Capelli that I knocked off in '34 in a bank heist. You can be a little high if you like and tough. But make it good."
I fold this note up as small as I can. I put it in the palm of my hand. I walk across the hallway an' inta the other room. There are three guys talkin' around the baccarat table. One of 'em is Pardoe. The guy at the top of the table is a tall, well-dressed fella in a tuxedo. He's got a thin, good-lookin' sorta face with a little black moustache. He looks like a wop a pleasant sorta wop.
I say to Pardoe: "It's a funny thing, you know, but I reckon I've met you before some place."
He says: "Yes? Well, I'm afraid I don't remember you."
I take my cigarette-case out, take a cigarette; then I offer the case to Pardoe. Underneath it I have got the note between my fingers. He takes a cigarette an' the note at the same time.
He says: "I've just been commiserating with Clemensky here. They've lost a lot of money to-night. Miss Vaughan I believe she came with you seems to have done very well."
I look at Clemensky. I say to him: "Too bad. But I expect you'll get it back all right. The odds are always on the bank, aren't they?"
Pardoe goes away.
Clemensky says, speakin' in very good English: "I'm not worrying. Some nights we have bad nights, so-ome nights we have good nights. At the end of the quarter we find we've made a leetle money and we ha-ave the pleasure of kno-owing that our clients have been satisfied."
I nod my head. "That's a nice thought," I tell him. "It's not so simple runnin' a joint like this. No gamin'-house is an easy proposition."
He says: "That depends " He shrugs his shoulders. "Some places have a bad clientele so-o there's trouble. We pick our customers very, very carefully." He smiles. "So-o we don't have any trouble."
The other guy looks at Clemensky. He is a big guy with square shoulders. His tuxedo looks as if it wasn't cut in England.
He says: "You're dead right. We don't have any trouble and we don't want any."
Outside I can hear Gayda talkin'. I go back inta the bar. Travis an' Gayda are at the far end laughin' their heads off at some crack she has just made. At this end Pardoe is drinkin' a big whisky and soda. His shoulders are hunched up over the drink. He looks unpleasant. I reckon he's gettin' ready for the act. I stub my cigarette out an' light a fresh one. I say to Pardoe sorta casually as I go past him:
"I hope you didn't mind my mistakin' you for somebody else, mister."
He says just nothin' at all.
Gayda says: "Well, Sourpuss, it looks as if the fun's over. Where do we go from here, my handsome Marine."
Pardoe is standin' just behind my shoulder. He says:
"Marine hooey! Is this goddam heel tellin' you he's a Marine?"
Gayda an' Travis look at him. They are plenty surprised.
I say to him: "Look, pal, maybe you've been drinkin' a little too much. Take it easy."
He says: "Nuts to you. Why the hell can't you lay offa me. This is England, not U.S. What the hell d'ya want to come stickin' your long neck out for, telling me who I am?"
"Look," I tell him, "take it easy. I'm not startin' anythin'."
"I'll take good goddam care you don't. You're startin' nothing with me. I suppose you wanta advertise the fact that I'm Willie Capelli an' that you are the clever guy who pulled me in in 1934 for that Oklahoma Bank heist."
"Oh, can that," I tell him. "That's not necessary."
"Like hell it isn't." He says to Travis: "This guy's a flatfoot one of Mr. Ploover's little boys a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Maybe he's sold you the idea he's a Marine. You'd better watch your step. Anything this guy sticks his nose into turns bad."
I say: "Look, Capelli if you want it that way supposin' you. shut your trap. You're beginnin' to bore me, see?"
He says: "I'm goin' to do more than bore you, you bastard!"
He swings one at my face. I block it with my left hand. I step in an' I make out I hit him a helluva welt in the stomach. Pardoe is definitely good. He makes a retchin' sorta noise an' falls over backwards with his hands around his guts.
Gayda says: "Oh dear! I believe you hurt him, Sourpuss."
"Don't bother," I tell her. "It wouldn't be the first time he's been hurt."
Clemensky comes inta the bar. He says:
"Is anything wro-ong?" He look at Pardoe lyin' on the floor.
I say: "No this boyo got a little bit fresh. Look, Clemensky, I don't wanta start anything but I'm givin' you a tip off. You don't want heels like this kickin' around. This boyo sold you the idea that his name is Haas; that he is over here on Lease Lend. Don't you believe it. The guy is Willie Capelli. His speciality is heistin' banks. He's bad medicine, see?"
Clemensky says: "Thank you ver' much. It is nice of you to give me the tip, Mr. "
"The name's Pleyell," I tell him.
Gayda's voice says very softly behind me: "Is it. Handsome?"
I say to her over my shoulder: "You lay off." I grin at her.
Pardoe gets up. Clemensky helps him towards the cloakroom. I watch the pair of 'em. I am thinkin' that Pardoe is a nice worker.
Gayda says: "I want another drink."
I tell the bar-tender. I tell him that I'll have one too.
He gives us two large whiskies. This bar-tender is an interestin' sorta guy. A dead pan. Nothin' seems to worry him.
