Complete works of peter.., p.178
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 178
She nods. "That'd be wonderful," she says.
"All right," I tell her. "You go on just for a bit, but you just do what you're told an' don't take any unnecessary chances."
"I won't," she says. "What am I to do?"
"Just go on stayin' here," I tell her. "Just go on bein' Mrs. Cara Travis. When I want you to do something I'll let you know."
She says: "O.K. I'll take a chance on you."
We give each other another grin, an' I go out. I sorta like this Pearl dame.
I walk around for a bit; then I give myself some lunch an' take in a news reel. I come out at two-thirty. I walk to Piccadilly Circus, go down in the subway an' ring the big boy.
He asks me how I am an' if I know what I'm doin' yet.
"I got an idea," I tell him, "but I'm still anglin' around tryin' to find out something definite. There are one or two things that happened though that might interest you."
I tell him about Travis. I tell him that I am good an' fed-up with Travis bein' knocked off like that just when I was gettin' next to that boyo. He says that is as maybe but Travis bein' put out of business has gotta be a help one way or another; that just because Travis is out of business somebody will haveta show their hand in a minute. I say that is maybe so but the thing that interests me is just how they're goin' to show their hand. He says well that's my headache; that I've had everything I've asked for includin' a phoney Mrs. Cara Travis, an' that I've got to make it the best way I can.
I say O.K. Then I ask him about this Pearl baby.
"You certainly gave me something there," I tell him. "I haven't seen a jane like this Pearl bundle in years. I could look at her picture every momin' an' swoon away. Who is this frill?"
"You be careful of her," he says. "She wants to do something for Uncle Sam. She's got a father who's an Admiral and a few other relations in the Army and Air Corps. She's feelling very patriotic but if anything happens to her you're going to feel a draught. Anyhow," he says, "you're through with her now. She can come back here and go on driving a car."
"No, sir," I tell him. "No dice. That dame has started bein' Mrs. Cara Travis an' she's goin' on bein' Mrs. Travis. I got work for her."
He says all right but he wouldn't like to be me if anything happens to Pearl. He asks me if I want anything or anybody else.
I tell him no. I tell him that Benzey who is supposed to be a Canadian servin' with one of the Canadian Commandos an' Carl Pardoe and the rest of the phoney Marines I got over here will do all right.
I also tell him that I think I oughta have a contact at Scotland Yard because it looks to me like something is gonna pop at any minute. He says have I got anybody in mind? I say no, not particularly, but if I could have a choice I would like to have Herrick who is a Chief Detective-Inspector an' who I know pretty well, havin' worked with him before on the Julia Wayles case. He says all right. He will do his best to fix things through the Embassy.
I hang up, go up outa the subway an' start walkin' down Piccadilly. The sun has come out an' it is a nice sorta day. Somehow I don't mind life when the weather's good. I reckon it is one of those days when I would like to be out in the country some place with nothin' to do but sit on a stile an' look at one of those English cows grazin' in a field. I think that would be very nice an' it would be nicer still if Gayda was with me. That baby sorta fascinates me.
I look at my watch. It's just on three o'clock. I go back to the Regency, lay on my bed, smoke an' look at the ceilin'. I got an idea in my head that Carl will be comin' through.
I am dead right. At half-past three the telephone jangles. He says: "I'm callin' you from a pay-box. I just left Clemensky. I think that guy is going to be very interestin'."
"Yeah?" I tell him. "What's he doin'?"
"I wouldn't know," says Carl. "But he's had a long talk with me. He asked me all about myself. I told him plenty. After you left yesterday I got through to the big boy and got a Transatlantic telephone-call through early this morning. I got all the dope on this guy Capelli that you say I am. It was lucky I did too. Clemensky seems to have found out something about that one."
"Has he now?" I say. I think for a minute. This tells me somethin'. "What else happened?" I ask him.
"Not a lot," says Carl. "Clemensky sort of played around with the situation. I made out I was strapped for dough; that I wanted to get my hooks on some; that I wasn't goin' to be too particular how I got it. That seemed to suit him O.K. He said all right for me to stay around that maybe he could put some very nice pickin's in my way. Then he got generous. He gave me a hundred pounds English money. He said that was just so's I shouldn't get playin' around after any chicken-feed and get myself into trouble at a time when he might be wantin' me."
