Complete works of peter.., p.348
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 348
Greeley said: "I see. How do I pick him up?"
She said: "Opposite Vazeley Street is a pub—a rather nice sort of place. It's very popular. It's called the Hunting Horn. Well, there's nowhere to go at night, is there? And he's got to go somewhere. It's my guess he'll go there."
Greeley said: "Any cinemas here?"
She said: "By what I've heard of Foden he's not likely to want to go to the pictures." She smiled. Greeley noticed her perfect teeth. "A man with a record like Foden's doesn't want to go to the pictures," she said. "He's done it all."
Greeley nodded. He said: "Yes. It looks as if it'll be the Hunting Horn."
She said: "I suppose you've got it all worked out?"
"Yes," said Greeley. "If he falls for the line I'm going to hand out, then he'll want to get up to London to meet you. I'm goin' to play it goddam carefully. But I think it's goin' to sound O.K. If he falls I'll give you the tip and you get out good and quick."
She nodded. "Yes," she said. "And what about you?"
"Directly I know he's goin' to London after you, I'm getting out myself," said Greeley. "The idea is that the Works here transfer me back to London for some special job. I think the boss wants me around while you're handling the boy in the big city."
She said: "Perhaps I'll be glad of that." She smiled suddenly. "Perhaps Mr. Foden may be a little tough for a girl like me."
Greeley said: "I wouldn't be surprised. Quayle's going to work on this boyo, and evidently he doesn't think it'll be easy."
"No," she said. "I don't think it'll be easy. I think it'll be a lot more difficult than even you think."
Greeley said: "Maybe." He inhaled cigarette smoke. "Maybe you know more than I do?"
She looked at him. He could see that her eyes were very blue.
She said: "Perhaps I do."
There was a step on the landing outside. Greeley moved away from the door as it opened. A big man with a peak cap and a blue double-breasted jacket came into the room. His face was bronzed and there was a one-day's growth of beard on his chin. Greeley thought: The dock superintendent! This is going to be interesting!
The man closed the door behind him and stood looking from Zilla Stevenson to Greeley. He looked nasty. His eyes were bright. Greeley thought they looked at him almost menacingly. He thought too, this one's been a sailor. He's tough, suspicious and jealous. For some reason which he could not quite explain to himself he felt very antagonistic. He leaned up against the wall smoking his cigarette, looking as insolent as he could when he wanted to.
The man said to Zilla: "What the hell's going on here? Who is this?"
She put her hand to her hair. She said casually: "What's eating you? I don't like the sound of that."
He said: "Maybe you don't. I'm simply asking you who this guy is. What the hell's going on around here? You didn't think I was coming back so early, did you? I wonder——"
She swung her feet on to the bed and lay back. Greeley thought her face and head made a perfect picture against the pillow. She said casually:
"You wonder if I'm running another boy friend behind your back. Is that it? You know, if you feel like that about a girl, you oughtn't to talk to her about marriage. It means you don't trust her, see?"
Greeley grinned inside. She was playing the superintendent, he thought. Having got what she wanted from him she wasn't going to stand any old buck. She could have put the situation right immediately by saying who Greeley was supposed to be. She just wouldn't do it. She was throwing the ball to Greeley to see what he would do. He liked that. It created a sort of cynically humorous bond between himself and the woman.
He said, rather offensively: "So you think you're going to marry her, do you? Why don't you try and behave yourself a bit better instead of shootin' off that big mouth of yours like that?"
The superintendent looked at Zilla. He said: "Look, I'm not standing for this."
She put her hands behind her head and stretched. Greeley thought she looked quite luscious.
He said: "Well, what are you going to do about it, big mouth?"
The man's face went brick-red in colour. He turned quickly on Greeley. He said over his shoulder to the woman:
"I'll talk to you in a minute. Just now I'm going to fix this bastard. I'll teach him a lesson. Do you think I'm the sort of cuss who has fellers chasing this girl? I'll make an example out of this rat."
