The Paw in The Bottle

by James Hadley Chase

  “You know I haven’t any friends now. It’s all your fault. You’re just jeering at me.”

  “Oh, nonsense.” He showed his impatience. “But I’ve got to get on. We’ll go into your troubles at supper. Please run along, Julie, and let me work.”

  “I’m sure I don’t want to stay if I’m not wanted!” she exclaimed, her eyes filling with angry tears, and she went out, slamming the door.

  Later she was abruptly jerked out of her slough of self-pity by the ringing of the front door bell. She was startled to find Detective Inspector Dawson waiting in the passage.

  “Is Mr. Wesley in?”

  She tried to hide her consternation, aware Dawson was studying her closely.

  “Yes, but he’s working.”

  “I’d like a word with him. Tell him I won’t keep him long, will you please?”

  Julie reluctantly let him into the little hall.

  He looked round and whistled softly.

  “How do you like it here?”

  “It’s all right,” Julie said sullenly.

  “That’s a pretty dress you have on. He’s looking after you well, isn’t he? I wonder why?”

  Julie gave him an angry look, but she was scared, wondering what he wanted, and she burst in on Wesley flustered and shaken.

  As soon as Wesley saw the frightened expression in her eyes, he said quietly : “Dawson?”

  “Yes. He wants to speak to you.”

  “All right. Has he said anything?”

  “Only you seem to be looking after me well and he wonders why.”

  Wesley smiled.

  “He’s no fool, is he? All right, Julie, show him in. There’s nothing to be frightened about. But if he worries you, you’d better tell him the truth.”

  “You’d look silly if I did.”

  “But you won’t, of course.”

  “You’d better not be too sure.”

  “Don’t keep him waiting and try not to be melodramatic. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “I’m beginning to hate you,” Julie said furiously. “You’re always sneering at me.”

  “Don’t be childish.”

  She went out of the room, her face scarlet, and Dawson was quick to see how angry she was.

  “He’ll see you,” she said, not looking at him. “He’s in the end room.”

  Dawson seemed to be in no hurry.

  “I saw your pal Harry Gleb yesterday. He’s pretty ill. I told him how you and Wesley had hooked up. When a chap’s in prison he likes to hear the latest gossip. But Harry didn’t seem to appreciate that item of news. He seemed to think it was your fault he was caught.” Dawson shook his head sadly. “Ever think of Harry? I don’t expect you have much time for your old friends. You’re having a lot of fun, aren’t you? Well, Harry isn’t. Harry’s worried. Between you and me if I were in his shoes I’d be worried too. Off the record, that young fellow’s going to hang.”

  Julie eyed him steadily, but said nothing.

  “Perhaps you don’t think so? Maybe you’ve got something up your sleeve that’ll save him?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Sure? Anyone withholding evidence in a murder case can get into a whale of a lot of trouble. You still think Harry didn’t do it?”

  “Did you want me, Inspector?” Wesley asked from the doorway.”

  Dawson sighed, turned.

  Wesley, his eyes hidden by the dark glasses, was standing looking towards Dawson. There was a stillness about him that betrayed his tension.

  “I did.” Dawson moved slowly across the room. “I was just having a word with Miss Holland. But now you’re here——”

  “Come into the sitting-room. You’ll find it more comfortable. And Julie, you’d better change. When the Inspector has gone we have an appointment, if you remember.”

  As soon as Dawson and Wesley had gone into the sitting-room Julie fled to her bedroom, thankful Wesley had given her the excuse not to see Dawson again.

  Alone, she began to work herself into a panic. Would she get into trouble for not telling the police about Wesley? Was Dawson bluffing? There was such a thing as being accessory to murder, although she had only the vaguest idea what it meant. Could they send you to prison? Should she tell Dawson the truth? If she did perhaps he wouldn’t take any action against her. But he might. He didn’t like her. He might be glad of the chance to get her into trouble.

