Delphi collected works o.., p.518
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 518
There were a lot of people there. Bellamy, leaning up against the doorpost of the drawing-room, gazed vaguely around at an expanse of starched shirts, many of them worn by the elderly and military types that represented the majority of Carola’s male relatives. One or two of them he thought looked at him a little queerly. He imagined them saying to each other and their wives: “Here’s Bellamy. He’s drunk again. Damn the feller! What the devil can Carola see in him?”
He wandered through the large room, threading his way through little groups of people. He went into the alcove on the right of the room. Set against the wall was a long table from which drinks were being served. Bellamy got himself a large whisky and soda and stood there drinking it. He thought that whisky, on Bacardi rum on champagne, did not taste extraordinarily pleasant.
From where he was standing he could see the whole length of the room. Down at the other end Harcourt March and Mrs. Berington were deep in conversation. Bellamy thought that the conversation must be of a serious nature because, although from time to time she smiled at Harcourt and looked about the room, he could see that between these little bits of “theatre” they were talking quite urgently, and, if he knew anything, not too good-humouredly. Iris Berington was annoyed about something, Bellamy thought.
On the other side of the room, diagonally opposite Harcourt, Vanessa March was sitting on a settee talking to Carola’s uncle. Every now and then she flashed a glance across the room towards Harcourt and Iris. Once Bellamy thought he saw her lip curl ominously. Bellamy thought it must be pretty tough for Vanessa to have to watch her husband and his lady light-o’-love so deep in conversation in a friend’s house.
When Carola’s uncle went away, Bellamy wandered over and sat down by her side.
“‘Lo, Vanessa,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Hullo, Nicky,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m all right,” he said. “But I’ve got a grouse. They’re charging too much for whisky these days, or else the glasses don’t hold enough.”
Bellamy was thinking that Vanessa was a very lovely woman. Her black hair made a perfect foil for the intense whiteness of her complexion. Her big melting brown eyes, the tremulous delicacy of her well-cut mouth, added to her slim grace and vivid personality, made a striking picture.
Bellamy looked over towards Harcourt. He hiccoughed softly.
“Y’know, Vanessa,” he said, “I agree with you.” She laughed.
“What do you mean, Nicky?” she said. He grinned at her.
“I agree with what you’re thinking about Harcourt,” he said. “He’s a dam’ fool, that’s what he is. Y’know, Vanessa,” he went on, “you’re a lovely woman. I suppose I’ve seen as many good-looking women as most men, but I don’t think I have ever seen a woman who’s quite as fascinating as you are. That being so, I think Harcourt is a first class mug to go trailing around after the little Berington thing. Another thing,” he continued seriously, “I think he’s got a nerve to bring her to Carola’s party. I bet Carola didn’t ask her.” Vanessa smiled — a slow smile.
“Strangely enough she did, Nicky,” she said. “She asked Mrs. Berington at my request. I’d much rather Harcourt had her here and stayed sober than stayed put with me and got drunk.”
Nicky said: “I think you’re rather a swell person to stand for it, Vanessa.”
She put her hand on his knee.
“Nicky dear,” she said, “it isn’t like you to talk like that, and you’re talking like that only because you are a little bit tight, aren’t you? You’re not behaving like the usual tactful Nicky. After all,” she went on, “I don’t care about Harcourt. Why should I? He bores me. He’s bored me for a long time. He’s stupid... inefficient... he’s an utter fool.”
Bellamy grinned.
“That’s the stuff to give ’em,” he said. “Now, that’s the way I like to hear a woman talk. Y’know, Vanessa,” he went on, “if I weren’t so keen on Carola I think I could be very interested in you.”
She laughed.
“That’s very sweet of you, Nicky,” she said. “But let me give you a word of advice. If you are keen on Carola, I should drink a little less. She’s pretty fed up with you, Nicky.” She dropped her voice. “She told me you’d got a job investigating some leakage or something in the ‘C’ Bureau. Why don’t you take advantage of the job, Nicky? Why don’t you turn over a new leaf?”
