Emily recognized him.
“Max…” There was a quick, urgent note in her voice. She put her hand under the desk, and a bell began to ring somewhere in the building.
Max was bending down behind the counter, arranging the glasses in an orderly row. As he heard the hell and caught the sharp note in Emily’s voice, he clashed the glasses together. One of them slipped from his fingers and dropped with a little thump on the carpet. He raised his head and peered at George, his pebbly eyes blank with alarm.
George waited. It was no use talking to them until they were ready to listen. At the moment their attention was concentrated in keeping him there, in trapping him.
“It’s all right,” he said, wanting to reassure them. “I’ve come to explain.”
The two Greeks, black shadows, threatening, slid out of the darkness and stood between him and the door. The shaded light glittered on their razors.
“You mustn’t let them touch me before I explain,” George said quickly, not liking the expressions on the Greeks’ faces. “That’s why I’ve come.”
Max straightened slowly. He put his veined hands on the counter, and his pale tongue touched the corners of his lips.
“Leave him be,” he said to the Greeks.
There was a long pause. They did not seem to know what to expect or what to do with him now that they had got him.
George looked uncertainly at the Hebrew, and then at the woman. It seemed to him that since she was in charge of the cash, she should be the one he should address.
“May I tell you about it?” he said, looking at her anxiously.
Again there was a long pause, then Emily leaned forward. “You know what will happen to you, don’t you?” George nodded.
“Then why have you come here?”
He offered her the bundle. Immediately she drew hack, suspicious, alarmed. The two Greeks made a slight movement: two blades of light danced on the ceiling as they lifted their razors.
The Hebrew said, “Wait.” George’s white face, the sharp etched lines of misery, his despairing eyes puzzled him “What is that?” he asked, nodding at the bundle.
George put the bundle on the counter. “It’s my cat,” he said unevenly.
The woman looked at the bundle and then at George. “What’s he talking about?” she asked impatiently.
Max touched the bundle with two bony fingers. He felt the hard body and he grimaced.
“Is this a trick?” he said, not believing it was a trick, but bewildered.
“Would you mind looking?” George said. “Could you look so that I don’t have to see him again?” His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry to be so upset, but he was really the only thing that meant anything to me.”
“Perhaps he’s mad,” Emily said, half to herself.
Reluctantly, the Hebrew lifted the corner of the towel. His face revealed an impersonal disgust, but he turned the bundle so that the woman could see.
“She did that,” George said.
Both Emily and Max seemed to know whom he meant.
“Ah,” Max said, dropping the towel. “It was your cat?”
George nodded. “I didn’t think she’d do such a thing. I knew she might do anything to me, but I didn’t think she would touch Leo. I Suppose I ought to have thought of it, because there was nothing else she could have done which would have hurt as much as this.”
“Is that what brought you here?” Emily asked abruptly.
“Oh yes,” George said. “She can’t he allowed to go on and on. She might hurt too many people. That’s why I’ve come to you.”
“You killed Crispin, didn’t you?” Emily said, in a flat, cold voice.
“That’s what I mean,” George returned steadily. “I’ve come to explain Then you must decide what to do.”
“You were foolish to come,” Max said softly. “You know what happened to Sydney?”
Again George nodded. “It doesn’t matter about me,” he said. “I don’t care what happens to me. I just want to be sure that she won’t escape.”
Max glanced over at Emily
“I think we should hear what he has to say,” he said. “It might save a lot of time.”
Emily nodded and walked round the cash desk. She crossed to a table and turned on the lamp. She sat down and pointed to a chair opposite her.
“Sit down and talk,” she said.
George sat down. The two Greeks moved nearer so that they were immediately behind him. The Hebrew left the bar and joined them at the table.
“Perhaps one of you would take the gun,” George said. “It’s in my pocket. I don’t suppose you would like me to take it out. Be careful how you handle it, it’s loaded.”
He felt the gun being lifted from his pocket. Nick slid it across the table towards Max, who put his hand on it.
“I want to tell you exactly how it happened,” George said. “It’ll take a little time, but it’s important.”
Emily shrugged. “Take as long as you like,” she said indifferently. “It’ll probably be the last time you’ll talk to anyone.
George considered this. He found it strange that he was unmoved. He knew they were killers, but he was so tired and sad that nothing really mattered any more.
It was a relief to tell them about it. It was extraordinary how easy it was to tell once he started. He began by explaining about his parents.
“You see,” he said, folding his hands on the table and looking at the woman’s hard, fat face, “no one ever bothered with me when I was a kid. My parents were on the stage. They didn’t want a child. I used to envy them. They had their names in the newspapers and on hoardings. I wonder if you can understand why I pretended to be someone quite different from what I really am? It was foolish, but I wanted so badly to be someone… to impress people.”
The woman nodded, understanding. She thought sadly of her son, Crispin. He also had wanted to impress people. “Go on,” she said, “I understand that part of it.”
“When I told Sydney about the gun he changed towards me. I know why now. I was just the fool he was looking for, but I didn’t know then. It wasn’t until after I shot Crispin that I knew.”
