The Paw in The Bottle

by James Hadley Chase

  “You go. Why should I run errands for you? It’s going to be different now. I’m not going to be ordered about any more.”

  “Poor Julie,” he said wearily. “I’m very sorry for you.”

  The taxi began to slow down as the traffic thickened. In the distance they could see a vast red glow in the sky.

  “There it is,” he went on quietly. “I said it would be an awe-inspiring sight, didn’t I?”

  She noticed his hands were trembling but she felt no pity for him. At least she would have the furs. She would keep the Arctic fox and sell the others. With the money she raised on the furs and the jewellery and with the money Harry must have put by they should be all right.

  As the taxi neared the factory they could see the flames and the spirals of oily, black smoke outlined against the red sky. Lines of cars were parked on either side of the road, and a big crowd was moving towards the fire. The night was full of sounds : excited voices, laughter, the shuffling of feet. Some-where in the crowd a dog was barking; a sharp sound that blended with the dry crackling of burning timber.

  A policeman stopped the taxi.

  “You can’t get through,” he said, with patient good humour. The hoses arc across the road.”

  “We’ll walk,” Wesley said, and got out of the car. “Will you wait?” he went on to the driver. The young lady will be coming back.”

  Julie followed him along the grass verge and they quickly caught up with the slow-moving crowd. Wesley caught hold of her arm and began to weave his way through the crowd, pulling her up with him. A man jostled him and knocked off his dark glasses. Julie, coming up behind, trod on them. She felt the lenses crunch under her foot. It gave her an odd physical satisfaction. He was finished, she thought. The breaking of the glasses seemed to her to be the final milestone of their association.

  “They’ve broken,” she said to him.

  “What does it matter? Don’t you see, Julie, for me nothing matters now.”

  They reached the gates of the factory. Now they could hear the hiss of water striking red-hot metal. The roar of the flames sounded near, and the air was hot and dry. Wesley spoke to one of the policemen guarding the gate. He showed him a card and the policeman let him through.

  Gerridge came running out of the smoke towards them. There was a long streak of oily soot across his face and a shocked, scared look in his eyes.

  “Is it bad?” Wesley asked, gripping his arm.

  Gerridge gulped. For a moment he couldn’t say anything. He clung on to Wesley’s arm while he tried to get his breath.

  “There’s nothing left,” he burst out. “It’s awful. The place is a roaring furnace. They can’t save it.”

  “And Benton?” Wesley spoke quietly.

  “He’s badly burned, but he’s alive.” Gerridge was staring at Wesley. “Your eyes, sir. Are they all right? They look all right. Can you see?”

  “Yes, I can see. Take me to Benton.”

  “That’s marvellous.” Gerridge seemed bewildered. “But when did it happen? Was it the operation . . . ?”

  “Take me to Benton,” Wesley said curtly.

  Gerridge stiffened.

  “He’s in there, sir.” He pointed to a small building near the main block of offices. “I must get back. We’re shifting our files in case the fire spreads.”

  “All right. You get off.” Wesley turned to Julie. “Come with me.”

  They had to step over long lines of hose and through big oily puddles of water that swamped the concrete before they reached the building. They found Benton lying on the floor, his head pillowed on an overcoat, a blanket thrown over him. A policeman was sitting on an office chair near him and he stood up when Wesley came in.

  “I’m Howard Wesley. May I speak to him?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s bad. Got burned about the legs. They’re moving him as soon as the ambulance arrives.”

  Julie hung back as Wesley went over to the still figure. “Hello, Hugh,” Wesley said, and knelt down on one knee. Benton opened his pale eyes.

  “Who’s that?” he asked feebly. “Wesley?”

  “Yes. Are you badly hurt?”

  Benton frowned. His big, white teeth bit down on his lip. It was some moments before he spoke, then the words came out in a desperate little torrent of pain.

  “I wish I hadn’t done it. I wanted to get even with you, but as soon as the flames started I knew it was wrong. All that work. I tried to put it out but the flames got me in the end. I thought I was finished.” He closed his eyes, added, “I wish I was.”

  “You’ll be all right. We all do things we shouldn’t do. Regretting them is the worst part. I regret things, too. I know how you feel. We’re so sure of ourselves when we’re doing wrong, and it’s only afterwards we see how stupid we have been.”