He said: “It’s funny you saying that. Every morning regularly about ten o’clock, I make up my mind to turn over a new leaf. I start turning it over, but the dam’ leaf gets so heavy at about twelve o’clock that it gets the better of me and turns itself back again.”
His face lit up.
“Look, there’s Ferdie,” he said.
Ferdinand Mott came into the room, walked over to Carola and shook hands with her. He was a tall, fine-looking man. When one looked at him one thought automatically of a cavalry officer, which was strange because Ferdinand had never been in the Army. He had nice manners and was easy to get along with. His smile was almost permanent.
Bellamy said: “Can I get you a drink, Vanessa?”
“No thanks, Nicky,” she answered. “I won’t have a drink just now. I must be going.”
“Well, I need one,” said Bellamy. “So if you’ll excuse me I’ll go and get one.”
He got to his feet and walked back to the alcove. Vanessa, watching him thread his way between groups of talking people, found herself thinking that Nicky was always graceful — even when he was drunk.
Bellamy found Mott drinking a whisky and soda. He ordered one for himself.
Mott said: “Well, Nicky, how are you? And how’s life?”
“I’m all right, thanks, Ferdie,” said Bellamy. “And I think life’s bloody!” His voice was pitched a trifle higher than usual. “Money’s my trouble,” he said.
Mott grinned amiably.
“It’s everybody’s trouble these days,” he said.
He offered his cigarette case. Bellamy helped himself and fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. He looked at Mott. The expression in his eyes was not pleasant.
He said: “How’s that dam’ crooked club of yours going along, Ferdie?”
Mott’s smile wavered a little.
“The Club’s all right, thanks, Nicky,” he said. “But I don’t know that I appreciate your description of it. It’s not a crooked club.”
Bellamy laughed unpleasantly.
“Oh no!” he said. “Well I’ve never won any dam’ money there, and I have yet to meet someone who has. There are one or two people who play in your club, Ferdie, who ought to go on the stage as sleight-of-hand experts.”
Bellamy’s voice was loud. A half dozen people in the vicinity were looking over their shoulders.
Mott said between his teeth: “Listen, Nicky, you’re drunk and I don’t propose to quarrel with you here. If you think there’s anything funny about the way my Club’s run, come round and tell me in my office.”
He sunk his voice to a whisper. “Then I’ll be able to knock your teeth down your throat personally, you drunken bastard.”
“Oh, really!” said Bellamy.
He stepped back. He threw his whisky and soda straight into Mott’s face.
Someone said: “Oh, my God...!”
Mott, his face livid with rage, took his handkerchief and began to wipe his face. The man in the white jacket, behind the drinks table, looked uncomfortable. One or two people, scenting further trouble, moved out of the alcove into the main part of the room.
Bellamy stood with the empty glass in his hand, grinning stupidly at Mott. He moved towards the table and put the glass down.
Then Carola appeared — swiftly and quietly. She took Bellamy’s left arm in her right hand, pushed him across the space between the drinks table and the door that led to the dining-room. She pushed him inside.
He leaned up against the table. Carola, almost trembling, stood in front of the still half open door.
“Nicky,” she said, “please do me a favour. Take your hat and coat and get out of here. I’ve had enough of you.”
She pulled her engagement ring off her finger and held it out towards him. He looked at it vaguely but made no effort to take it. She took two steps towards him and dropped it into the breast pocket of his double-breasted dinner jacket.
“I’m through with you, Nicky,” she said. “For the last three months most of my friends and all my relatives have been telling me I was a fool to be engaged to you, that you are nothing but a drunkard; that you can’t even behave like a gentleman. It has even been suggested that you’re only interested in me because of my money. I’ve been fed up for a long time but to-day when I heard that you had got this job, I thought there might be a chance for you.”
Bellamy said: “Oh hell!”
Carola went on: “When you’re drunk you’re impossible. You can’t carry your liquor anyway. You make scenes. Please go. I don’t want to see you again.”