He took a quick step towards Greeley, swung an immense fist. Greeley didn't even trouble to take the cigarette out of his mouth. He moved like a flash. He caught the punch on his left hand but he did not return it. He made two quick cuts with his right hand held extended and brought down with a chopping motion first on the superintendent's right forearm and then on the upper muscle. The edge of Greeley's hand was as hard as iron. The two blows, perfectly timed, placed in the exact position as only a Judo expert could place them, almost paralysed the brawny arm. Instantaneously, Greeley stepped in. He swung his left hand in a downward cut on to the solar plexus behind the blue double-breasted coat. Zilla's boy friend gasped for air and subsided on the floor. He was effectively winded.
Greeley unstuck the cigarette stub from his lip. He threw it into the fire. He took a packet of Player's cigarettes from his coat pocket; lit one with a dilapidated lighter.
Zilla swung her legs down from the bed. She sat there for a few seconds looking from her boy friend to Greeley and back again. Greeley thought there was definite amusement in her eyes. She got up. She went over to the wash hand-stand; poured some water over a sponge; went over to the now heavily breathing figure. She knelt down just behind the man; took his head on her lap; began to bathe his forehead with the sponge.
She looked up at Greeley. She was smiling. For a moment one eyelid flickered in a comprehensive wink; then she leaned over the head in her lap. She said:
"Willie dear... you're such a silly fellow, aren't you? You always come to the wrong conclusions. Horace here is my brother. Only, like you, he's a bit short-tempered sometimes. He got annoyed, see? You ought to think a bit before you start talking, oughtn't you, Willie dear?"
Willie dear scowled at Horace. He said, breathing heavily: "Well, why the bloody hell didn't somebody tell me?"
Greeley smiled amiably. He said cynically: "It's always the same with fellers who want to get hitched up with my sister. They always suspect everybody." He paused for a moment to draw on his cigarette. He waved his hand airily. He said: "Anyway, Willie, I can understand that. If I was stuck on her I'd be suspicious myself. There are damned few women look like she does. You know, she's got something."
Willie said: "So have you. I'd like to know where you learned that stuff you tried on me. That wasn't fighting, you know."
Greeley said: "No—maybe not. It's a sort of Japanese battle-craft. It's good too. I reckon if you'd hit me once you'd have knocked me through the wall."
Zilla Stevenson said in a soothing voice: "You two ought to shake hands and make friends. After all, you're going to be brothers-in-law, aren't you?"
Greeley said: "Yes. Still, fellers can always be good friends after a scrap. I'll come round and see you at the docks—maybe to-morrow. We'll have a drink. I want to talk to you about Zilla." He looked sternly at the dock superintendent. "I always take an interest in the guys who want to marry my sister," he said. "Maybe one of these fine days one of 'em's going to pull it off."
Willie said in a pained voice: "So there have been other ones, hey?"
Greeley opened the door. "You're tellin' me," he said. "Seven, to my knowledge. But none of 'em seemed to make the grade. She's a very particular piece, you know. But maybe you've found that out. Maybe that's why you're so bleedin' bad-tempered. Good-night, Zilla."
He went down the stairs. The landlady was standing round the angle of the stairway on the ground floor listening.
"Don't you worry, Ma," said Greeley. "It's all right. My sister's intended tripped up and fell over. Nearly knocked himself out. What did you think it was—a bomb?"
He opened the front door and walked into the dark street, whistling quietly to himself.
V. -- ZILLA
I.
IT was dark. Zilla stood on the corner where two mean streets met. The brown blanket coat she wore merged with the background of the wall behind her. Only her face and her beige silk stockings could be seen. There was a drizzle of rain—a steady regular drizzle—swept by an occasional gust of wind. By now her woollen blanket coat was soaked. Her ungloved hands, one of which held a damp cigarette, were wet.
After a while, she threw the cigarette into the gutter; put her hands into the side pockets of her coat; leaned against the wall. She was relaxed. Her attitude was so casual that the process of standing on street corners in rainstorms might have been one which was normal, if not even pleasurable, to her. Her face, which had now taken on the look of pathetic wistfulness which had so fascinated Greeley during the Kingstown business, was turned towards the opposite corner. Her clear blue eyes gazed steadfastly into the darkness beyond the circle of dim blued light cast by the street lamp.
