Delphi collected works o.., p.359
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 359
Fells said: “I understand perfectly. There is just one point. Supposing for the sake of argument that Foden, whose entry into this country was successfully planned, is working for Schlieken, and has an exit plan worked out. What happens then?”
Quayle said slowly: “Well, if he’s going to get out and wants to take you, you’ll have to go with him, won’t you? It would be marvellous if Foden took you out of this country — back to France or Germany — if Schlieken gave you still more work to do. It would be wonderful. Consider how good it would be if he actually sent you back here working for him as you were before.”
Fells nodded. His face was very grave. He said: “Yes, it would be. Then you could play both ends against the middle.”
Quayle said: “That was the idea.”
There was a pause. Quayle took out his cigarette case; offered it to Fells. They began to smoke. After a little while, Fells said:
“Now I understand about Tangier. Now I see why you wanted to break that up — at any rate for the moment.”
Quayle said: “I’m glad you understand, Fells. You know I’m damned sorry, but I’ve got my job to do, and you’ve got to do yours.”
Fells got up. He said: “Well, there’s nothing more to talk about, is there? I’ll wait till Foden comes to-morrow night and then I shall know what I’ve got to do. And if he recognizes who I am I’ll do the best I can.”
“That’s it,” said Quayle. “And even if you go out of this country, I’ll get someone in touch with you somehow — sometime.”
He went to his desk; took out some banknotes. “Here’s the pay-off for Foden,” he said. “I arranged that you should give it to him before he starts talking. It breaks my heart to hand over so much money but it may be worth it.”
Fells said: “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” He smiled. “You’re after something really big, aren’t you, Quayle?”
Quayle nodded. “I’m after Schlieken,” he said. “If we could find out where Schlieken is. If we knew where he was; whether he was in France or Germany or where we could get him — somehow. . . . And if we got Schlieken we’d break up their English espionage branch in six months. . . .”
Fells said: “I see. If Foden’s working for Schlieken; if he’s got an exit scheme planned, he’ll take me with him. Then you’ll rely on one of our European people getting a contact with me, and then . . .”
“That’s about it,” said Quayle. “Damned good luck to you, Fells.”
Fells said: “Thanks.” He picked up his hat. He went to the door. He hesitated for a moment; turned.
He said: “You know, Quayle, it’s been good fun. I’d like you to know that I’ve always been very grateful to you.”
He went out.
Quayle stood in front of the fireplace looking at the fire. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and threw it into the grate. He said:
“Grateful — my God!”
CHAPTER 10. The Mickey Finn
I
THE SILVER BOOT Club is an ornate institution, situated on a first floor near Albemarle Street. It is just another of those places. It has existed for some years and the best accountant would be hard put to it to decide exactly how it makes its profits. It is furnished in pale grey and black with lots of chromium, and the young woman behind the bar, whose equilibrium was in permanent danger from the height of her French heels, had an air of almost aristocratic Bohemianism. She exuded charm, a spurious hauteur and “Toujours a Toi” perfume.
Foden and Greeley sat at the end of the bar furthest from the door. They were the only customers. Before them on the counter stood large whiskies and sodas — the fourth set-up since their arrival.
Greeley said: “This is a bit better than kickin’ around pubs in the Midlands. This is class.”
Foden said nothing. He was watching the girl behind the bar. Greeley was about to speak when the door opened and a girl came in.
She was quite startling. Although she was quietly dressed in a well-cut black coat and skirt, a silk shirt and a tailor-made hat, she presented a picture that was almost shattering in its intensity. Her hair was dead black. Her eyes large and brown. Her face very white. She had a beautiful mouth that was made up with the exact shade of carmine. She moved quickly, with an urgent vitality in every step. When she spoke she radiated energy. When she smiled her parted lips showed beautiful teeth.
She came straight to Greeley. She said: “Well, I’ll be damned! If it isn’t Horace!”