Bellamy looked towards the half open doorway. On the other side of it, he could see a shadow on the carpet.
“I see,” he said. “So this is my congé? All right, Carola, you have it your way. Although why you should object to me telling Mott the truth about that dam’ crooked club of his I don’t know, unless—” His voice was sarcastic.
“Unless what, Nicky?” Carola asked. Her voice was unsteady.
He began to fumble for his cigarette case.
“Why don’t you tell the truth, my dear?” he said. “I’ve guessed it for some time. The fact of the matter is you’re dam’ keen on Ferdie Mott—” he pointed towards the open doorway— “the fellow who’s just outside that door listening as hard as he can, damn him.”
He pushed against the table behind him and stood swaying on his feet. She looked nervously behind her at the half open door.
“What chance have I got against the one and only Ferdie Mott?” said Bellamy thickly. “The one and only Ferdinand — God’s little gift to womankind — who never gets tight, who always has money in his pocket, who never has to write out cheques knowing dam’ well that they’re going to bounce back again with ‘r.d.’ written all over ’em. Ferdinand who is reliable and has nice manners and is generally nice to know even if he does run a lousy gambling club.” He paused to get his breath.
“All right, my dear,” he said. “If it’s all over, it’s all over and that’s that. And most of your friends and all your relations can now go into a huddle and congratulate themselves that you’ve got rid of Nicky — the bad boy, the cock-eyed king, the pride of the cocktail bars, who would, in due course, have blotted the fair escutcheon of the Everards so dam’ much that it would have looked like an advertisement for Stephen’s Ink.”
He hiccoughed.
“My heart is too full for words,” he said. “Anyway it’s either that or whisky on top of rum and champagne. So I’ll be toddling along. So long, sweetheart — and mind you keep your feet dry!”
He pushed past her through the door into the drawing-room. He walked towards the door.
Mott went into the dining-room. Carola was sitting in the chair by the table. Her head was buried in her hands. She was sobbing.
Mott said: “Don’t worry, Carola. You’ve done the right thing, believe me. My dear, he’s not worth a girl like you. He’s not only stupid, he’s just impossible.”
Outside in the hallway, the butler helped Bellamy on with his coat. He was opening the door when Bellamy said:
“Soames, is Mrs. March here?”
“No, Sir,” said Soames. “She left with Mr. March about twenty minutes ago.”
“I see,” said Bellamy. “And Mrs. Berington?”
“She’s gone too, Sir,” said Soames.
Bellamy said: “Too bad. It looks as if I shall have to go off by myself. Good-night, Soames.”
He was almost out of the door when a maid came into the hallway.
“Mrs. Vanning’s on the ‘phone, Mr. Bellamy,” she said. “She wants to speak to you.”
Bellamy turned back into the hallway. He followed the maid along the passage that ran at right angles away from the drawing-room. At the end of the passage was the telephone. He picked up the receiver.
“Hullo, Freda,” he said.
He leaned up against the wall, his eyes closed.
Freda’s voice was hoarse.
“Nicky,” she said, “please do something for me. Tell Carola I’m fearfully sorry I couldn’t get along to her party. Tell her I’ve got an awful cold. And I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything I can, my dear,” said Bellamy.
Her voice was urgent.
“I want you to come round here and see me, Nicky,” she said. “It’s important. Will you get into a cab and come here right away. Come in by the side entrance. I’ll leave the door leading into Philip’s study on the latch. You needn’t ring. Please don’t come in by the front entrance.”
“All right, Freda,” said Bellamy. “It all sounds very odd and mysterious. I’ll come along right away.”
He wandered unsteadily back to the hall. He said to the butler solemnly:
“Will you present Mr. Nicholas Bellamy’s compliments to Miss Everard and tell her that Mrs. Philip Vanning regrets she cannot come to Miss Everard’s party because she has a cold. And bob to your uncle!”
The butler said: “Very good, Sir.”
He closed the door behind Bellamy.