They all stiffened when he said that. Nick reached forward and seized him by the back of his neck, but Max struck his hand away.
“Wait,” he said.
“So you did shoot him” Emily said, her eyes snapping.
“Oh yes,” George returned, “it was an accident, but I shot him all right. It’s something I’ll never forgive myself for.”
He told them about Cora.
“I don’t understand women,” he explained. “I’ve never had anything to do with them. It all happened so quickly. She rather swept me off my feet. I’ve been very stupid, I’m afraid.”
He went on, explaining every detail, showing them the gun. He explained how Sydney had fixed the trigger and had stolen the cartridge. He pulled out the magazine and demonstrated how easily the gun fired. He told them how careful he had always been never to put a cartridge into the breech.
“I was afraid of accidents,” he said, “but they loaded the gun without telling me. You see, they were determined to make me a murderer.”
The woman and the Hebrew sat listening, their faces intent. The two Greeks wanted to have done with it. George could feel their restlessness. He knew they were not interested in what he had to say. He sensed that they were planning how to get rid of his body when they had finished him.
He told them about the whip and the visit to the cottage.
“I don’t really know how it happened. She gave me the gun. I heard her slip hack the safety catch, but it all happened so quickly that I had no chance to do anything As soon as I touched the trigger, the gun went off.”
Max blew his nose.
“I don’t think there’s anything else to tell you,” George went on, leaning back in his chair, suddenly tired. “A lot has happened to me since then, but I won’t bother you with that. I don’t know what you want to do with me, but I
know what I want you to do with her.”
They looked at him "What do you want us to do with her?” Emily asked softly. “I want justice,” George said simply.
“Sydney’s gone,” Max said, looking down at his veined hands. “No one can touch one of us without paying the price. Crispin was one of us, you know.”
Emily touched his arm. Her eyes reached George’s face. “Where is she?”
George told her.
She got to her feet. “We’ll go and see her.”
“What about him?” Nick said, speaking for the first time.
“He’ll come with us.”
“It would be better…” Nick began, but Emily shook her head.
“He’ll come with us,” she repeated.
She went over to the desk and put on a light coat.
“Get a taxi,” she said.
Max changed his white coat for a black one, put on his bowler hat and picked up an umbrella.
“It’s raining,” he said gloomily
While Poncho went for a taxi, Nick stood over George, threatening him with the razor. Somehow George felt no fear. He was hollow, without feeling, disinterested.
They waited, while the rain fell outside, and the sound of distant traffic vibrated the big windows.
A taxi drew up outside.
“All right,” Emily said, picking up the Luger and putting it into her bag.
George stood up. “If you please…” he began and stopped.
They looked at him
“It’s my cat,” he said. “Could he be buried?”
Max nodded. “We’ll bury him,” he said, almost kindly.
George touched the bundle. He didn’t want to leave Leo like this, wrapped in a soiled bath-towel on a bar counter. Leo deserved something better than this, but there were other things to do. Besides, George was tired. He had no idea where to bury Leo. Cora must have felt the same way about Sydney. It was better, perhaps, to leave the cat in the hands of strangers.
A clock was striking eleven as they got into the taxi. Max and Emily sat on the turn-up seats. George, between the two Greeks, sat opposite them.
It did not take them long to reach Old Burlington Street.
“Shall I tell him to wait?” Max asked.
“We’ll be some time,” Emily said, “better not.”
They watched the taxi drive away, and then they walked into the building and up the stairs.
George went first, then Nick, then Emily, then Max, clutching his umbrella, and finally Poncho. They were quiet. The soft scraping of their shoes on the coconut matting sounded like the scamper of rats.
George paused outside the flat door.
“This is it,” he said. “Shall I ring the bell?”
Nick pushed him aside, looked at the lock, took something from his pocket, and a moment later there was a soft click as the door opened. The light was on in the lobby, and a door opposite was ajar. There was a light on in the room.
Emily touched George’s arm and motioned him forward. He shook his head, but again she pushed him. So he went into the room, leaving the others outside in the lobby.
The room was large and well furnished. Cora was sitting in an armchair A cigarette dangled from her thin mouth. She was still wearing the white silk-and-wool sweater and wine-coloured slacks. There was a scraped-bone look on her face, but her lips were twisted in a humourless smile. She was holding a packet of pound notes in her hand, counting them with rapt concentration.
George stopped just inside the doorway, looking at her. Her fingers ceased moving and she raised her head, fear jumping into her eyes. When she saw who it was, her mouth tightened.
“Get out!” she said, folding the notes quickly and slipping them into her pocket.
George continued to stare at her.
“Get out!” she repeated, her eyes wary. “We’re quits, aren’t we? Don’t stand there looking at me. I’m not frightened of you.”
What’s the matter with me? George asked himself. Why am I feeling like this? I’m not still in love with her. I hate her.
“I wouldn’t have done this if you’d let Leo alone,” he said in a small voice. “Animals are so helpless. I suppose that’s why I like them.”
She got to her feet, an ugly expression in her slate-grey eyes. “What are you drivelling about?”
“I want you to know why I’ve done this.”
