Complete works of peter.., p.377
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 377
She got up; came to meet O'Mara. She said: "You see, Shaun, you've practically reduced me to a condition of serfdom. Not only am I here first, but I come to meet you."
O'Mara smiled at her. "I wonder if anybody ever told you that you make a most lovely picture. I was thinking when I came in——"
She interrupted. "What were you thinking?" she asked. Her smile was impertinent.
"I was thinking that I would like to take your nose between my forefinger and thumb, hold it up, and kiss you on the mouth."
She said: "Dear... dear... dear... Mr. O'Mara! And I didn't think you were that sort of man."
O'Mara said: "No?" He cocked one eyebrow.
They went to the bar. O'Mara ordered the drinks.
She asked: "What is all this about, Shaun? I feel there's something in the wind. There is a twinkle in your eye. Something's happened. I want to know what it is. I know it's something exciting."
O'Mara said: "I don't know just how much I can tell you." He looked at her seriously. "In fact," he went on, "I don't know that I can tell you anything. I'm not quite certain I can trust you, Therese."
She smiled. She said: "Oh no? So you can't trust me. Well, I like that!"
O'Mara said: "I don't care whether you like it or not." He grinned boyishly. "In point of fact," he said, "I've got something very amusing to tell you about the Kerrs. You know, I was intrigued about Ricky Kerr, and I'm a man who loves satisfying his curiosity."
She said: "I see. And so you've satisfied your curiosity about Ricky. And you're going to tell me all about it."
He said: "I'm going to tell you what I think—but not yet. We'll have dinner first."
Therese said: "You intrigue me, Shaun, very much. You're rather mysterious, aren't you? Although I suppose that adds to your attraction."
"Mysterious?" said O'Mara. "Not on your life. I'm the most obvious man that ever happened."
She said: "I wonder. You take a great delight in life and all the good things of life." She looked at him wickedly. "I can't understand how it is that you're not in this war."
He shrugged his shoulders. He said casually: "Maybe I'm a man of peace."
"Like hell you are," said Therese. "I should think you adored killing people."
"That's as maybe," said O'Mara. He drank some whisky and soda. "But killing people is a dangerous game, you know. I like to keep out of trouble. I think the whole essence of life is having a good time without getting too involved in anything."
"I wonder. But perhaps you're right, Shaun. So you're the gentleman who goes about the world having a good time but not getting involved in anything. I suppose in a minute you'll be telling me that you're not involved with me."
O'Mara looked at her sideways. He said: "The impertinence of it. What do you mean—involved with you?" He grinned. "I'm not in so deep that I can't get out," he said.
"Well, I'll be damned!" said Therese. "You've the effrontery to sit on that stool drinking whisky and to tell me that you're not in anything that you can't get out of. You're quite impossible, Shaun."
He leant a little closer to her. He said: "My sweet, listen to me. You're not suggesting that you want me to string along with you for ever, are you? I've got an idea that after, shall we say six months, you might find the process rather boring."
"Not so boring as too exciting," said Therese. "I should want someone to follow you about with a machine-gun to keep the other women at bay."
"Why should you think that women find me attractive?" O'Mara asked.
She said: "I don't think, Shaun—I know. You see I'm rather particular about my men. I've fallen for you with rather a bump."
O'Mara said: "Well, one of these fine days you'll have to get up again, won't you? In the meantime—tell me something..."
"If I can," she said. She finished her cocktail. "But I want another Martini first of all."
O'Mara ordered the drinks. He said: "This question has something to bear on what I propose to tell you when we've had dinner—this funny little story that I think's going to amuse you so much. Have you known Miguales long? What sort of person is he—this fellow who went off with Sandra Kerr?"
She said: "I don't know him well, but what I do know of him I rather like. I met him five years ago in Biarritz—just before the war. He was doing some diplomatic job for the Spanish Government. He was attractive, attentive and charming. Don't think that there's ever been anything between Enrico Miguales and myself," she said. "I should be annoyed if you thought that. He isn't my type, and in some way he's vaguely stupid."