Gayda says: "You're a very interesting person, aren't you, Sourpuss? So you're a Federal Agent? In a minute I'll believe you're Santa Claus."
I say: "Look, honey, you don't haveta believe everything you hear."
'She says: "No, and I don't have to disbelieve everything either. I think you're awfully cute, Sourpuss." She picks up her glass.
I wonder where Travis has got to. It strikes me that maybe he hasn't liked this show-down with Pardoe.
I say to Gayda: "Me I'm gonna scram. I don't like bein' mixed up in these rough houses. It's not good for my reputation. I think I'll blow."
She nods her head. "When am I going to see you again, Sourpuss?" she asks. "Why don't you come down to the house one evening? One of these days I want to have a really long heart-to-heart talk with you."
"I'd like that too," I tell her. I give her a cigarette. "I'll be with you in a minute," I say.
I go outside to the check-room. Clemensky an' the elevator guy are persuadin' Pardoe inta the elevator. He's bein' a little bit truculent. When he sees me he calls me a rude name.
I get my hat an', carryin' it in my hand, I walk across the hallway an' look inta the roulette room. There is nobody 'there. The door of the writin'-room on the other side is half-closed. Last time I saw it it was open.
I go across, push the door open an' look in. There's nobody there, but a cigarette stub is burnin' on the carpet on the other side of the room. I go over, pick it up, squash it out in an ashtray. Then I walk over an' open the door of the telephone-booth.
Travis is lyin' in the bottom of the booth. His knees are hunched up. There is a big black stain on the front of his khaki tunic. I kneel down an' take a look at him. I can't see very much because the light is bad, so I get out my lighter an' snap it on. Travis is dead all right. Somebody has shot him two or three times through the chest an' stomach.
I get up an' put the lighter back in my pocket. It seems to me pretty tough that, when there are so many places in this world that a guy can get shot in these days, he has to be shot in a telephone-booth in a gamin'-dump off Mount Street.
I close the door of the booth, an' light myself a fresh cigarette. I go back inta the bar. Clemensky is talkin' with Gayda. They are both smilin' about somethin'.
I pick up my drink which is where I left it an' swallow it. I say to Gayda:
"Look, Travis is more of a sport than I thought."
She says: "No? Tell me?"
"He didn't like bein' gooseberry," I tell her. "He left a message in the check-room. He's scrammed."
She smiles. "I always thought Lon was intelligent," she says. "Well, where do we go from here. Handsome?"
"I'll take you back to your hotel, Gayda," I tell her. "I gotta report back to-night."
She gets up. She says: "If you say so, but I think you're positively lousy. I really do, Sourpuss. You were supposed to spend an evening with me and most of the time you've been away from me. It's not fair."
"I know," I tell her. "I do that to women, but they still keep on tailin' after me. It must be my fatal beauty."
She says good-night to Clemensky. He gives us a smile an' a nod. We go out.
We get a cab outside. While we are goin' down Piccadilly towards Knightsbridge Gayda turns towards me. She puts her arms around my neck. She gives me a helluva kiss. She says: "I think you're fascinatin' fascinatin' but crummy!"
I grin at her. "You're gettin' your terms mixed," I tell her. "A guy can't be fascinatin' an' crummy."
"That's just it," she says. "You are, Sourpuss. I warn you, I'm falling for you falling hard."
I say: "Yeah?" But I am thinkin' of something else.
I am thinkin' of Travis.
IV. POST-MORTEM
I.
I SAY good-night to Gayda on the steps of her hotel in Knightsbridge. The moon has come out. It is a nice night. I tell her that September in England, when the weather's good, is pretty swell.
She says: "You are a scream, aren't you, Sourpuss? You do and say the oddest things. That remark about the weather just now for instance. Why did you say that? Did you really mean it or were you just making conversation while you thought of something else?"
She is standin' two steps above me. She is lookin' down at me. She looks sorta queenly.
I say: "What the hell! I wonder why it is you are always takin' me up the wrong way. I made that crack about the weather because I believe it. It is a lovely night. I saw a picture some time. It was called 'September Morn.' You remind me of that picture."
She raises her eyebrows. "Really!" she says. "If I remember rightly the young woman in 'September Mom' had no clothes on."
I grin at her. "Why worry about a little thing like that?" I say. "What are clothes between friends anyway?"
She says: "Give me a cigarette, Sourpuss."
I give her one. She draws the smoke down inta her lungs. Then she gives a little sigh an' lets it all out again.
She says: "I want to see you soon. Don't forget, Sourpuss." She gives a little whimsical smile. "The trouble is you won't take me seriously," she says.
"I'm takin' you plenty seriously," I tell her.
"All right," she says. "When are you coming down to Mallows again?"
"I'll come down as soon as I can," I say. "Maybe one day this week. But I gotta lot to do."
She says: "Yes, I expect you have. Well, good-night, Sourpuss."
She goes up the steps an' through the black-out curtain.