"Nice work," I tell him. "So you made yourself four hundred dollars for nothing."
"I wouldn't like to say that," says Carl. "There're strings on this dough. Anyhow, he asked me where he could get in touch with me, so I gave him an address I got my phoney address the Wilber Hotel. That's a small-time dump near Russell Square. He said he'd call me through. I said O.K. I was just goin' to scram. When I get to the door he says, as if he's just remembered it, that maybe it would be a good thing if I went around an' saw a friend of his some guy by the name of Clansing. This guy has got an address on Shepherd Market. Clemensky said it might be a good thing if I went round an' saw this boyo at nine o'clock; that it might do some good if we got acquainted."
"That's O.K.," I tell him. "You do that, Carl. It might be interestin'."
He says: "That's what I thought."
I ask him what this guy Clansing's address is. He gives me the number. I say I'll be seein' him an' hang up.
I get back on the bed, light another cigarette an' look at the ceilin' some more. I reckon I have got the angles on this guy Clansing all right.
Work it out for yourself. Clemensky fell like a load of coke for that show-down stuff that Carl Pardoe pulled. He believes that Pardoe is Capelli. He knows that I am Caution. He knows what I'm doin' over here. He reckons he can use a tough egg like Capelli but he's not takin' any chances. So he asks Carl a lotta questions to try an' catch him out an' then he fixes up for him to meet up with this guy Clansing for a final check-over. I reckon that this Clansing is gonna turn out to be a tough boyo as well; that maybe Clansing an' Carl are supposed to get acquainted because they're gonna do some work together. Havin' regard to the fact that the real Capelli is a very hard proposition indeed, it don't take a lot of guessin' as to what sorta work these boys are goin' to do.
The mugs are always the same. They start off by tryin' to be clever an' end up by havin' to be tough.
The afternoon sun is comin' through the window-curtains an' makin' patterns on the carpet. I don't know whether I told you monkeys, but I am a poetic sorta guy. I am one of those bozos who oughta have been a big poet or somethin' like that, instead of which I get myself hooked into a game like I am now on. All of which proves that this mug Confucius, who said that ninety per cent of the guys in the world are all doin' something else but what they oughta be doin', certainly knew his raspberries.
IV.
I WAKE up an' look at my watch. It is a quarter-past eight. I draw the black-out curtain, snap the light on an' give myself a shower an' a shot of rye.
I dress an' grab the telephone. I ask the girl in the reception if she can get me the number of "Mallows" near Wilminton. Five minutes afterwards I'm on the line talkin' to the butler. I ask if Miss Gayda Vaughan's in. He says he'll go an' get her. After a bit she comes on the line. I get a kick outa hearin' this baby's voice. There's somethin' in it somethin' fresh an' amusin' an' laughin'. While she is talkin' I get to comparin' her with Pearl Mallory. I reckon between 'em these two honeypots have got all the beauty in the world with just a little bit left over, an' the poetical guy who said how happy he could be with either if the other dame was somewhere else was just a mug. I reckon that any guy who had both these dames trailin' around would be equipped for anything. All he would haveta do would be to watch the speedometer an' check his oil every two hundred miles.
She says: "I'm awfully glad you telephoned, Sourpuss. Do you want something?"
"Plenty," I tell her. "But nothin' I can get right now. I was feelin' sorta lonely if you get me. I thought I'd like to talk to you."
She says: "That was nice of you, sweet. I hate you being lonely. Can I help? Would it amuse you if I were to tell you the story of my life?"
"It would amuse me plenty," I tell her. "But I'm scared. You might want to start writin' the next chapter an' put me in it."
She says: "Don't you worry on that score. I'm going to begin writing that chapter very shortly and I've cast you for a leading role."
"That's what I was scared of," I tell her. "I don't like leadin' roles. I like bein' in the background an' havin' fun."
"I know," she says. "You're the original nigger in the woodpile. But I'm not having it that way. When are you coming to see me, Sourpuss?"
"I don't know," I tell her. "I'm wonderin' what sort of a welcome I should get."