O'Mara said: "You know, that's funny. I mean your being in Biarritz five years ago. I was over there about the same time. It's amusing to think that we might even have been staying in the same hotel, might even have seen each other."
She said: "Oh no, Shaun. I never saw you."
He raised his eyebrows. "How do you know?" he asked.
She smiled at him slowly. She said, with a sideways look:
"If I'd seen you, my dear, at any time, I should have done something about it."
They went into the dining-room. O'Mara had reserved a table in the corner. There were some flowers on it; a pink lamp shade. The table was inviting, charming.
He ordered cocktails. He said: "I telephoned through and ordered a special dinner. We've been lucky. This is, apparently, a good day for food at this place. We have hot hors d'oeuvres, a chicken and an amazing sweet specially concocted for us. You see what I do for you."
Therese looked at him. Her eyes were glowing. She said: "And what does a girl have to do to be so worthy, Mr. O'Mara?" She smiled at him.
"Drink your cocktail and don't ask leading questions," said O'Mara pertly. He raised his glass. "Here's to you, my sweet."
She said: "I want to hear all about this mysterious business. What is it you have to tell me, Shaun? I'm thrilled. I feel it's going to be exciting. I'm terribly impatient."
"I know," said O'Mara. "That's why I kept you such a long time in the bar outside. You could hardly sit still."
"Tell me..." said Therese.
O'Mara looked round the room. He said: "This must be kept very quiet. It's damned funny... and not so damned funny at that when you come to think it out. As I told you it's about Ricky Kerr...."
She said: "From the first time I met you you've been awfully interested in Ricky. Why? And what's he done now?"
O'Mara said: "You're quite right about my being interested in him. Listen to this one and wonder. Supposing I were to tell you that all this stuff about Kerr being employed in the Ministry of Supply was a lot of nonsense. Supposing I told you that our esteemed Ricky was nothing more nor less than a Secret Service man. What would you say then?"
Therese sipped her cocktail. She said: "I don't know that I'd be awfully surprised. But I might be. Is Ricky the sort of person who does a job like that? Isn't he a little too volatile—if you know what I mean."
O'Mara nodded. "I know what you mean," he said. "I'd have thought that too. But still, believe it or not, that's what he is."
Therese said: "Well... nothing surprises me. Go on, Shaun... tell me more."
The page boy from the hall came in. He came to the table. He said: "Mr. O'Mara? There's a call for you. Will you take it?"
"Oh dear," said Therese. "And just as I was beginning to be thrilled...."
O'Mara got up. "Excuse me for one minute," he said. "Anyhow, the story will keep." He smiled at her; went away.
He went into the call box in the vestibule; closed the door tightly behind him. He picked up the receiver.
Quayle said: "Listen, Shaun... ? Right. Sammy Cordover has been through. Our friend has all his arrangements made. He's left his flat some time ago. Sandra arrived after him and picked up a farewell note. He gave her the air as politely as he could. She's gone."
"I see," said O'Mara softly. "And Miguales?"
"He's going back to the flat," said Quayle. "He's going back to pick up some bags and oddments—at ten o'clock. Cordover got that from the porter downstairs. He went after Miguales and left Stott on. Stott's still there."
O'Mara looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to ten. He smiled to himself. The time thing had worked out all right... that was something.
He said: "All right, Peter. I'm going round to see our friend. I'll tell Stott to lay off. We don't need him any more. I'll be seeing you."
He hung up.
He went slowly back to the dining-room. The waiter was beginning to serve dinner.
Therese said: "Ah... so you're returned to me. This food is wonderful."
O'Mara looked sorrowful. He said: "Listen, sweet... I've got to go. I don't want to. I've got to. That was my boss talking just now. Believe it or not he wants me to go to Ireland first thing in the morning on Supply business. I don't want to. I want to stay right here for a bit." He smiled at her. "So I'm going off immediately to try and talk him out of it."
