Complete works of peter.., p.241
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 241
"I think you two should know each other. William dear, this is Mr. Callaghan, a veritable prince of private detectives. Mr. Callaghan, this is Mr. Blaize—Mr. William Blaize. I think he's rather a sweet, don't I, William?"
Blaize grinned.
"In case you should want to know why I think he's a sweet," Clarissa went on, "it's mainly because Esme's stuck on him, and as my only amusement in these parts is trying to pinch Esme's young men, there, Mr. Callaghan, you have a logical and deductive reason as to why I think William's sweet. He's awfully relieved that we've got to go. I know he's got an appointment somewhere."
Blaize said with a grin: "I've been wanting to go to Exeter for the last hour, but I'm always a little gentleman." He grinned ruefully. "It'll be about three before I get there."
"Poor William," said Clarissa. "It's just too bad! Good-night, Sweet William. 'Bye, Mr. Callaghan."
She went out.
Callaghan stood looking at Blaize. After a minute he said: "It's nice work if you can get it."
Blaize said: "Exactly what do you mean by that?"
Callaghan said: "I don't know. You probably do. Good-night."
He went out of the doorway and began to walk across the orchard. From somewhere in the vicinity he could hear the sound of Clarissa's and Esme's cars starting. He walked back on to the main road. He waited until he saw the tail lights of the girls' cars disappear. Then he walked down the road through the gateway into the field.
Nikolls was sitting in the driving seat of the hired car, smoking, looking at the moon, his hands behind his head.
"Didn't take long to break that party up, Slim," he said. "How did you do it?"
Callaghan said: "I told 'em the old man was going to have one of his attacks. They decided they'd go home. You'd better go back. Put your car in the garage at Margraud—I left the door open."
Nikolls said: "O.K. You're not comin'?"
Callaghan said: "No, I'm going to have a little talk with Felliner."
Nikolls raised his eyebrows.
"What about the other guy?" he asked.
Callaghan said: "There's a rumour he's going to Exeter. I'll wait for a bit and see."
Nikolls said. "I get it. You're gonna use the old system?"
Callaghan grinned.
"Why not, Windy?" he said.
Callaghan got into the Jaguar and sat there smoking. He was listening for the sound of a car. He was wondering about Blaize. He waited ten minutes—then he got out of the car, threw his cigarette end into the damp grass, walked out into the road, keeping in the shadow of the hedge. He began to walk towards the Yard Arm. When he had gone thirty yards down the road, a long low car shot out from the drive on the right of the Yard Arm building and turned left.
Callaghan walked through the orchard. He walked round the side of the cottage. At the back, beside a white painted water-butt, was a door. Callaghan rapped. After a minute he heard some sounds from inside, then the noise of a bolt being pulled. The door opened.
Callaghan said: "Good-evening, Ropey."
Someone from inside the doorway said: "What the hell... Callaghan... !"
"That's right," said Callaghan. "Come outside, Ropey. I want to talk to you."
Felliner came into the doorway. He was very big. His shoulders were wide. He looked like a boxer. His great hands hung down by his sides relaxed, like a gorilla's. He said:
"Supposin' I don't want to talk to you. What the hell do you want? What's going on round here? You're the second guy that's knocked me up to-night."
Callaghan said: "I know. The first one was Nikolls. You didn't recognize him. Your eyes aren't so good as they used to be, are they?"
Felliner said: "Cut it out. What is it you want?"
Callaghan lit a cigarette. He said:
"I want to know what you're doing down here."
Felliner said with a faint grin: "And supposin' I tell you to mind your own damn business?"
Callaghan took the cigarette from his mouth with his left hand casually. Almost simultaneously he moved forward on to the ball of his left foot. His right fist caught Felliner fairly in the mouth. The big man went over backwards. Callaghan stepped into the doorway. As Felliner got to his knees, Callaghan put out his left hand and put his fingers inside Felliner's collar. He helped him to his feet. When he was almost there, Callaghan hit him again.
Felliner went down with a crash. A beam of moonlight came through the doorway. On the other side of the room Callaghan could see an electric light switch. He went across, switched on the light. Felliner had got to his feet. His shoulders were hunched like a bull's. His mouth was bleeding. He stood looking at Callaghan.