  She thought of Harry. It was cruel and beastly of Dawson to have told him she was living with Wesley. And it wasn’t true. Not in the way Harry would think they were living together. But why was she getting into such a state about Harry? She didn’t love him, or did she? Thinking about him she knew she would rather have Harry with her than Wesley. What fun they would have had! She was always thinking about Harry now. Because she couldn’t have him, she wanted him, and it wasn’t long before she believed she was once again in love with him. She began to make plans. There was no reason why Harry and she shouldn’t get together when Wesley had given himself up and the money was hers. With the money Wesley had promised to settle on her, she and Harry could go to America. She supposed they would send Harry to prison for breaking into Blanche’s flat, but it couldn’t be for long and she would wait for him. Suddenly all the old feeling for him was back. She realized now she had always loved him, and he loved her. He had said so. Hadn’t he pleaded with her to join up with him again? And, like a fool, she had turned him down for Wesley.

  Dawson’s deep voice in the passage outside interrupted her thoughts. She heard him walk to the front door. A moment or so later Wesley came into her room. He stood just inside the door looking pale and tired.

  “He’s gone, but it was a near thing, Julie; a very near thing.” She started to her feet.

  “Why? What did he want?”

  “Asking questions. I wasn’t quite as clever as I thought. But he’s satisfied now.”

  “What questions?”

  “Checking my statement. I avoided the obvious trap, but if he hadn’t been so sure I was blind I might have been in a mess.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Julie hadn’t ever seen him look so anxious. “I don’t feel like doing any more work to-night. This has unsettled me. Let’s go somewhere and enjoy ourselves.”

  But Julie was worrying about herself.

  “Dawson said I could get into trouble if I held hack any evidence. I want to know what he means. I’m not going to get into trouble for anyone.”

  “You do worry about yourself, don’t you? They can’t do anything to you unless you talk. There’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

  “It’s all very well for you, but suppose they find out?”

  “How can they unless you tell them? For goodness’ sake stop worrying about yourself. I have enough worries of my own without having to listen to your selfish little problems. Now get changed and we’ll go out.”

  Julie flared up.

  “You don’t think of me for a moment ! I’m sick of being treated like a servant. You’re always sneering and jeering at me’.

  “You have only yourself to blame,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to stay here.”

  “And give up everything? I’m not that much of a fool!”

  “I’m afraid you’re ruled by greed, Julie. As soon as you have one thing, you want something else. You are never satisfied, and I’m afraid you never will be.”

  “Are you calling me greedy?” she said furiously. “How dare you! I’m not! I never have been, so there !”

  Wesley laughed.

  “You’re quite hopeless, Julie. Don’t be angry. Get changed and let’s go out.”

  “I won’t go out with you! I hate you! Get out and leave me alone ! I hate you! I hate you!”

  She threw herself on her bed and began to cry.

  II

  There was no happiness for Julie now. Her life with Wesley became a continual conflict : a clash of wills in which she invariably came off second-best.

  He was always busy, working late at the factory and when
at home working far into the night. She was bored and miserable and haunted with thoughts of Harry. But she could not give up the flat or her possessions. She knew she would be happier if she went back to work, but she hadn’t the strength of character to take the plunge.

  She had everything that money could buy, except happiness, and her conscience gave her no peace. She began to brood about Blanche’s death and the full horror of Wesley’s crime slowly dawned on her. Although it was over a week since the murder, the fact that Wesley had killed Blanche only now meant anything to her, and once she began to think of him as a killer she became frightened of him. He had told her she held his life in her hands. If he could get rid of her no one would ever find out he had killed Blanche. She became nervous, and would wake in the night, terrified he was in the room, creeping on her to kill her. She locked herself in; she never turned her back on him; she was always watching to see he didn’t have a chance to poison her.

  She had an idea that she might sell the jewellery he had lent her and with the proceeds be independent of him, but she calculated that the money wouldn’t last her for long and then she would be no better off. He had promised to settle money on her, and even though, as the days went by, she distrusted him more and more, she could not bring herself to lose the chance of being rich at last in her own right.

  When Harry came up before the magistrates after the remand she was called as a witness for the prosecution. She was panic-stricken at the thought of publicly admitting she had been a police informer.

  She received no sympathy from Wesley.

