‘But I must admit sanctimony can be delicious to watch in action. The reason Walker had to serve any term in prison at all was because the outraged parties insisted the head evil-doer must suffer at least a slap on the wrist to show they didn’t condone his evil-doing. Then if word of this vast, ridiculous stew ever did reach their electorates, said parties were in the clear.’
‘But what made him agree to that?’
Michael smiled without humour.
‘Operation Cupid did. Our people explained to him without rancour that if he refused to cooperate, he’d be dead before he could ever go on trial. Since he understood this was no mere threat but a statement of fact, he was as sweetly cooperative as you could ask. So you see, Mr Monte, Operation Cupid does have its merits in smoothing over life’s little troubles, doesn’t it?’
10
Settled in the front seat of the Humber beside Michael, Chris said, ‘Now what?’
‘The Wilbraham for you, I suspect. A pre-dawn council meeting for me. That striking blonde who was mooning at you in the airport terminal is your blushing bride, isn’t she?’
‘I don’t know about the blushing, but she’s my bride all right. You can make it The Wilbraham.’
Michael got the car into motion and turned it north into Sutherland Street.
‘I think you understand,’ he said, ‘that you should claim your estate immediately and with loud publicity. When the Press turns the cameras on you, give them the full face and bright smile. For obvious reasons, of course.’
‘I know. As soon as the gang hears I’m claiming the estate they’ll stop playing games with me. I already have a lawyer to take care of things. I don’t suppose that’s any surprise to you, the way you people have been tailing me.”
‘None. The real S. Warburton, poor soul. We looked him up as soon as Teodorescu sailed into Miami under his colours. Naturally, Teodorescu would choose the most stodgily respectable colours to sail under. I’d say Warburton deserves your valuable patronage. It’ll become compensation for the use of his good name.’
‘And what happens to you now?’ Chris said. ‘Do you stay on as Teodorescu’s handyman?’
‘Depends,’ Michael said. He swung the car into Buckingham Palace Road and then pulled up short at a traffic-light, impatiently racing the motor. ‘The situation is a bit sticky at the moment because none of us is likely to know why Number One made Baby his target for tonight.’ He glanced sidelong at Chris. ‘She wanted you to go along with her in double-crossing the others, didn’t she? I suppose she offered to tell you how you could wind up with the whole estate if you paid enough for the information.’
‘She did,’ Chris said. ‘You and your pals must feel pretty godlike sometimes with all those binoculars and earphones and electronic gadgets to play with, don’t you?’
Michael didn’t like this.
‘They’re hardly necessary in dealing with as clumsy a pair of conspirators as you and Baby,’ he said witheringly. ‘What an act! Furtive meetings, whispered conversations, meaningful glances – hell, you two were funny enough to play the Palladium. It’s damn lucky I was the only one in the audience, too, because your little secret was quite safe with me. But if someone like Teodorescu had ever caught the show –’
A chill of terror struck Chris in the pit of the stomach. It spread freezingly through his whole body, drying his mouth, stopping his breath. For the tick of a second, it was like the paralysis left by the bullet that had slammed him against the wall of Baby’s room. Then he came out of it.
‘For God’s sake, move! Turn it on. Get to that hotel as fast as you can.’
‘What’s that about?’ Michael said in surprise.
‘There is someone who knows about Baby’s double-cross! I told him about it myself. Now that he thinks he got rid of Baby and me both, the only one left who would know who he is and why he did it is my wife. And he’s had enough of a head start to get to her by now!’
‘You met him?’ Michael said incredulously. ‘You talked to him?’ But Chris saw gratefully that he wasn’t wasting time waiting for answers. They were racing along Grosvenor Place at top speed, slewing back and forth through the scattered traffic.
‘For Christ’s sake, it’s Warburton! Don’t you see? He wasn’t taking any chances at all. He wanted to be ready for me in case I somehow made it to London. Teodorescu never picked that name out of a hat, he was told to use it. Warburton’s the only one who knew about the double-cross, and he had to get rid of Baby to make sure the original plan went through.’