She said: "Oh dear... how annoying. Must you go, Shaun? What about your dinner? And what about me?" She made a little moue of annoyance.
"I don't mind missing my dinner," said O'Mara. "It's you I'm worrying about. But I must go. I must try and talk him out of this... for both our sakes."
She asked: "How long will you be?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps an hour—perhaps more."
She said with a little smile: "Well... if you have to go to Ireland perhaps you can take me. That would be nice. But to be serious... if you must go you must. When you've finished come back to the flat. I'll be waiting for you. I consider I can cook the best omelette in England. With real eggs. I'll do it for you myself." She dropped her eyes. "I gave my maid a night off to-night."
O'Mara smiled at her. He said: "You're quite wonderful, Therese. Let's do that. I'll fix about the bill here outside; get this interview over as soon as I can and rejoin you at the flat." He paused for a moment; then went on: "You didn't really mean that thing about Ireland, did you?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Why not, silly?" she asked. "If you can get the exit permit."
O'Mara said: "Well... I'll be damned. What a woman it is! Well... au revoir. I'll see you at the flat. Eat a good dinner."
She said: "I will. But all the time I shall think about you."
"What a subject for thought," said O'Mara.
He smiled down at her. He went away.
Sandra hesitated on the threshold; then inserted her key in the lock, pushed open the door. She could see the light in the sitting-room. She crossed the hallway, pushed open the sitting-room door, closed it behind her, stood with her back against it.
Ricky Kerr got up from the desk on the other side of the room. He smiled at her. He came towards her. He said:
"Well, Sandra, so you've come back—or have you?"
They stood looking at each other; then suddenly they both began to laugh. They stood a few feet from each other in the centre of the sitting-room laughing.
Eventually she said: "Yes, I've come back, Ricky. You've been very wicked, haven't you?"
He took her in his arms. "I know all about it, my dear—all about it. If it's possible for a person like myself to learn a lesson, I've learned it."
She put her finger on his mouth. She said: "I know—and it's going to be much easier from now on, isn't it? You see, you won't have to pretend any more."
Kerr said: "Not now. Quayle's been on the telephone to me this evening. He's told me the whole bag of tricks. You're a fine one, aren't you?" He looked at her. There was admiration in his eyes.
She asked: "Do you really mean that, Ricky?"
Kerr said: "What do you think? I think you're the loveliest—most wonderful—thing in the world. I know that and I'm not going to take any more chances on you."
She said: "No? Not with such lovely people as Elvira, and Magdalen and Glynda and Therese?"
"Not even for people like that," he said. "Anyway, they're not even in your street." His face became serious. "I've learned another sort of lesson too," he went on, "and that is not to take any more chances—as far as Quayle is concerned, I mean. He's taught me a hell of a lesson—that one."
Sandra said: "You mean he's made use of you. Made use of a lapse on your part. Well, Ricky... even if you have been a stooge you've been a very useful one. Incidentally, I've been little more than a stooge myself."
"Some stooge," said Kerr. He kissed her again.
She said: "I need a drink and I'm going to give you one. I've been rather scared the last few days."
Kerr said: "I bet you have. So have I. Sticking around here hasn't been too good, I can tell you. I felt very impatient at times. Tell me something...."
She said: "You needn't worry, Ricky. My affaire—if it can be called an affaire—with Señor Miguales was most Platonic." She laughed. "I don't think he ever wanted it to be anything else. I think he was rather scared of me."
"You're telling me," said Kerr. "You scare me too, sometimes."
She said over her shoulder: "That's as it should be." She poured out the drinks. When she brought his drink to him, she said nervously:
"Ricky, what's going to happen?"
He shook his head. He said: "I don't know. Quayle wants me to stay here. Maybe he'll find a use for me. But there's a person called O'Mara running this thing at the moment, and you can take it from me he's some man. He's dynamite. I'd rather be his friend than his enemy."
Sandra said in a low voice: "What will they do?"