  “You can’t have your cake and eat it,” he told her. “But please yourself what you say. If it makes you feel any better tell them I did it. I’m not going to influence you one way or the other,” and he smiled at her, obviously amused by the furious, frustrated expression on her face.

  She raged inwardly that he had so accurately judged her character. He had no misgivings that she would give him away. He was certain he was safe. Again and again, infuriated by his confidence, she was on the point of telephoning the police, but each time she changed her mind at the last moment.

  When she stood in the witness-box, stared at by hundreds of eyes, she burned with shame. The sight of Harry sent a pang through her heart. She scarcely recognized him. He had lost weight, his face was lined and drawn, and there was a trapped, terrified look in his eyes. And he wouldn’t even look at her. That was the last straw. He stood in the dock, his flashy suit pathetically out of place in the drab, sordid surroundings, his hands clutching on to the dock rail, his head lowered.

  The Counsel for the Prosecution led her quickly and kindly through her story. He made things easy for her, drawing for the Court a picture of a terrified, inexperienced young girl caught up in a web of circumstances over which she had no control. Julie thought he overdid it, and wished he would stop harping on her innocence. What could Harry be thinking of her? She glanced across the well of the court, but Harry still wouldn’t look at her.

  But when the Counsel for the Defence began to question her the friendly atmosphere underwent a swift change. He seemed determined to spoil the good impression the Court had of her and to discredit her as much as he could. He succeeded. He asked her point-blank whether it was a fact she had been intimate with Harry. She hedged, but he kept after her until, red-faced and confused, she admitted it. So much for her innocence! Was it not a fact, he went on, that she had taken the job as Blanche’s maid willingly, knowing a robbery had been planned? She denied this so hotly she could see no one believed her. What was she doing now? And he stared down his beaky nose when she said she was looking after Mr. Wesley. As a maid? He wanted to know. As a housekeeper, she floundered.

  She left the witness-box knowing she hadn’t helped Harry nor herself. The Counsel for the Defence had made her out to be a female Judas. She couldn’t bear to stay in court after that, and it was Wesley who told her later that Harry had been committed for trial at the next Old Bailey sessions.

  The papers were full of the case, and she read and re-read the accounts, shrinking with shame when she read the veiled insinuations the reporters had made regarding her relations with Wesley. She realized, too, that Harry hadn’t a chance. Although no one actually saw him shoot Blanche, when the police had burst in they had seen him trying to escape. Only Julie and he were in the flat. Julie, as a police informer, had no motive for killing Blanche, but Harry had. He was, as the Counsel for the Prosecution had said, a rat in a trap. The whole thing appeared to be a foregone conclusion.

  It was then that Julie really began to worry. Harry’s white, agonized face haunted her. She kept reassuring herself that he would be all right, that Wesley would give himself up, but when she realized what a hopeless trap Harry was in she began to fear that something might happen to Wesley. Suppose he was run over and killed? Then nothing could save Harry. Tormented by this idea, she went to Wesley.

  “Do you think I am utterly heartless?” he said, laying down a sheaf of papers he was studying. “I thought of that weeks ago and there’s a signed statement at my bank to be opened after my death. If anything happens to me, he won’t suffer.”

  “How do I know you are speaking the truth?”

  “You should try to assess character, Julie. I don’t think you believe I’ll save Gleb. Do you?”

  “If you say so I suppose you will,” Julie said sulkily.

  One night, a week before the trial, Wesley called her as soon as he entered the flat. She hadn’t seen him for two days and she came from her room cautiously.

  “What is it?”

  She stood just inside the doorway and looked suspiciously at him. He was pacing up and down, a frown on his face, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets.

  “I’ve seen Dawson, he tells me Dana French has come for-ward as a witness for the defence.”

  “But she will be arrested !” Julie exclaimed; changing colour. “Apparently she is in love with Gleb.”

  “What do you mean?” Julie demanded angrily.

  “She’s sacrificing herself because she thinks she can save him.”

  “But how?”

  Wesley shrugged.