"That's easily answered," she says. "Two open arms and not the slightest resistance. Can't you come down to-day or to-morrow?"
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe I can get away some time around this week-end." I make my voice serious. "I wanta talk to you, Gayda," I tell her, "something important."
She says: "Yes, and I want to talk to you too, and that's important as well. I've been thinking about you."
"Tell me some more, sweetness," I tell her.
There is a pause; then she says: "Well, I've been thinking very, very seriously about us, Sourpuss, and I think we ought to be married."
I don't say anything. But my mouth is hangin' wide open like a codfish on a slab. This Gayda is a one-woman wave of destruction. I'm tellin' you. Here is a dame that I have known on an' off for about seven hours an' she has come to the conclusion that we ought to get married. Also I have got the idea that when she says a thing like that she means it. I have already told you that this Gayda is a determined doll an' if any of you monkeys have ever met up with a jane like this you will know what I mean. Also you will not have to explain why you are usin' hair restorer every mornin' an' got circles under your eyes an' a worried look.
I pulled myself together. "You don't say so, Gayda," I tell her.
She says: "But I do, Sourpuss. I think we were made for each other."
I don't say anything for a minute. I am thinkin' maybe I agree with her. After a bit I say:
"O.K. Well, we'll talk about it when I come down. I suppose it's O.K. if I show up?"
She says: "You come just when you want to. You needn't even bother to telephone. I shall be here for some days."
I fish out a cigarette with one hand; get out my lighter an' light it. While I am wrestlin' with this proposition there is a silence. Then she says:
"What are you doing in London. I believe you've got some woman there. Are you going out to-night?"
I grin. "I never go out at night, honeypot," I tell her.
"I don't believe you," she says. "You never acquired that interesting dissipated look during the daytime, I'll bet." Her voice changes. It gets all low an' urgent an' thrillin'. She says: "Please come down soon, Sourpuss. I do want to see you so much. And Papa wants to see you too."
I say: "Oh yeah! Have you been tellin' him about me?"
She says: "Have I! He's so interested in you he can hardly wait."
I grin. "I hope he won't be disappointed," I say. "Look, Gayda, I've got to go now. I'm sorta busy, see?"
"I'll bet you are," she says. "I know you, Sourpuss. You're going to meet some woman and she'll run her fingers through that nice crinkly hair of yours and you'll tell her all sorts of nonsense and she'll believe you and "
"Then she'll trust me an' give me her all," I tell her. "Me... I am not that sorta guy, Gayda."
"No?" she says. "Well, if you're not, then I'd like to know just what sort of a guy you are. I wouldn't trust you out of my sight."
"Well, you got to trust me now," I tell her, "because I'm scrammin'. So long, Gayda."
She says so long. She makes a little kissin' noise through the receiver.
I hang up. Any time I talk to this baby I have to wait for a minute to get my breath. After a bit I grab the telephone an' call through to Benzey.
"Look, Repulsive," I tell him. "I've been talkin' to the power behind the throne this afternoon. I've got everything more or less like I want it. You're gonna work with me from now on."
"What does that mean?" he asks. "Do I have to give up wearin' this Commando battle-dress?"
"Not for the moment," I tell him. "Why?"
He says: "Why! You don't know what it means to me. I only gotta look at a baby once with these Commando flashes on an' she falls."
"That's too bad," I tell him, "because where you're goin' to I don't think there are too many babies at least not the sort you like."
He says: "Where am I goin' to?"
"Get down to Wilminton," I tell him, "an' play it easy. Find out everything you can about Travis. Find out where he used to go; find out what sorta bozo he was if he knew any people down there beside the Vaughan's. You'd better stay at that inn. Then I'll know where to find you."
He says: "O.K. When shall I get in touch with you?"
"Don't bother," I tell him. "I'll be around there pretty soon myself. Anything that's goin' you can tell me then."
He says O.K.
I give myself a short one outa the flask, light a cigarette an' get my hat. I go out. It has started to rain a little bit but beyond that it's a nice evenin'. I am feelin' pretty good. Maybe it ain't such a bad world after all.
I start walkin' toward Shepherd Market.