He said: "I've always wanted to paste you, Callaghan, and now, by God, I'm goin' to do it!"
Callaghan grinned. He said:
"Well, there's no law against trying, Ropey. I hope you're in better condition than you were when you were working for Gabby, throwing half-cut sissies out of the Backstairs Club..."
Felliner said something under his breath. He moved quickly forward.
Callaghan put his hand on the back of a kitchen chair that stood underneath the switch. He spun the chair suddenly towards Felliner. It hit him fairly across the shins.
Felliner swore viciously. He jumped in at Callaghan with an agility that was surprising and swung a left hook. Callaghan caught the punch with his right hand, put out his left hand and caught Ropey's right wrist. His fingers seemed to be resting easily on the pulse.
Felliner began to howl. Callaghan brought over his right hand and took hold of the other's fingers. He exerted a little pressure. Felliner screamed. His forehead was covered with sweat.
Callaghan said: "I'll always back, judo against old-fashioned slugging tactics, Ropey. This is one of the sweetest Japanese hand-holds I know. If you try and move anyway at all you break at least two of your fingers. Would you like to try?"
He released his hold and put his hands in his pockets. Ropey went over to the other side of the room and sat down. He was nursing his wrist, massaging the fingers.
"The trouble with you, Ropey, is that slugging has always been your best bet and you think it always does the job. If you're as wise as I think you are, you'll cut out any ideas of rough stuff and begin to think. You're in a bad jam, Ropey."
Felliner said: "I don't know what the 'ell you're talkin' about. You're barking up the wrong tree, I'm tellin' you."
Callaghan picked up the fallen chair. He sat down on it. He was thinking quickly... considering the best line of bluff to use. He said:
"Ropey, you know damn well I always know what I'm doing."
Felliner growled: "I don't know what you're talkin' about. It's lucky for you that Blaize isn't 'ere. If he was there'd be some trouble. He'd 'ave you pinched maybe."
Callaghan grinned.
He said: "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Ropey. And since you seem to have become so unintelligent, perhaps you'd like to listen to why I think you're in a bad jam. Three months ago some jewellery was stolen from the Vendayne Manor House, see? Well, I don't think it looks too good for you—with your record—being around."
Callaghan took out his cigarette-case, selected a cigarette. He went on: "The police must have overlooked you when they were checking up."
Felliner grinned. There was a look of relief in his eyes. He said:
"I get it. So you're trying to tie me up with that steal, are you? Well, you can't do it. I wasn't anywhere near 'ere when that stuff was pinched. I've only been 'ere three days, an' how do you like that, Mr. bleeding know-all?"
"I don't mind it," said Callaghan. "It doesn't prove anything one way or the other. All right, Ropey, if you're so certain of yourself I'll have a word on the telephone with Walperton, the Scotland Yard man who's handling this job. I think he might like to have a little talk to you... that is, of course, if you don't like talking to me."
Felliner said: "I'm not looking for trouble, and I've got nothing to be afraid of either, but I don't want to have any truck with coppers. I don't like 'em, you know that."
"All right, Ropey," said Callaghan. "Well, let you and me be friends, shall we? Maybe that way nobody'll get hurt, at least not any more than they have."
Callaghan got up. He walked round the kitchen table and sat on the edge of it, looking down at Felliner.
He said: "You know, Ropey, you're not the sort of man who gets himself a job in the heart of Devonshire as a caretaker or a servant or whatever you are just because he likes fresh air. That's sense, isn't it? What are you doing down here?"
Felliner said nothing. Callaghan went on:
"For the last six or seven years you've been working for Gabby. You've worked in every club he's had. If there's been any dirty work afoot you've been in it—well in it. There's a lot of funny business going on round here and the fact that you're here shows me that Gabby's interested. The best thing you can do is to talk."
Felliner said: "Well, all right. What's it matter anyway? I came down 'ere and I took this job because Gabby told me to."
"I see," said Callaghan. "So Gabby knew the job was going?"
" 'E didn't," said Felliner. "There was an advertisement in a paper. The boss saw it. He told me to answer it."