I start walkin' down Knightsbridge towards Piccadilly. It is three o'clock. I turn up Down Street by the side of the Green Park Hotel, across the intersection at the top. After a bit I find the place I am lookin' for Leavenworth Mews. No. 4 is a garage with some livin' accommodation over the top.
I ring the bell an' wait. After two-three minutes the door opens. By the half light inside the hallway I can see it is Pardoe. He says:
"Hallo, Lemmy, I'm glad to see you. How did it go?"
"You played it fine, Carl," I tell him.
He says: "O.K. I did the best I could. I couldn't quite get the idea so I chanced it."
"Don't worry," I tell him. "Everything was a hundred per cent."
We go upstairs. The livin'-room at the top is comfortable. On one wall Pardee's Marine uniform is hangin'. It has just been pressed. A snappy dresser, Pardoe.
I give him a grin. I say: "You're takin' a lotta trouble with that uniform, aren't you?"
He says: "Why not? Me I like wearin' a white hat. The only trouble is if somebody tells me to 'right turn.' I don't know how to do it." He grins. "Is it funny or is it?" he says.
"What's funny?" I ask.
"Us bein' Marines," he says. "Like hell! I wonder what the commandin' officer really thinks about us."
"He don't think a thing," I tell him. "He don't haveta think. What happened after they showed you off the premises?"
"The guy Clemensky, the big shot around at that Club, an' the elevator guy, took me downstairs," he says. "When we got on the ground-floor they asked me if I was all right. I said yes. I was still puttin' on a drunk act. I said some nice things about you too. You oughta heard me. It was a treat."
"Did they fall for it?" I ask him.
"They fell for it all right." He goes over to the desk an' gets a cigarette-box. He gives me one. "They're goin' to try something," says Pardoe.
I take the cigarette. I sit down in the big armchair an' put my feet on the mantelpiece.
"Yeah, Carl?" I say. "What're they gonna try?"
"Well," he says, "when I get out in the street I stagger around a bit, see? You know, the cold night air hittin' a guy fulla spirits. I slip up an' do a realistic fall. Clemensky came out an' helped me up. He asked if I'd like a cab. I told him no I was going to walk round for a bit to get my head clear. I leaned up against the wall an' looked dizzy. So then he asks me about you. He pretends to be interested in a casual sort of way. He asked if it was right that you were a Federal Bureau Agent. I give a coupla hiccups an' tell him I don't know whether you are now but that you was an' that your name was Lemmy Caution. I told him I got in a bit of trouble in Oklahoma over a bank heist in 1934 an' that you an' a coupla other F.B.I. guys pulled me in for it."
"How does he take that?" I ask.
"He takes it pretty good," says Carl. "He takes out a gold cigarette-case an' gives himself one. He gives me one. He asks me what I am doin'. I tell him I left the U.S. early in 1939; that I got outa the Big House on parole; that I skipped an' came over here; that I had a little dough an' I've been livin' on it, but that now I'm fiddlin' around.
"He asks me if the U.S. authorities over here have got on to me yet in the check-up they're havin' on United States nationals in England. I tell him no they haven't an' ask him what the hell it is to him anyway. He says it's not a thing to him. Then he says he'll walk me down the end of the road. He put his hand under my left arm, sorta givin' me a hand, see? But what he's really doin' is feelin' to see if I've got a gun under my shoulder."
He grins. "It was lucky," he says, "I had one. I was sorta pleased with that. Feelin' that gun made up his mind for him. He says look, maybe I'd like to go around an' see him some time to-morrow; he might be able to put a little business in my way. He told me where to go. He lives at some dump called Mayfield House on Mount Street. I fixed to see him some time round three o'clock. Then he went back."
"Nice work, Carl," I tell him. "Go an' see what the boyo wants. It might be interestin'. You know where to get at me, don't you?"
He says: "Yeah, same address, I suppose."
I tell him yes, the Regency in Jermyn Street, an' that if he can't contact me there for any reason to get in direct touch with Marine Headquarters they'll put him on to me. He says O.K. He brings out a bottle an' we have a short one. I say good-night an' scram.
A good guy, Carl a reliable guy.
II.
IT is four o'clock when I get back to the Regency. The hall porter, who is an ancient guy, is dozin' in his office on one side of the hall. On the other side, sittin' in a big chair in battle-dress with Commando flashes up, is Benzey.
Benzey is asleep as usual. I go over to him. I give him a jerk under the jaw. He wakes up. He says:
"Why is it you always have to be rough with me?"
"Sorry," I tell him. "Was you havin' a nice dream?"
"Lovely," he says. "I was dreamin' about Dieppe. I was just killin' that German again."
"I reckon you killed that German about six hundred times already. It's about time you killed another one. What do you want? I thought I told you to stay around Wilminton."
"That's right," says Benzey. "But I got a phone-call to-night from the big boy. He said he'd got an idea that things was poppin'. He told me to get outa Wilminton nice an' quiet, come up here an' contact you. He said he thought you might need me."