It is about five an' twenty minutes to nine when I get to this dump. The house is a little old three-story affair sandwiched in between a coupla little lock-up shops, lyin' at the end of a passage off Shepherd Market.
The front door is open. I go in an' start easin' up the stairs to the second floor. I go quietly. There is so much dust around I could sneeze. The place smells. Not a very classy dump, I think.
There is only one door on the second-floor landin' so this has gotta be the Clansing hang-out. I listen for a minute but I can't hear anything. The whole house is quiet. I wait another minute; then I knock on the door. Nothing happens. I take out my flash an' take a look at the door. It's one of those old-fashioned things with a set-in lock. I put the blade of my penknife behind the ward of the lock an' give the door a bang. It opens.
I go in, find the light switch an' put it on. I shut the door behind me, light a cigarette an' take a look around. It's a bum sorta sittin'-room. The furniture is old-fashioned. Everything is dusty except the writin'-desk in the corner. In the right-hand wall there is another door. I go over an' push it open. This is a bedroom. It is as untidy as the first room an' the bed is not made up. Altogether this place looks like the sorta dump where a woman comes in once a day an' cleans around an' if you're not up by then everything has to wait till the day after. Maybe this Clansing guy is a late riser.
I ease outa the bedroom inta the sittin'-room an' take a look over the desk. I find nothin' at all. Anyway, I didn't expect to find anything. Then I sit down in an armchair that is inclined to give way under me an' smoke a cigarette.
Five minutes go by an' then I hear some footsteps on the stairs. The footsteps stop suddenly when they get to the landin'. I reckon this is Mister Clansing an' I reckon he's just seen the crack of light under the door. Maybe he's curious an' waitin' a minute to think things out.
A few seconds go past; then I hear a key in the door. The door opens an' a guy comes in. He is an odd-lookin' guy. His clothes aren't so bad, but his shoes are patent an' too pointed. He is wearin' an overcoat with a bit too much waist on it an' padded shoulders, an' a slate-grey fedora that never came out of an English shop.
He stands in the doorway lookin' at me. He has got a nasty thin sorta mouth an' dark eyes in a thin face. I start grinnin' inside. I think this is goddam funny.
I say: "Come in an' shut the door. You're Clansing, hey?"
He says: "Yeah! Wanta make something of it? Say, what the hell "
"You can can that stuff, Clansing," I tell him. "You wouldn't know who I was, would you?"
He says: "I wouldn't know an' I don't wanta know. You get outa here."
"Nuts," I tell him. "Just relax. I wanta talk to you. An' take it easy, pal, because you remind me of a nice fat fly who has just walked himself into a spider's web."
He gives a nasty sorta grin. "Oh yeah?" he says. "So you're the spider, hey? One of these smart spiders."
"That's right," I tell him. "Some spider! My name's Caution Lemuel H. Caution. An' believe it or not inside my coat I gotta Federal Bureau Identification Card. Does that mean anything to you?"
"It don't mean a thing not a goddam thing," he says. But he don't look so good. He puts his hand in the right-hand pocket of his overcoat; then he takes it out.
"I'm glad you thought better of that." I grin at him. "It wouldn't do you any good to start any gun-play around here. An' Clemensky wouldn't like it either."
He says: "No? You know an awful lot, don't you?"
"I know plenty," I tell him. "But I got the drop on you. I'll tell you why. In my business we're trained to remember faces. Every month we take a look at a lotta little pictures the Line-Up of the month's crooks. I saw yours two three years ago. Your name's Rudy Schrinkler, an' if I remember rightly you done two terms in Leavenworth. Does that mean anything to you?"
He says: "So what! Listen, what is this?"
I stub out my cigarette butt, throw it in the grate an' light a fresh one.
"Look, Clansing," I tell him, "first of all you're in a spot. It can be tough or it can be very tough. You can have it which way you like. First of all I'd like to know how you got out of America, an' don't tell me you came out on a legitimate passport because I don't believe you. The U.S. Government aren't issuin' passports to heels like you these days. I got that on you. If I wanta play that I can play it. I can have you knocked off here, shipped back to the U.S. an' you get another term. That's the best thing I can do for you."