Callaghan nodded.
"And what were you supposed to do?"
"Stick around an' keep my eye on Blaize," said Felliner. "Gabby thought he was goin' off somewhere sort of sudden. He wanted to know where 'e was goin'. 'E wanted to know anythin' I could find out."
Callaghan got up. He said:
"You take a tip from me, Ropey, keep your nose clean. I've got an idea there's going to be a little trouble flying about in these parts. If I were you I'd keep out of it."
"You're telling me?" said Felliner. "I reckon I've had all the trouble I'm going to have. I'm getting out."
"No, you're not," said Callaghan pleasantly. "You're going to stay put just where you are, and another thing you needn't bother to let Gabby know I've seen you. Let's keep this little conversation a secret as between friends, shall we?"
He walked over to the door. He stood for a moment looking out at the moonlit orchard. Then he turned and said:
"Ropey, you remember that fellow who was rolled a year ago at the Backstairs Club—the one they found out in the alleyway? Well, I don't believe that case is marked 'closed' yet. The police still want to know who it was threw him out of the window. Maybe you'd like me to tell 'em?"
Felliner said hoarsely: "You're a bastard, that's what you are. If you can't get a thing one way you get it another."
Callaghan grinned.
"That's right, Ropey. We get there somehow and who the hell cares how. Keep your nose clean, and behave, and you're all right. But if you get up against me I'll stick you inside over that Backstairs job, and you know I mean it.
"Good-night, Ropey."
Callaghan sat behind the wheel of the Jaguar. He sat there for a long time looking across the fields. Eventually he drew on his gloves, lit a cigarette, let in the clutch.
He drove slowly back to Margraud enjoying the night air. Nikolls was waiting outside the garage.
"I reckon you're a thought reader or something, Slim," he said. "I thought I'd be the first to give you the good news."
Callaghan raised his eyebrows.
"What's happened?" he said.
"Well, it's damned funny," said Nikolls. "You go out to that Yard Arm place an' tell those girls a phoney story about the old man havin' a seizure, an' when they get back here they find it's right. He has."
"Well... ?" said Callaghan.
"They took him away," Nikolls replied. "The ambulance got here about half an hour ago. They took him to Exeter. I reckon he's pretty bad, too."
Callaghan said: "I wonder."
Nikolls said: "How do you mean? Do you think it's screwy, too?"
"Why not?" said Callaghan. "Maybe little Audrey wanted the Major out of the way for a bit. Maybe she thinks it'll be easier if he's not around."
Nikolls said: "So you think she's going to do something?"
Callaghan began to walk towards the house.
"She's got to do something," he said.
V. — THE LINE FOR CLARISSA
NIKOLLS reclined in a wicker chair set back behind a little table in Grantley's Café in Kingsbridge High Street. He finished his coffee and pondered heavily. He ordered more coffee with a large portion of Devonshire cream, looked at his wristwatch, observed the morning sun illuminating the new bread and cakes in the Window, considered critically the hip-lines of the two young women behind the counter.
It was ten minutes past eleven. Nikolls fished about in his pocket for a Lucky Strike, found one, put it in his mouth, reread the note from Callaghan:
Try and get a minute with Clarissa after breakfast. Make a date with her to meet you at the café in Kingsbridge at half-past eleven. Get there first and wait for her. When she turns up work the old stuff on her. If she seems interested, mention Slapton Sands casually when I arrive. Play it up like hell—I think shell fall for the line.
S.C.
Nikolls produced his lighter and lit the corner of the note. He held it up in his plump fingers and watched it burn. He lit his cigarette from the last corner and put the ashes carefully into the ash tray.
He wondered if Callaghan was right about Clarissa. He realised that Callaghan was right about women more often than not. On the other hand, Clarissa was a smart package, ruminated Nikolls. She had brains in her head. All the Vendayne women had brains. The fact just stuck out and hit you when you looked at them. Nikolls, who reduced most problems to terms of betting, thought that it was about six to four on Callaghan. Clarissa came in.