Greeley swung slowly round on his stool. He said: “Jeez — Mayola!”
Mayola laughed. Her laugh cut through the room. It was quite carefree. Foden had the impression that her life had been made by this sudden meeting with Horace.
She said: “Well, what do you know about that? And how’s Zilla? I haven’t seen her for weeks.”
Greeley said, after a moment: “Neither have I. She hasn’t been very well or something. I believe she’s got some leave. She’s away in the country somewhere. You know what she is.”
“Don’t I know?” said Mayola— “the old mysterious Zilla. Well . . . well . . . well . . .?”
She turned and looked at Foden. She looked at him long and carefully. She started with his shoes, then her eyes travelled upwards to his fair hair. She showed undisguised admiration. She said softly:
“Oh, boy . . . oh, boy . . . what a man! Who is it, Horace? I can hardly wait.”
Greeley said: “This is Mr. Foden — a pal of mine. This is Miss Mayola Green. She’s a friend of Zilla’s. I met her here with Zilla in the old days.”
Foden said: “I’m very glad to meet you, Miss Green.”
Mayola said: “I’m very glad to meet you. It’s a long time since I’ve seen a man who looks as good as you do.”
Foden raised his eyebrows. “You’re trying to flatter me,” he said.
“Don’t you believe it,” said Mayola cheerfully. “I never flatter men.” She swung herself on to a stool, the graceful movement giving Foden a chance to admire the suppleness of her perfect figure. She said: “Well, is anybody going to buy me a drink or do I have to buy one?”
Foden said: “I’d like to buy you a drink. What will you have?”
“The biggest drink of the most expensive thing they’ve got,” said Mayola. “Brandy, I think. I feel like a lot of brandy.”
Foden gave the order to the high-heeled guardian of the other side of the bar, who said with dignity: “You can only have one double brandy. We’re running short.”
Foden grinned at Mayola. He said: “I’m sorry you can only have one.”
“One’s better than nothing,” said Mayola. “And if I want another one I know where I can get it. This place always has been stingy with liquor. They keep it for their friends.”
The barmaid said: “I resent that. We’re rationed; you ought to know that.”
Mayola said: “You keep your hair on, ducky. And don’t get annoyed; otherwise you’ll fall over. You ought to get a boy friend to carve those heels down a bit.”
The barmaid gave a little gasp. She put the double brandy in front of Mayola; turned, went to the other end of the bar with great dignity.
Foden said: “Miss Green’s quite a personality, isn’t she?”
Greeley chuckled. “A personality! My God!” he said. “She’s a bleedin’ whirlwind. You wait till you get to know her a bit better.”
Foden said: “I’m looking forward to it.”
Mayola picked up her glass. She drank off the double brandy quietly and consistently without a pause. She put the glass back on the counter.
She said: “That’s better. Now, what’s going on around here? What have you boys been up to?”
“We haven’t been up to anything,” Greeley answered. “We’ve just been having a few drinks — a sort of little celebration.”
“Celebration, hey?” said Mayola. “What have you been celebrating? Has something good happened to somebody?”
“Just a little bit of business,” said Greeley. “You know how it is these days. It’s difficult to pull anything off. If you do, you’re more than lucky.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mayola. She said to the girl behind the bar: “I suppose it’s true what you said about not having any more brandy?”
“It’s true enough,” the barmaid said. “And whether you believe it or not, it’s true as far as you go.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” said Mayola. “You ought to think yourself very lucky to be serving behind a bar. I expect most of the customers wonder why you’re not in the Services. But I expect they haven’t got around to your age-group yet.”
She got off the stool. “Look, children,” she said. “I’m sick of this dump. Any time I get in here I feel repressed.”
Greeley grinned. “You’re a one, Mayola,” he said. “You don’t alter a bit.”
She looked at him impertinently. “D’you think you’d like me better if I did alter?” she said.