Greeley came across the road towards her. He was smiling. He stood in front of her looking at her with frank admiration.
He said: "Hello, Gorgeous. I'm glad to see you looking so happy. When I got your telegram I wondered what the hell had happened. Is anything wrong?"
She looked at him. She smiled; shook her head.
She said: "No, there's nothing wrong."
"No?" said Greeley. "This is interestin'. You don't mean to say that you made this date with me in the rain just because you wanted to see my beautiful face?"
She shook her head. "You're quite right," she said. "I didn't. But there's no reason why I mightn't have wanted to do that, is there? Why shouldn't I want to talk to you?"
Greeley said: "What is this?" His voice was more than interested.
She said: "You're strange, aren't you, Greeley. You've got an idea that there's no possible reason why a woman like me might be interested in a man like you."
Greeley said, in a flat sort of voice: "If there is a reason I'd be damned glad to hear it. What have I got that would interest you?"
She did not speak for a moment. She seemed to be considering something; then she said: "I suppose you think because you don't look like a film star, because you're not good-looking, because you don't speak with a B.B.C. announcer's accent, that a woman might not be interested in you. You're funny. You're very funny, aren't you, Greeley? You think nothing of all the really important things about yourself. You're a fearfully superior person possessed of an odd inferiority complex. You ought to get rid of it. Believe it or not, you're a very interesting person."
Greeley grinned. "You'll make me blush in a minute," he said. "But even if what you say is true, it would be a damn' sight better if I did look like a film star; if I did talk with a blinkin' accent that you could cut with a knife...."
She interrupted. "Why?" she asked.
Greeley said: "Take a look around you. We're in the third year of this bleedin' war, an' do you see virtue coming into its own? Lots of the boys who look like film stars an' speak with pretty accents are still duckin' the Services—one way or another—the west-end's full of 'em—but nobody seems to mind. There's supposed to be a total comb-out in this country, isn't there? All right... you don't find the guy who drops his aitches missin' the comb. They get him all right. It's the guy who looks good and speaks prettily who gets himself a nice uniform, goes on doin' the job he was doin' before there was a war an' kids himself he's servin' his country—at least he kids his friends."
She said: "Those people don't matter. You know they don't matter. So do they. And before they're through they'll pay the bill—one way or another. In any event all that doesn't alter the fact that I think you're a very interesting person."
"All right," said Greeley. "I got a bleedin' raindrop runnin' down my nose and I'm half drowned, but I'm quite prepared to stand here up against this lousy wall hearin' why I'm interestin'. That's the thing—you tell me why."
She said: "One night Mr. Quayle was in an expansive mood. He talked quite a lot about you. You've done some terrific things, haven't you?"
Greeley said: "Hooey! I haven't done any more than anybody else has done. Anybody else on this job, I mean. I've just lasted, that's all."
"That's just it," she said. "You've lasted—God knows why—you've taken some chances."
Greeley grinned. His cap was soaked. He took it off, shook it so that the raindrops ran off the peak. He put it on again. He said:
"Well, you can fall under a bus, can't you? A lot of people do. I've just been lucky. I haven't fallen under the bus yet. Maybe I will one day."
She said: "I believe you're a fatalist."
"Fatalist my fanny," said Greeley. "I take what comes. I'm a philosopher. If your name's written on something, you get it. If it isn't, you don't."
She asked: "Are you married?"
Greeley nodded. "Yes," he said, "I'm married. I got a nice wife. She believes in me. She thinks I'm what you call a good husband. She thinks I'm on one of those travelling munitions squads. A good girl—Nellie—not very exciting, but good."
She said: "That's the trouble, isn't it? Her not being very exciting. You've got to have excitement, haven't you?"
"Why not?" said Greeley. "Some people like going to the pictures, don't they?"