  “Yes; that’s right. I’m sorry, Wesley. I really am sorry.”

  “We had a bit of fun putting the place together, didn’t we?” Wesley said and smiled. “It was as much your work as mine.” Benton stared up at the white, tired face.

  “I didn’t expect ever to hear that from you. It’s good of you.” A shudder ran through his thin body and he clenched his fists. “It feels as if my legs are still on fire.”

  “They’ll fix you up all right. The ambulance won’t be long.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Blanche we might have got on together,” Benton said. There was sweat on his face now.

  “Yes . . . Blanche.” Wesley stood up. “I want to take a last look at the lab. I thought I’d see you first.”

  “Something’s happened to you,” Benton said weakly. “I don’t know what it is. Is it your eyes?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry about anything. So long, Hugh.” Wesley leaned forward and held out his hand. “You’ll be all right.”

  Benton gripped his hand.

  “I wouldn’t have believed it. I thought you would hate me like hell. I’ve been a fool. I’m sorry. I’m damned sorry.”

  “So long,” Wesley said quietly, and withdrew his hand. He turned to the door. “Julie . . .”

  She went to him.

  The police officer looked at them curiously.

  “Come with me, Julie.”

  There was a great crash outside as one of the walls of the laboratory collapsed. They stood for a moment in the smoke and the heat, side by side, looking at each other.

  “Go back to the flat. The taxi is waiting,” Wesley said. “See Dawson to-morrow and give him the statement. That’ll get Gleb out of trouble. Be carefull how you sell the furs. You should be all right. I hope you’ll find happiness, Julie.”

  She stared at him, bewildered. It was difficult to hear his voice above the roar of the flames.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Here’s Gerridge. Gerridge, will you see Miss Holland to her taxi?”

  Then Wesley walked rapidly away.

  “Where’s he going?” Julie cried, suddenly frightened. “Stop him! You mustn’t let him go!”

  She began to run after Wesley, but Gerridge pulled her back.

  “It isn’t safe !”

  “Let go of me !” she cried, broke away and ran on.

  Wesley had disappeared round the main office block. As she turned the corner of the building the heat hit her like a blow in the face. Smoke and sparks swirled towards her, reaching out for her, driving her back.

  Firemen, sheltered behind a nearby building, were playing water on to the roaring furnace. Suddenly one of them began shouting. He had seen Wesley walking towards the burning building. Two other firemen broke cover and began to run after him. They didn’t get far. The scorching heat drove them back. Wesley didn’t seem to notice the heat. He walked on, his hands in his trousers pockets, his head up. Julie watched him, her hands shielding her face, and she saw his clothes were smouldering, and suddenly narrow ribbons of flame flickered at his wrists and ankles. She hid her face, screaming.

  Gerridge caught a glimpse of Wesley sur
rounded by flames. There was a great tearing, crunching noise and the blazing mass of wood and metal came down, blotting Wesley from sight. A long, brilliant tongue of flame shot up, marking the place where he had been.

  V

  With Wesley’s letter authorizing her to take the furs and his statement for the police in her possession, Julie knew exactly what she was going to do. Harry’s trial was due to begin the following day so it would be a last-minute rescue, the kind of thing you imagine can only happen on the films. Harry, she felt, would never forget that it was she who had saved him from the gallows. But before she rescued Harry she decided to get the furs. Then she would see Dawson. But first it was essential to get the furs. She would feel much more confident if she wore the Arctic fox. Dawson would be impressed and, after the familiar way he had treated her in the past, she was determined he should be impressed. Once he had read the statement he was bound to let her see Harry. She supposed Harry would have to stand his trial for the robbery, but she would tell him she would wait for him. He would be able to face his sentence bravely, she thought, if he knew she would be waiting at the prison gates when he came out. She became quite sentimental about that thought, and even cried a little, picturing Harry coming through the great prison gateway, shivering and cold, the snow (there had to be snow, she decided) powdering his thin overcoat, and she in her furs, snug in a big car, would take him tenderly in her arms.

