No Business Of Mine

by James Hadley Chase

  She slid off her stool. “You mean right now? This very moment?”

  “Why not? Can you get away?”

  “Oh, yes. All we girls are free lances. We make what we pick up-

  doesn’t it sound sordid?” She giggled. “I suppose I’d have to come all

  the way up to your room and there wouldn’t be any crowds in there?”

  I shook my head. “No crowds. Just you and me.”

  She looked doubtful. “I don’t know whether I should. My father

  said he’d be terribly angry if I ever appeared in the News of the

  World.”

  “Who’s going to tell the News of the World?” I asked patiently.

  She brightened up again. “I wish I was clever. Do you know, I

  never thought of that. Well, come on. Let’s go.”

  I finished my drink. “Is there a garage at the back of this joint?”

  She nodded. “Yes, a big one. Why?”

  I patted her hand. “Some Americans like to look at old churches,”

  I said, smiling. “I’m crazy about garages. You’d be surprised at the

  number of garages there are to look at. They’re full of oil and

  interest.”

  “But why garages?” she asked blankly.

  “Why old churches?” I returned.

  She nodded. “I expect you’re right. I had an uncle who liked

  visiting public houses. I suppose it’s the same sort of idea.”

  “Along those lines,” I said, walked with her to the door.

  As we reached the head of the stairs, I saw a big woman coming

  up. She wore a black evening dress and a heavy gold collar

  surrounded her thick neck. Her black hair was scraped back and her

  broad, rather sullen face was a mask of make-up. I drew back to allow

  her to pass. She came on, gave Crystal a cold hard stare, didn’t notice

  me, went on.

  I stared after her, a tingling sensation running down my spine.

  The woman was Mrs. Brambee.

  Chapter VIII

  “Do you know what it means when a girl is said to be ruined?”

  Crystal asked, sitting on the bed and surveying my room with

  approval.

  I put my hat in the cupboard, sat down in the arm-chair. “I have a

  vague idea,” I said, smiling at her. “But it’s a little technical to go into

  at this stage of our association. What makes you ask?”

  She fluffed up her blonde curls. “My father says that if a girl

  allows a man to take her into his bedroom, she’s as good as ruined.”

  I nodded gravely. “There are times when your father talks sense,”

  I said, “but it doesn’t count with me. You’re not the ruining type.”

  “I thought there was a catch in it,” she said, sighing. “Nothing ever

  happens to me. Confidentially, my greatest ambition is to be chased

  up a dark alley by a man with glaring eyes. I’ve hung around dark

  alleys until I’m sick and tired of them, but no man with or even

  without glaring eyes ever shows up.”

  “Remember Bruce and the spider and keep trying,” I said.

  “Something’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

  She nodded, sighed. “Oh, well, I’ve waited so long now, I can wait

  some more. May I see those stockings or do I have to wait for those

  too?”

  “You can not only see them, but you can have them,” I said,

  fetched them from my wardrobe. “Catch.” I tossed them into her lap.

  While she was drooling over the stockings I rang for the floor

  waiter, and then lit a cigarette.

  My visit to the Blue Club hadn’t been a waste of time. Meeting

  Mrs. Brambee had been a stroke of luck, especially as she hadn’t seen

  me. Crystal had told me that she had seen Mrs. Brambee in the club

  regularly every Thursday night. She appeared to have business with

  Jack Bradley, and after, she had dinner and went away. No one knew

  who she was; she always dined alone, and always left the club

  immediately after finishing her meal.

  This information intrigued me. When I first saw Mrs. Brambee she

  was so obviously the village charwoman that meeting her dressed up

  in her finery had come as a complete surprise. I decided to pass this

  information on to Littlejohns. It might help him to find out what kind

  of game Mrs. Brambee was playing.

  Then the visit to the club’s garage had also been fruitful. The first

  car I had seen in the vast cellar, running under the club, had been the

  battered Standard Fourteen that had followed me on my run to

  Lakeham.

  Slowly, bits of the jig-saw puzzle were fitting themselves together.

  For some reason Jack Bradley was interested in my moves. I was

  pretty sure that the youth who had followed me was acting on

  Bradley’s instructions. I thought Crystal could enlighten me, and

  turned from the window to ask her. I found her in the act of changing

  her stockings.

  “Don’t look now,” she said with a giggle, rolling the nylons up her

  shapely legs. “I’m in what is known as an intimate situation.”

  “Hey! Get that limb out of sight,” I said, as I heard a gentle tap on

  the door, and the handle turn.

  The floor waiter drifted in as Crystal hurriedly adjusted her dress.

  His eyes flickered for a second, then he looked at me, coldly inquiring.

  “A double whisky and. a large gin and lime,” I said, trying to look

  as if Crystal was my sister.

  He inclined his head, drifted out again. His back was stiff with

  disapproval.

  “I guess I’ll be the guy who’ll be ruined,” I sighed, sitting in the

  arm-chair again. “Will you hurry and get that leg show over before he

  returns?”