“Done what?” she asked sharply.
“You see, you might do an awful lot of harm if you were allowed to go on and on. It’s got to stop, Cora. I can’t trust you any more,” and he turned to the door and threw it open. “Will you come in, please?”
Emily and Max walked in. The two Greeks followed them. Nick slid across the room to the window, while Poncho closed the door and set his back against it.
Cora’s hand flew to her mouth. “No!” she screamed, and her eyes rolled up, so that only the whites showed.
Emily marched over to the armchair and sat down. She opened her coat and fluffed up her untidy hair.
“Before we get down to business,” she said, ignoring Cora, “I’d like a cup of tea. Can you make tea?” She looked at George.
“Oh yes,” he said blankly, “but don’t you think…?”
“I don’t,” Emily snapped. “Get me a cup of tea, there’s a good fellow.”
George turned and looked helplessly at Poncho, who stared hack at him with menacingly dark eyes.
“Let him make some tea,” Emily said, watching them.
“He’ll run away,” Poncho argued, a little angrily.
“I don’t think he will,” Emily returned, taking out a packet of Woodbines from her hag and lighting one. “If he does, it won’t matter.” Poncho shrugged and stood away from the door. George went out through the lobby into the little kitchen across the way. Not quite knowing what he was doing, he put on the kettle and laid a tray. He was glad to have something to do. Every now and then a tiny spark of horror flared up in his mind, but instantly it sparked out. He knew now that Emily was going to let him go free. By telling him to make the tea, she had shown that she had believed his story and she wasn’t holding him responsible. It was justice. He had no pity for Cora. There would he nothing to worry about, not the way Emily would do it. Although he did not know how she would do it, he was sure that it would he as efficient and undetectable as Sydney’s death.
He made the tea and carried the tray into the sitting-room.
Max had sat down. His bowler hat and umbrella lay at his feet. He was glancing through a notebook, absorbed.
Emily sat in a heap, her fat little feet stretched out before her, the cigarette dangling limply from her lips. She was looking round the room with a blank look in her eyes, her mind far away.
Cora still stood against the wall, her face twisted in a mask of frozen terror. She did not look up as George entered. The room was silent, and he distinctly heard the rumbling of her insides. She coughed nervously, as if to hide the sound, but George knew how frightened she was.
Poncho closed the door after George. He seemed startled to see him again.
George put the tray on the table. He was surprised to find how indifferent he was to all this. He felt cold, pitiless, and he realized then what real hatred meant. The discovery shocked him.
“Will you have some?” he asked vaguely, looking round. No one said anything, and he looked helplessly at Emily for guidance.
“I want a cup,” she said. “Never mind about anyone else.” He poured out the tea and handed the cup to her.
“I think perhaps… I’ll have a cup myself,” he said apologetically.
Emily stirred her tea, added sugar and sipped. Then she nodded to George. “It’s good tea.”
“Don’t you think?” Max said, glancing at Cora.
Emily’s hard little eyes snapped. “We don’t have to talk to her,” she said. “It’s a question of how it’s to be done.”
Cora pointed to George. “He did it,” she said breathlessly. “You can’t blame me. He d
id it. He shot Crispin.”
Emily smiled. “We know all about that,” she said. “He told us.” She looked Cora up and down. “No one can harm us without paying. You were in it as deep as Sydney. You must go too.” She glanced at Poncho. “Arrange it, and he quick. An accident with an electric iron… if there is one here.”
Poncho came back after a few minutes with a portable ironing board, an electric iron and some underwear he had found in Cora’s bedroom.
“Everything,” he said, with a triumphal grin.
He worked quickly and methodically, setting up the ironing board and plugging in the iron. Then he produced a penknife and began working on the flex.
Emily noticed George’s blank gaze.
“He’s clever,” she said, smiling “Ill a moment that iron won’t be safe to touch.” She leaned forward. “They’ll find her some time, and they’ll think she died because of a faulty flex. The joke is, it will be because of a faulty flex.”
Cora crossed the room slowly and stood before George. Her eyes were dark with terror.
“You’re not going to let them do this to me, are you?” she said. “You can’t do it.” Then her voice suddenly rose to a scream. “George! You can’t let them. Don’t you understand what they’re doing? They’re going to kill me. Save me! I’ll do anything! I swear I’ll do anything if you’ll only stop them! You can do it! You’re big enough! Save me, George!” And she rushed forward, putting her arms round his neck, her face against his. “I’ll never leave you, George,” she went on wildly. “Forgive me! Don’t let them touch me.”
The feel of her slight body against his, the smell of her perfume, her hair against his face suddenly weakened him. He felt sick and faint.
Nick snatched her away from him, twisting her arms behind her.
“Have you forgotten your cat so soon?” Emily said, looking at him thoughtfully. “You’d better go. You needn’t bother with her or us any more. You’re lucky. You tell a good story, and I think it’s true. I’m sorry about your cat. You mightn’t think it, but I like animals myself.”
“George!” Cora screamed. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!” Nick put his hand across her mouth. His fingers dug into her cheek.
More Deadly Than the Male Page 26