  “She’s willing to swear the gun belonged to Theo and that it was Theo who shot Blanche. She doesn’t realize that her evidence won’t save Gleb. But I thought it might interest you. It seems there are still a few people left who are unselfish.”

  Julie clenched her fists. She was sick with envy and rage. To think that painted creature should have done that for Harry!

  “You hate me, don’t you?” she exclaimed, facing him.

  “No, Julie, I don’t hate you. In fact, you interest me. Nothing would please me more than for you to go to the police and tell them the truth. It would prove to me that I was entirely wrong about you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. Even now, when this girl has set you an example, you won’t risk the chance of losing your money.”

  “You’re just trying to be beastly. Harry won’t hang. You’ve promised me. Why should I give up everything for the sake of a few weeks? It’s you who are selfish and cruel. You aren’t going to let him hang?”

  “No, but it’s hard for you to believe, isn’t it? I’m beginning to think you wouldn’t sacrifice anything for him even if I did let him hang.”

  “I would ! You’d better not try any tricks. It’s only because I know I can save him that I’m doing this. Why shouldn’t I have happiness and money? All my life I’ve had to do without.”

  “Happiness? Are you happy, Julie? I doubt it. And when you are on your own and have your money you still won’t be happy. A girl like you can never be happy. You’re chasing something that doesn’t exist.”

  “I’ll see about that. And while we’re on the subject just how much money are you leaving me?”

  “I was wondering when you were going to ask that. I thought two thousand a year would be enough.”

  She wouldn’t get another chance, she thought
, and said, “Two thousand? After all I’ve done for you? I want more. I want much more. Who else have you to leave your money to? If it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t be able to finish your precious work. Isn’t that worth more to you? I want five thousand.”

  “Don’t be childish.”

  “I want it and I mean to have it !”

  He looked at her, contempt in his eyes.

  “Has it ever crossed your mind, Julie, that I could get rid of you very easily?”

  Her anger went like the blowing out of a match flame.

  “Frightened?” he went on. “When a man has committed one murder, a second one doesn’t increase his punishment. What could be easier and more convenient for me than to wring your wretched little neck?”

  She backed away.

  “And sometimes, Julie, I feel it would give me such a lot of pleasure. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be a killer by nature. You may believe it, but I am sorry for what I did to Blanche. She meant nothing to me in the end; she deserved to die, but not at my hands. I shall regret her death as long as I live. The only thing that matters in life, Julie, is peace of mind. That I haven’t got; nor have you. And don’t look so scared. You’re quite safe. I don’t want your death on my conscience and, besides, I don’t fancy touching you. The more I see of you, Julie, the more I realize what an unpleasant young woman you are.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Julie said furiously. “You’ll be sorry for that. You see if you aren’t.”

  Wesley laughed at her.

  III

  Benton sat in the bar of a shabby public house near Charing Cross station. He sipped whisky and stared at the small, wet rings that decorated the wooden top of the table beside which he was sitting. There was a bleak, unhappy expression in his eyes and his thin body was shivering.

  He was finished, he told himself. The best way out would be to shoot himself. He had been telling himself this for the past two weeks, but he knew he hadn’t the courage either to kill himself or to face his creditors. He was like a man on a high tight-rope who has lost his nerve and knows that if he makes a move he will fall. He had made up his mind to keep out of the way and do nothing until something happened that forced him into action. He had left his flat in Dover Street and for the last four or five days he had wandered the streets, sleeping at a different hotel each night. He had thirty-five pounds in his pocket and when that had gone there was nothing. He owed a lot of money. He wasn’t sure how much he did owe, but he thought it might be something like twenty thousand pounds. It might be more and he didn’t think it could be less. If they got hold of him they would make him bankrupt. The disgrace of bankruptcy hung over him like a soiled cloak. He would have to give up his club. Ever since his father had made him a member he had never lost the feeling of pride that he had when he entered the dignified portals and had used the big, silent rooms for the first time. He clung fiercely to tradition, knowing there was nothing else to cling to. His school, his club, his flat and the fact his father had been a general were the highlights in his life. “They meant more to him than anything else; they and, of course, Blanche. Now he had lost everything and his pale hatred centred on Wesley.