II
LEANING back in the corner of the cab Bellamy lit a cigarette from the stub of the last one. He threw the stub out of the window and noticed vaguely that the night was darker than usual and that it was still raining.
His head was aching. He told himself that it was dam’ silly to drink Bacardi on top of champagne. Anyone knew that that was about the quickest way to get cockeyed. He grinned a trifle ruefully at the thought that he supposed he had really wanted to get cockeyed.
By now the cab was in Mount Street. The Vanning flat was only a few hundred yards away. Bellamy switched his mind over to Freda Vanning. He was interested. He wondered what it was that had inspired Freda to telephone him and ask him to come round so urgently. Bellamy couldn’t understand anything being urgent to Freda. She was so self-contained, poised, cool and generally self-sufficient. To indicate that a matter was urgent would be tantamount to a confession of weakness from Freda’s point of view.
He began to fumble in his pockets — feeling for loose change to pay the cab. Then he remembered Carola.
Carola had been pretty tough. She had looked good during that telling-off business. She always looked good when she was angry. And on the other side of the door, listening hard, that damned Ferdie Mott had been standing, probably showing his pretty teeth in his usual damned ready-made smile and patting himself on the back. Well... Ferdie had his cue all right. Bellamy was right out now as far as Carola was concerned and Ferdie would waste no time in trying to make the most of the situation for his own ends. First of all he was — and always had been — keen on Carola, and secondly he disliked Bellamy like poison. Things were going Ferdie’s way all right.
But then things always went Ferdie’s way. Bellamy allowed his mind to wander over the details of Ferdinand Mott’s career. He had been Public Relations Officer to a firm of manufacturers until the beginning of 1939. He was paid a good salary — too much salary. And he wasn’t any good. They were just going to get rid of him when along came the Vanning job and Ferdie joined the “C” Bureau staff. He wasn’t too bad at that job. He had a flair for writing copy easily and quickly.
When the axe came along in September and he, Bellamy and March were discharged from the job, Mott apparently, was the only one of the three who had any ideas at all. He had the idea about starting Mott’s Club — and it was a damned good idea.
Ferdie wasn’t a bad psychologist, Bellamy thought. He knew that when a war started, people were first of all rather excited and then bored afterwards. Ferdie knew that if there was a time to make money out of a gambling club it was during a war. You wanted nice cosy premises, a very select clientele and some good-looking and clever women to bring in people to play. You did not want to worry about liquor licences. You gave your members what drinks they wanted and you relied on the cagnotte for your profits. Mott had done well out of the club.
He had the right sort of personality for the job too. People liked Mott. He was well set-up and smiling, always well-dressed, always ready to buy anybody a drink at any time, well-spoken, good-mannered and attractive to women — well, anyway, to a certain type of woman who wasn’t too discriminating. Mott gave the impression of being well-bred even if he wasn’t and some very nice people used Mott’s Club.
And if on occasion one or two people had been a little bit clever at the tables that was not necessarily Mott’s fault, and he did not, of necessity, know about it. Bellamy grinned when he realised that his rudeness to Mott at Carola’s party had been absolutely gratuitous. There hadn’t been any apparent necessity for it, but Bellamy had meant to annoy Mott and he had succeeded.
He realised, a little gloomily, that Ferdie would go all out for Carola now.
Bellamy sighed, rapped on the window, stopped the cab, got out a trifle unsteadily and paid the man off. The Hyde Apartments were just along the street. He remembered that Freda had asked him to go in the side door.
He turned down the side street to the right of the apartments and into the passage that bisected the block or mansions, walked along until he came to the service door. He pushed it open and began to walk up the stairs to the second floor.
Arrived there he meandered along the passage at the back of the Vanning flat, turned into the little passage in which the outlet door to Philip Vanning’s study was situated and tried the handle. The door was on the latch as Freda had said it would be. Bellamy pushed it open and stepped into the study, closing the door quietly behind him. The electric light was on.
He crossed the room, opened the door on the other side, walked through the rather large dining-room and into the drawing-room. He expected to find Freda there, was surprised that she was not there.