  Wesley had gone completely from her mind. His death meant a new life for her. She had had a bad hour or so after seeing him walk into the fire, but with her mind so much on Harry she quickly forgot him It wasn’t as if he ever liked her, she reasoned to herself. He had used her for his own ends and deserved no pity. It was maddening that she wouldn’t have a steady income. She couldn’t forgive him for cheating her at the last moment. But at least she had capital. She remembered Mrs. French had said the furs were worth thirty thousand pounds. That was as good as winning the Irish sweepstake! You could do a lot with thirty thousand pounds. Then there was the jewellery. Diamonds were fetching a good price now. She should make quite a bit out of the jewellery. She decided she wouldn’t tell Harry that Wesley had given her the jewellery, but she would tell him about the furs. She would keep the jewellery in a bank just in case something went wrong. She wasn’t absolutely sure that Harry and she would hit it off together. A girl had to be careful, she told herself.

  Wesley’s statement to the police completely cleared Harry. Explaining how he had persuaded Blanche to return to the flat with him, he wrote that he had staged a quarrel about Benton in the taxi, and had hinted that Benton was having an affair with Julie. Blanche had risen to the bait, knowing Ben-ton’s weakness. Wesley had told her that Benton intended to see Julie as soon as Blanche and Wesley had left for the theatre. That was enough for Blanche. She stopped only long enough at the theatre for a drink, and then she and Wesley had returned to the flat by underground and had entered the building by the garage entrance. As Blanche was opening the front door, Wesley, remaining in the lift, had shot her and had thrown the gun into the hall. He had closed the lift gate a split second before the police arrived. It had been a near thing, but it had succeeded. The gun, he wrote, belonged to an American soldier, and he gave the man’s name and service number. He had bought it from him a couple of years ago and he was sure there would be no difficulty in tracing it.

  Julie hugged the envelope containing the statement to her as she walked along Piccadilly. It represented Harry’s life. It was more than that: it was her future happiness as well. If she lost it nothing could save Harry. She clutched the envelope tightly, wondering if it wouldn’t be safer to take a taxi to the Kensington police station at once, just in case something did happen to it. But the temptation to go to Park Way and put on the Arctic fox to impress Dawson proved too strong. She knew she would look wonderful in the fur : like a film star. So she slipped the envelope into her handbag and looked up and down Piccadilly for a taxi.

  As she was being whisked along Park Lane towards Knightsbridge, she continued to build castles in the air. The furs were worth thirty thousand. Of course, she wouldn’t get quite that amount for them, but if she got twenty thousand, think what she could do with it! If Harry wanted to stay in London it would be marvellous fun to find a flat and furnish it so it would be ready for him when he was released. While she was planning the colour scheme of the bedroom the taxi drew up outside Park Way.

  She was a little uneasy about meeting the hall porter, but she needn’t have been. The hall porter had gone to lunch and his assistant hadn’t yet taken over. She found the entrance hall deserted.

  No one saw her as she unlocked the front door of Wesley’s flat and entered. For a moment or so she stood just inside the hall, listening. It was odd to be back here, to see the faint brown stain still on the carpet and to smell once again Blanche’s perfume that still clung persistently in the air.

  She went quickly to Blanche’s room, shut the door and snapped off the alarms. Then she opened the safe, turned off the light operating the photo-electric cell and stood for a moment admiring the furs. They were hers now; hers to do what she liked with. It was a moment of triumph. But she wasn’t going to forget the jewellery. Up to this moment she hadn’t had the chance of seeing Blanche’s complete collection, and the thought sent a thrill through her. They, too, would realize a lot of money.

  She pushed the furs aside and stepped into the safe, putting her handbag on the top of the steel cabinet containing the jewellery. Then she realized in dismay she had no idea how to open the cabinet. The smooth, highly-polished door of the cabinet had no apparent keyhole, but there was a small black knob set in the centre of the door. She touched it, frowning, then her fingers tightened on it and she pulled.

  There was a sudden rush of escaping air and doors of the safe slammed shut.

  They found her four days later. It was Dawson who suddenly wondered if she had gone to collect her spoils and had been trapped in the safe. When at last they opened the doors they found her lying on the floor with the white Arctic fox she had coveted so much covering her, and Wesley’s statement clutched tightly in her hand. They were too late to do anything for her, but Harry was more fortunate. He got off with eighteen months. Oddly enough it was snowing when he came out, but there was no beautifully dressed young woman to meet him, only a Salvation Army lass who shook a self-denial collection box under his nose.

  THE END