Foden said: “I don’t think so.” He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. “I think I like you just as you are.” Mayola smiled appreciatively. “Well, that’s fine. Let’s get out of here. We’ll go around to my place. Believe it or not I’ve two or three bottles of real brandy, and some other stuff too. Besides, the atmosphere’s better there.” She looked at the girl behind the counter and laughed. “Well, how does that go?”
Greeley said: “It suits me.”
Foden said: “I’m game for anything.”
“All right,” said Mayola. “Let’s get out of here and get downstairs and see if we can get a taxicab. It’s almost impossible but it has been known.” She said to the girl behind the bar: “Good-night, Sourpuss!”
They went out.
Greeley’s head was aching. He lay back against the soft corner of the settee. From out of the corners of his eyes he could see Foden on the other side of the room finishing his brandy and soda. Greeley thought: You must have a stomach with a steel lining. I thought I was pretty good but you take the cake!
A cuckoo clock on the mantelpiece began to chime. A little door on one side opened and a cuckoo came out. Mayola, who was perched precariously on the piano stool, bent down to take off her high heeled shoe. As she did so, the velvet dressing-gown into which she had changed when they arrived at the flat, flapped open and showed a long expanse of silk clad leg. Foden saw it. He grinned at Greeley.
The cuckoo clock was still chiming. By now Mayola had removed her shoe. She hurled it at the clock. Her aim, though wild, was lucky. The clock bounced on to the carpet and lay face upwards still chiming.
Mayola said: “Some clock! But it’s a good one. How I hate that goddam clock. Every night just as I’m going to sleep it wakes me up, and when I want to wake up I never hear it.”
Greeley said: “You should worry.” He was surprised to find he was speaking a little thickly. He wondered how many brandies and sodas they had drunk. He looked at Foden.
Foden was lying back in his chair — relaxed and happy. He seemed quite sober. Only his eyes were a little bright.
Mayola said: “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m beginning to be the tiniest bit high. Not cockeyed, mark you — just a little high.”
She swung round on the piano stool. She began to play: “You Made Me Love You and I Didn’t Want to Do It!” Then she began to sing. She had quite a good voice and she sang with a delightful air of abandon. She ogled Foden theatrically.
When she had finished, Greeley said: “What about the neighbours? Somebody’s going to kill you one of these fine nights.”
Mayola said: “There aren’t any neighbours. Underneath this flat there’s a shop, and above me it’s all empty. I just reign in solitary state.”
She began on another song. It was a hot plaintive number. Greeley thought: This woman could have made a lot of money on the stage.
Foden got up. He walked over to the piano. He said: “Did anyone ever tell you, Mayola, that you’re very beautiful?”
She winked at him. She said: “You’d be surprised! But I don’t believe most of ’em.” She looked humorously serious. “You know what, Fodie-Wodie,” she said, “whenever a man tells me that I look beautiful I always wonder what he’s after.”
Foden said: “I’ll give you two guesses.” He went on: “You’ve got very nice legs, Mayola.”
She said: “Yes? I’ve heard that one before somewhere too. Let’s have a drink.”
She got up; walked a little unsteadily towards the sideboard. Greeley thought: Either she is a bit cockeyed or she’s a damned good actress. He lit a cigarette.
Mayola knelt down and opened the doors of the sideboard. She poked her head inside. After a moment she began to swear. She swore very comprehensively. She said:
“Believe it or not there’s no brandy.” She produced an empty bottle. “What do you know about that?” she said. “Look at it — bone dry.”
Foden said casually: “You ought to lock it up.”
“You’re telling me,” said Mayola. “It’s that cow who comes in to clean for me. I suppose she’s been having nips. God — how I hate that woman!”
“Well, why don’t you get rid of her?” Foden asked.
“Don’t be silly,” said Mayola. “You’re lucky if you can get anyone to come in and look after you these days. Didn’t somebody tell you there’s a war on?”
Foden said: “Yes — I heard about it!”