Nikolls eyed her critically as she walked towards his table. He thought: "A hell of a dame, she knows how to walk an' her hips are just right, an' what she don't know about clothes could be stuck up your nose and it wouldn't even make you sneeze."
Clarissa was wearing a sage green tweed coat and skirt over a matching jersey that was tied at the neck with a yellow cord. Pulled well on to one side of her carefully dressed auburn-dark head was a sage green Robin Hood hat with a yellow ribbon to match the neck cord. Her shoes were polished calf-skin. Her stockings beige silk. Her small hands were encased in sleek pigskin driving gauntlets.
She said sweetly as Nikolls got to his feet:
"Hallo, Windy... I'm going to call you Windy because I heard Mr. Callaghan do it. And why are you called Windy... Windy?"
Nikolls grinned amiably. He said:
"My name's Windemere... It's a helluva name but I couldn't do a thing to stop it. My old man usta live around there before he went to the States."
She said: "You're not an American, Windy?"
"American... hell," replied Nikolls. "I'm a Canadian. I was born there an' so was my ma. I've spent a lot of time in the States though. I usta work for a Detective Agency there until some guy shot Monty Kells who usta be Slim's assistant. Then he cabled for me an' I came over here."
Clarissa said: "Why is he called 'Slim'?"
Nikolls grinned at her.
"Because that's just what he is... as slim as they make 'em. He'd slide through or round or under anythin'. There's only one thing that ever gets him beat——" Nikolls produced an air of ponderous gravity— "an' that's what I'm afraid of now..."
She said: "I want some coffee, please." She began to take off her gloves. "Do tell me, Windy," she murmured angelically, "just what it is you're afraid of."
Nikolls looked out of the window. His face expressed concern and a suggestion of doubt. Nikolls was a very good actor—a fact that few people raised until it was too late.
He looked at her. It was a long searching look. Then he said very seriously:
"Clarissa, I'm very fond of Slim. I'd do anythin' for that guy. To me he's just the biggest guy in the world... an' I just don't wanta see him get hurt."
Clarissa's big eyes widened. She leaned across the table, folded her hands together. She said:
"But this is exciting. I'm thrilled. Tell me... please... Who's going to hurt Mr. Callaghan?"
Nikolls drew in a deep breath of tobacco smoke. He drew it right down into his lungs and allowed it to trickle out of one corner of his mouth. He said quietly:
"You might..."
"My God," said Clarissa. "How marvelous! Why might I?"
Nikolls stubbed out his cigarette. He stubbed it out with an air of finality. The air of a man who has made up his mind. He said very quietly, his eyes on hers:
"Clarissa... I wanna tell you somethin'. An' if you ever let on I'm gonna cut your pretty throat from ear to ear. Slim's nutty about you, see? Ever since he set eyes on you last night he's gone crackers over you. And get this; women fall for that guy like ninepins an' he usually just don't take any notice. He's just like an ice-box where women are concerned. So any time he does give a dame a tumble she's entitled to fly flags an' give herself a twenty-one gun salute."
He shrugged his shoulders sadly.
"Maybe I ought not to have said anything'," he went on. "But I'm sorta worried. You see, when he told me he was chuckin' the case this mornin'..."
Clarissa interrupted: "Why is he giving up the case?" she asked.
Nikolls said: "He says it's because he can't get a line on anythin'. But I don't believe it. I believe it's you. I watched him lookin' at you last night, after he got back from the Yard Arm—when you were pourin' tea for us all an' I knew."
He stopped suddenly and regarded the cakes in the window. He was watching Clarissa out of the corner of his eye. He noted with satisfaction that her eyes were soft.
"He mustn't give up the case, Windy," she said. "He just mustn't. And you needn't worry about me. I couldn't do anything to hurt him. I just couldn't. I'm not like that. Besides... I think he's terribly sweet. Directly I saw him I thought he was fearfully sweet. He's got that look in his eyes, that faraway look... you know, Windy?"
Nikolls said softly: "I know..."
He was thinking: "By heck... Slim was right again. She's fallen for it."
He put his hand over hers as it lay on the table. He said gravely:
"Clarissa, I trust you... remember... If you take Slim for a ride I'm gonna personally cut your throat... that is if he don't do it first..."