  “Don’t you like it?” Crystal asked, hurt. “I thought you’d go all

  pop-eyed and coy.” She put on her shoes, regarded her legs with

  unconcealed delight. “They are lovely, aren’t they?” she exclaimed. “I

  can’t thank you enough.” She rushed over to me, sat on my la and

  twined her arms around my neck. “You’re a good, kind pet and I adore

  you,” she went on, nibbled the lobe of my ear with her sharp little

  teeth.

  I pushed her off, got up and plumped her in the chair.

  “Stay still and behave,” I said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Talk away. I’ll listen,” she said, hugging her knees and peering at

  me over the top of them with her big, dizzy blue eyes.

  “Have you ever seen in the club a young guy, slight, dark, sal ow

  complexion, wears a grey greasy looking hat, clean shaven, about

  twenty, who drives that Standard I pointed out to you?” I asked.

  “Oh, you mean Frankie,” Crystal said at once. “He’s a horrible boy.

  None of the girls like him.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, called, “Come in,” as the waiter

  tapped, and received the drinks with as much nonchalance as I could

  muster. When he had gone, I went on, “What does he do?”

  “Frankie?” Crystal raised her shapely shoulders. “He hangs

  around. I suppose he does all Bradley’s dirty work. He drives the car,

  runs errands-those kind of things. Why are you interested?”

  “It’d take too long to tell you,” I said, putting her off. “You liked

  Netta Scott, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t like women,” Crystal said pr
omptly. “I’m too busy trying

  to like men. I’m mad about men. Did you know my mother was

  frightened by a wrestler just before I was born?”

  “I know. Sam told me.”

  “It’s had ever such a funny effect on me . . .” Crystal began, but I

  interrupted.

  “Never mind about that,” I said hastily. “Let’s talk about Netta.

  Sam tells me you two got on together.”

  “I suppose we did,” Crystal said indifferently. “She was a bit odd,

  but she didn’t try to steal my men, and I didn’t want Jack Bradley or

  her other boys, so we didn’t ever come to blows.”

  “Were you surprised when you heard what had happened to her?“

  “I was stricken in a heap. I was sure she’d never have done an

  awful thing like that. It just shows, doesn’t it? My father always says . .

  .”

  “And we’ll leave your father out of this conversation too,” I said.

  “Will you try to remember that? Wrestlers and your father-out! Tell

  me something about Netta. Did you ever meet her sister?”

  Crystal frowned. “I didn’t know she had a sister.”

  “She never mentioned one?”

  “Oh, no, but then she might have and I mightn’t have listened.

  You see, if she had said she had a brother . . .”

  “Yes, yes, I can understand that, but we’re talking about her

  sister. All right. You didn’t know she had a sister. Did she ever speak

  about going to a village in Sussex cal ed Lakeham.”

  “No. Lakeham? I don’t know the place.”

  “Don’t let that worry you,” I said kindly, “There must be a whale

  of a lot of other places you don’t know either. Tell me something else.

  You’ll be able to answer this one. Did she have a regular boy friend

  while you knew her?”

  “Oh, yes,” Crystal said, perking up. “She did have someone, but

  she never talked about him. In fact, she was quite secretive about

  him. I saw him twice, although Netta didn’t know. I was on the look-

  out for him. The first time I saw him he was driving a marvellous

  black-and-yellow Bentley. He picked Netta up outside the club.” She

  sighed. “I wish one of my boys had a Bentley.”

  “What’s this guy like?” I asked, interested.

  She shook her head. “I never once saw his face. He was big` tall

  and hefty. Both times I saw him it was dark and he was in the car.”

  “Could it be anyone in the club, do you think?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no, I know it wasn’t.”

  I suddenly thought of Julius Cole. He was big and hefty. He had

  been the one who had identified the dead girl as Netta. He had a flat

  below Netta’s. He might qualify quite easily.

  “Ever heard of a man named Julius Cole?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “`You know, I didn’t expect this,” she said a

  little peevishly. “I thought we were going to have some ruinous fun.

  I’m beginning to think you’re more interested in your silly old

  questions than in ruining me.”

  “Smart girl,” I said, grinning at her. “I am. You’re not the ruining

  type. Besides I’m asking these questions for a purpose. I don’t think

  Netta s dead. If she is dead, then she didn’t commit suicide, she was

  murdered.”

  Crystal stared at me. “I know I’m a little dumb,” she said, after a

  moment’s hesitation, “but I can’t be expected to understand what

  you’ve just said, can I; or can I?”

  “No, you can’t,” I agreed. “Would you like to know more about it?

  Would you like also to play at being a lady detective?”

  “My father says detectives are common,” Crystal returned, her

  eyes opening wide. “They listen at keyholes, and my father says that’s

  common. I used to listen at keyholes when I was young; I suppose

  that’s why he said it.”

  “Isn’t it possible to leave your father out of this conversation?” I

  pleaded. “He seems always to be turning up.”

  “He always is. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t burst in here

  and hit you over the head with a stuffed mongoose.”