Mayola began to examine the interior of the sideboard. She said: “You know, you boys, this is very, very serious?”
“What is?” asked Greeley.
“This liquor question,” said Mayola. “I don’t believe I’ve got any more drink. Hey, wait a minute . . . what’s this?” She produced a bottle.
She stood up; stood looking at the label, her head on one side. After a moment she said dramatically:
“No, not that — anything but that.”
“What’s the matter with it?” asked Greeley. He thought: She’s going to start something. I wonder how she’s going to play it.
“What’s the matter with it?” said Mayola. “Listen, Horace, I’d rather drink poison.”
Foden walked over and took the bottle from Mayola. He began to laugh. “This is all right,” he said.
Mayola said: “All right! Do you know what that stuff is?”
Foden said: “I ought to. I’ve drunk gallons of it. It’s Araki.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Mayola. “It’s just pure poison. I had another bottle of it. I had two drinks out of it about six months ago. It took me nearly a week to get over it.”
Foden laughed. He put his right arm round Mayola’s waist. He stood there looking down at her, the bottle in his left hand. He said:
“I’ve drunk gallons of this stuff. You can get lots of it where I come from — even if we don’t keep it in pretty bottles like this. It’s just got a kick, that’s all. It won’t hurt you.”
“Won’t it?” said Mayola. “Well, as far as I’m concerned you can have it.”
Foden said: “It’s really not very much stronger than whisky or gin. It’s just an odd mixture, that’s all.”
“Maybe,” said Mayola. “But it does things to me.”
Greeley said: “What the hell is the matter with you two — quarrelling over liquor? I can drink anything that comes out of a bottle.”
Mayola disengaged herself. She came over towards Greeley. She said: “Look, Horace, do you fancy yourself as a drinker?”
Greeley said: “Well, I’m not so bad. I’ll drink with anybody.”
“Yes?” said Mayola. “And how much can you drink without getting drunk?”
Greeley said: “I don’t know. I can’t remember when I was drunk.”
Mayola was twiddling the rather large cameo ring on the third finger of her left hand. She turned it over. She turned it over so that the cameo was underneath.
Foden, who was leaning against the sideboard with the bottle in his hand, said: “You don’t mean to tell me, Horace, that you can’t get drunk?”
Greeley said: “I don’t know about that. I just can’t remember the last time I was drunk.”
Mayola said: “Perhaps he doesn’t mix his drinks. That’s what does it — that and the cool night air.”
“Hooey!” said Greeley. “I’ll mix anything.”
Mayola winked at Foden. She said to Greeley: “Look, you beautiful beast. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You try a shot out of this bottle of mine — a good shot — and if you’re sober ten minutes afterwards I’ll eat my best hat in public.”
Foden picked up her shoe from the hearthrug. He brought it over to her. She put her arm round his neck and supported herself while she put the shoe on.
Greeley said: “What is this? I believe you two are tryin’ something on me. I think you’re tryin’ to get me cockeyed. Well, look, I’ll drink level with you. I’ll drink anything if anybody else will.”
Foden said: “Don’t you worry, Horace. This stuff couldn’t hurt you. Mark you, it’s not made for little girls, it’s a man’s drink.” He squeezed Mayola.
Mayola said: “All right, you can have it. But leave me out.”
Foden said: “Now, Mayola, you’re not ducking, are you? You’d better have just a little drop — about a quarter of what we have.” He winked at Greeley.
Mayola said: “You know, Fodie-Wodie, I think you’ve got designs on me, and I think you think that just one out of that bottle would just about make me right for you. Is that it?”
Foden grinned at her. He said: “I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“I bet you wouldn’t,” said Mayola. “You’re one of those men that I’d just trust anywhere in any circumstances. Like hell I would!”
She took the bottle from Foden; went back to the sideboard; opened the drawer; took out a corkscrew. She put the bottle between her knees; extracted the cork.