She nodded. She smiled slowly. She said: "Yes, some people like going to the pictures. You prefer this...."
Greeley asked: "Look, what is all this leadin' up to?" He produced a box of Player's cigarettes; gave her one; flicked open his lighter. Her face was close to his as he lit her cigarette. He put the lighter away and drew a deep breath of tobacco smoke. He repeated: "What's all this leadin' up to? You're getting me in a state of mind where I could believe that you had a bit of a lean on me."
She said: "The joke is, Greeley, I'm beginning to believe that I have."
Greeley said: "You're suffering from what they call a fit of temporary insanity. A woman who looks like you look, is what you are and knows what you know, could make any man she wanted to."
She said: "Yes? I made a man like that once—a man I wanted to make—my husband. He's dead now. Since then I've been rather more interested in what I can do to men rather than in what they can do to me."
"I get it," said Greeley sarcastically. "I can spin you round my little finger, can't I?"
She said: "The trouble with you, Greeley, is—you're cynical. Your cynicism, of course, is quite insincere. You use it as a sort of self-protection."
He said: "Any time I have to protect myself against you I'll take poison. Do your worst, Sweetheart. All I ask is, do we have to stand here in this bleedin' rain? I'm half drowned already."
She said: "I never mind rain."
"No," said Greeley, "it's good for the complexion, isn't it? But believe me, yours doesn't need any beauty treatment." There was a pause. He went on: "Look, nobody could accuse me of being curious, but why the hell does Quayle want to use you on a job like this? What's the matter with him? He's got half a dozen women could have done this. Why does he have to use somebody like you? Hasn't he got any really intelligent work to be done?"
She said: "Don't be too fast, Greeley. This job is intelligent enough. You don't have to be sorry for me."
He said: "Well, what you've had to do up to the moment isn't very intelligent, is it?"
She moved. She turned a little towards him. She said:
"I haven't started yet. I shall start when you turn Foden over to me."
Greeley grinned. He said: "I'm beginning to wish I was this guy Foden. He must have something."
She said: "I think he has got something—possibly more than he knows."
"I see," said Greeley. "So that's it! Maybe he knows a damn' sight more than he thinks he knows. Maybe he's supplying one of those missing pieces that Quayle keeps fittin' into those jigsaws he's always workin' on. I get it. but I still don't see why he had to use you."
She said: "I do. He's got a good reason. Foden comes from Morocco. I know quite a bit about Morocco. When Foden's talking—if he does talk—I'll not only be able to hear what he's saying, I'll be able to visualise places. That's important."
Greeley said: "So you know Morocco. You've been there? That's a place I've always wanted to go to."
"It's an amusing place," said Zilla Stevenson. "My husband was there for a long time. He died there."
"Ah!" said Greeley. "So that's why you know Morocco."
"That's the reason," she said. "He knew it even better than I did." She laughed softly. "He had every reason to know it," she said.
Greeley said: "What was his job?"
"He was an engineer," she said, "sometimes. The rest of the time he was doing exactly the same thing as you and I are doing."
"You don't say," said Greeley. "Well, it just shows you. It shows you how small the world is, doesn't it?" He threw his cigarette stub away.
She said: "I sent you that telegram because I wanted you to know about Foden. He's moved. He's taken a room at the Hunting Horn. That's going to make it a lot easier for you."
"You're tellin' me," said Greeley. "That means I can get him practically any time?"
She said: "Yes, I shouldn't waste any time if I were you. I've got an idea there's every reason for us to hurry."
Greeley nodded. "You mean, before Foden gets impatient and starts shooting his mouth all over the place tryin' to get this big money he's after?"
"That's right," she said. She brought her hand out of her pocket; looked at her wrist-watch. "It's twenty minutes to nine," she said, "and there's no time like the present."
"I get it," said Greeley. "All good things have to come to an end. I'll get after him now. Well, good-night, Beautiful."
"Good-night," she said. "One of these days we'll have a real talk, somewhere where it isn't raining."
Greeley said nothing. He walked away into the darkness.