He didn’t have to say more than that. They swung, tyres screaming, around Hyde Park Corner and into Park Lane, and there, a little ahead turning right into their stream of traffic they saw the big grey Bentley with its two passengers in the front seat.
It was a sickening moment of indecision. Then Chris pointed.
‘It was parked just by the hotel. Take a chance on it.’
The biggest break of all, he thought as they drew up alongside the accelerating Bentley and he saw, Beth turn to look at him past the driver, her face filling with astonishment, was that Warburton had never expected this. The unbelieving moment he wasted in trying to comprehend who was in the car beside his was the moment he had needed to bear down on the gas and pull clear of the Humber. Then it was too late. Approaching Marble Arch, Michael skilfully had the Bentley almost pinned against the kerb.
There was a clash of fenders as Warburton tried to manoeuvre it free.
‘Keep clear!’ he bellowed, his face twisted with fury, and suddenly there was a gun in his hand, the barrel sighted erratically at Chris as the two cars jostled and banged each other on the bends into Bayswater Road.
‘Get down!’ Michael shouted at Chris, but it was Warburton who could have used a warning. Beth was suddenly on him like a wildcat, an arm around his throat, a hand clawing at his for possession of the gun, her body wedging him against the door which sprang open and banged against the chassis of the Humber.
Then Michael had the Humber clear, and the Bentley, out of control, ran across the road and smashed into the railings, propelling Warburton out of the open door like a half-filled sack being flung skyward. Michael pulled up behind the wrecked car as Beth emerged from it and staggeringly started towards her husband.
‘I’m not hurt,’ she assured him when he caught hold of her. ‘Not at all. Just shook up.’ She was dishevelled and breathing hard, but seemed more outraged than frightened when she looked down at the limp form lying there. ‘He told me things had gone wrong and you were hurt. I should have known better than to believe him. He didn’t even come into the hotel for me. He told me on the phone he’d be downstairs in the car and I was to get dressed and meet him there as soon as I could. And all along he was one of them, wasn’t he? He was the one really behind everything.’
‘Yes. But it’s all right now as long as you are,’ Chris said. He was gently rubbing a hand up and down her back, thinking meanwhile that it was funny to be soothing her like a hurt baby when this baby had, for his sake, just taken on a full-grown man with a gun and with every murderous intention of using it. ‘It’s all right. It’s all over now.’
‘Bloody well all over,’ Michael said. He hastily stood up from where he had been kneeling over the body and gestured towards the car pulling up near by, the night-strollers coming at a trot in their direction. ‘Looks like we have a real crowd-pleaser. All right, get your bag out of the car and buzz off.’ His lip curled at Chris’s hesitation. ‘What’s the trouble this time, you bloody milksop, soft heart or soft head? Buzz off, damn you!’
Chris dragged his suitcase from the car, caught hold of Beth’s hand, and led her, half running, down the street towards the hotel. They pulled up winded near its entrance, and Chris put down the suitcase and leaned back against the wall to unobtrusively ease the pain in the bad leg.
Beth stood staring at him with a sort of dazed wonderment. Then she looked all around her and up at the faintly starry sky as if trying to understand where she
was and how she got there. Finally, she found her voice.
‘I have never done it before in my life,’ she said quietly, ‘but I am going on a drunk. I want to hear about everything that happened tonight, but first you have to get me roaring drunk and keep me that way for twenty-four hours. Do you think we have enough money left to do that? How much money do we have, anyhow?’
‘That’s a good question,’ Chris said. ‘Now hold my hand, beautiful, and take a deep breath. I have something funny to tell you.’
About the Author
Stanley Ellin (1916–1986) was an American mystery writer known primarily for his short stories. After working a series of odd jobs including dairy farmer, salesman, steel worker, and teacher, and serving in the US Army, Ellin began writing full time in 1946. Two years later, his story “The Specialty of the House” won the Ellery Queen Award for Best First Story. He went on to win three Edgar Awards—two for short stories and one for his novel The Eighth Circle. In 1981, Ellin was honored with the Mystery Writers of America’s Grand Master Award. He died of a heart attack in Brooklyn in 1986.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1968 by Stanley Ellin
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
ISBN: 978-1-5040-4269-7
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