  I sighed. “I’ll chance it. Shall we get back to the original question?

  Do we or do we not work on this puzzle?”

  “I wish I knew what you were talking about,” she said plaintively.

  I decided that if I could make her understand, it might be useful to

  have her planted in the club to keep me informed of what was going

  on there. She might pick up some useful information which might give

  me the lead I was looking for. I was now certain that the Blue Club was

  tied up in some way with the puzzle of the missing bodies.

  So with infinite patience I told her the whole story. She sat staring

  at me, her mouth a little open, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  “Well, now,” I concluded, “you know as much about this business

  as I do. Bradley is tied in somehow. This guy Frankie is in it, too. Julius

  Cole might be Netta’s boy friend with the Bentley. Mrs. Brambee isn’t

  what she seems. Don’t you see, there are a lot of angles. Some of

  these angles might be cleared up if you keep your eyes and ears open.

  All you have to do is to listen and watch. Try to find out why Mrs.

  Brambee sees Bradley every week. If I knew that I might have the

  answer to one of my problems. Will you do it?”

  She sighed. “Oh, well, I suppose so. You’ll argue me into it in the

  long run if I do say no. All right, I’ll do it, but don’t expect too much,

  will you?”

  I patted her hand. “Do your best, and I’ll not ask more than that.”

  The telephone rang shrilly. I answered it. The Inquiry Desk said

  Inspector Corridan was asking for me.

  “Tell him I’ll be right down,” I said, hung up.

  “Well!” Crystal exclaimed. “I suppose now you’re going to get rid

  of me. And I thought you were going to show me your etchings.”

  “You’re not the first girl who’s been disappointed,” I said. “Now

  slip away like a startled mouse. Scotland Yard is downstairs and I don’t

  want him to see you.”

  “Goodness!” she exclaimed, jumping up. “I don’t want to s e him

  either.” She grabbed up her precious nylons, slipped on her wrap,

  sped to the door. Then she paused, rushed back, flung her arms

  around my neck, kissed me. “Thanks again for the lovely stockings. I

  like you. Don’t let’s be so stuffy the next time we meet.”

  I said I’d see her in a day or so, steered her to the door, opened it.

  Corridan was standing outside, his hand raised to knock. He gave

  Crystal a surprised, rather shocked look, stood aside.

  Crystal slid past him, hurried down the corridor without a

  backward glance.”

  “Hullo,” I said. “I thought I told the Desk to tell you I was coming

  down.”

  He wandered in, closed the door. “Oh, I didn’t want to bother you

  to do that,” he said. “I hope I’m not intruding.” He gave me the

  nearest he could come to in the leer line. “Friend of yours?”

  “Certainly not,” I said. “That’s the floor waiter’s daughter. She was

  cleaning the bath.”

  He nodded, roamed around the room. “I’ve s
een her at the Blue

  Club on my one and only official visit, I believe, or am I mistaken?”

  “At times you are quite observant,” I said, tartly.

  “Oh, I notice blondes,” he returned with a dour smile. “Does that

  mean you were at the club to-night?”

  “Fortunately I don’t yet have to account to you for my actions,

  motives or movements,” I returned, eyeing him. “But if you’re

  bursting with curiosity I don’t mind admitting I was there.

  Furthermore, I did bring the blonde back with me. I had some silk

  stockings, and as I had no one to give them to, I thought she might

  have them. There was nothing immoral about the transaction,

  although, at a later date, I hope something along those lines may be

  arranged. Satisfied?”

  He didn’t appear to be listening.

  “I dropped in as I was passing because I thought you’d be

  interested to hear the coroner’s verdict on Anne Scott,” he said,

  pausing to look out of the uncurtained windowed.

  “I can guess what it was,” I returned. “Suicide while the balance of

  her mind was disturbed. Tell me, have you satisfied yourself that

  Netta had a sister?”

  He looked at me, his eyelids drooped. “What a rum chap you are,”

  he said. “Of course I satisfied myself there is such a person as Anne

  Scott and she was Netta’s sister. What kind of a policeman do you

  think I am? You’ll find the record in Somerset House if you feel like

  checking it.”

  “Okay,” I said, shrugging. “I wanted to see how thorough you’ve

  been. How about Netta’s verdict?”

  He shrugged. “The body will have to be found first. We’re looking

  for it.”

  “I see the Press haven’t got the story.”

  Corridan scowled. “And they’re not having it,” he said grimly. “As

  it is the Chief is raising blue murder. The less publicity at this stage the

  better. We can rely on you to say nothing I hope?”

  I grinned. “Sure,” I said, “I’ll keep your guilty secret. Nothing more

  to tell me?”

  He shook his head. “Not just yet,” he returned, “but I’ll keep you

  in the picture.” He moved to the door. “Come down and have a

  drink?”

  “I’m coming down, but I can’t stop for a drink. I have something

  important to do.”

  “It’s nearly eleven o’clock,” Corridan said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Come on, and don’t be unsociable.”