Kerr shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. One thing's obvious. O'Mara's got to make a clean-up. He must. He daren't let any of these people get away with it. He daren't let any of them.... God knows what he's going to do about it. It's a tough proposition."
He lifted his glass. He said: "Well, here's to you, my sweet. And here's to O'Mara. Good luck to him."
They drank the toast together.
Miguales stood in front of the fireplace smoking a cigarette. For the first time for some days he felt peaceful and contented. At long last he could see his way before him. He felt he had come out of a valley of fear and indecision; that the road was now clear. In twenty-four hours he would be away from this accursed country with its dark and its cold and its rain—with its ominous shadows. He began to congratulate himself. Of course you had to be a little tough now and then. You had to play things along. You had to act. You had to use your brains. Miguales thought he had done all these things and even if his employers were hard people, well, he had been smart enough for them.
He lit a cigarette; he went to the sideboard. He examined the cocktail shaker. There was still some Martini in it. He poured out a glass; went back to the fire.
Outside in the street it was dark. O'Mara came slowly down on the side opposite the apartment block. He found Stott standing in a doorway leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, deep in thought.
O'Mara said: "You're Stott, aren't you?"
Stott said: "Yes. You're Mr. O'Mara?"
O'Mara said: "That's right. Has anything happened?"
Stott said: "No. He's still inside. He's not leaving till the morning."
O'Mara said: "Right. Well, you're through, Stott. You can go home and smoke your pipe or make yourself a pot of tea, or do any of the things you do when you're at home."
Stott smiled in the darkness. He said: "Thanks, Mr. O'Mara." He went quietly away.
O'Mara stood in the shelter of the doorway. He lit one of his small cigars. He put his hand inside the breast of his jacket, felt the butt of the Luger pistol in his inside pocket. He walked across the road.
Inside the hallway of St. Ervins Court the hall porter sat in his little office immersed in the evening paper.
O'Mara said: "Mr. Miguales? I hear he's not leaving till the morning. He's expecting me."
The porter said: "His flat's on the first floor. Shall I take you up?"
O'Mara shook his head. "Don't bother," he said. "I'll walk up the stairs. The exercise is good for me."
Miguales was drinking his second Martini when he heard the key in the lock. He was not surprised. He thought that would be the porter. His eyes opened a little when the door opened and O'Mara came in.
O'Mara stood in the doorway smoking his cigar, the Luger pistol in his right hand hanging down by his side.
He said: "Good-evening, Señor Miguales. How do you do? I'm glad to meet you."
He stood quite still, smiling amiably.
Miguales said: "I don't understand——"
O'Mara said shortly: "You will. Just sit down, Miguales. You and I have something to discuss."
Miguales said: "I insist on knowing who you are. Are you from the police? I have a right to know who you are. I should like you to know that I have a diplomatic passport."
O'Mara grinned. He raised the Luger pistol a few inches.
He said: "I have yet to learn that a diplomatic passport would be of any use to you against this. But if you want to know who I am, I'll satisfy your curiosity. My name's O'Mara. I'm one of those people whom you and your friends don't like very much."
He moved into the room. He went on: "I think it's a little tough on you, Miguales. You've got everything nicely sewn up. I imagine that you've been paid your thirty pieces of silver and now all you have to do is to get out. That's right, isn't it? You take a plane some time to-morrow, you flash your diplomatic passport and then you are home. You are at home and you can recount your adventures to your friends; tell them how clever you've been; what fools the English are; and what fools your employers are. I think you're a very clever person, Miguales. The trouble is you're not clever enough. Not by a hell of a long way."
Miguales was about to speak. He stopped for a reason which he could not understand. He stopped as O'Mara came into the centre of the room. Possibly the reason that he did not talk was because he saw the look on O'Mara's face.
O'Mara said shortly: "Sit down. Listen. I've got a good idea of you, Miguales. You're a man of straw—an air balloon. It was only right and proper that the people who've been using you—those charming people for whom you've been working—should have used you as a stooge. I should like you to know that I have very little use for people like you."
