Dusty Death

by Clifton Robbins

  Henry smiled rather feebly and still seemed to retain a lingering doubt.

  “And you, Henry,” said Harrison, “will go straight off and telephone to Miss Warley.”

  Henry smiled broadly.

  “There was a little cafe opposite the Baron’s flat in the Chemin des Noisettes. Explain the position to her and ask her to go straight along to it and settle down there. She is to watch the front door and see whether the concierge woman leaves the building alone or with anyone else. She had better telephone me in Dawnay’s room if she has anything to report.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Henry. “I’ll do that right away.”

  “And, Henry,” continued Harrison, “when you’ve done that and seen that it’s all right, come to the Hotel Voyage and ask for Miss de Marplay. Tell them you have something very important to say to her and that she must come down to you at once. You understand, Henry, it is very serious.”

  “Must I, sir?” asked Henry.

  “I said it was very serious,” answered Harrison.

  “Very well,” said Henry. “But heaven help me, sir, when she sees who it is.”

  Chapter XVII

  The Powder Puff

  Harrison reached the Hotel Voyage as quickly as possible. He had a vague fear that the bird might have flown and yet he felt that even she could not move as quickly as that would imply. If the Baron had warned her, which no doubt he had, it could not have been very long ago and she must still be there. Despite the reasoning and the reassuring feeling this gave him, he rushed into the hotel and asked the reception clerk for the number of her room.

  The girl looked at him, if not suspiciously, at least somewhat sceptically, as if to say that she knew that sort of thing did happen to Miss de Marplay but that she herself certainly did not approve of.

  “Shall I see if Miss de Marplay is in?” she asked, going towards the house telephone.

  “Better not,” said Harrison. “I want to surprise her.”

  “It’s not usual, you know,” said the girl.

  “But I am a very old friend,” answered Harrison.

  The girl looked at Harrison as if suggesting that this might be so but it did not therefore make matters any better. Still, it was not for her to argue, that was not her job, and she said, shortly: “Twenty-five. Second floor.”

  Harrison thanked her with a charming smile and went upstairs. On reaching the door of No. 25, he knocked but did not wait for the customary permission to enter. He walked straight in and found Miss de Marplay placing some clothes in a trunk. She turned immediately she heard his step.

  “Mr. Harrison,” she said softly, as if somewhat overcome by seeing him.

  “Packing?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” she replied. “Sorting a few things, that is all. But what are you doing up here? A lady’s room—”

  “I’m sorry,” answered Harrison. “I had to come up. I couldn’t wait downstairs for them to find out whether you wanted to see me or not.”

  “Of course I wanted to see you,” said Miss de Marplay. “But this is rather a queer spot, isn’t it? Can’t we go downstairs, into the lounge, say.”

  “I should prefer to stay here,” answered Harrison. “There is more privacy. Unless you think I’m really trying to compromise you?”

  “Good heavens, no,” exclaimed Jeanne. “That’s the last thing I expect of you, Mr. Harrison. What I should say is that your education about women has been fearfully neglected.”

  “I trust to you to help me to improve it.”

  “First of all then,” she said, “when a lady asks you to lunch with her it is quite unusual to call on her in her room before-hand unless—”

  “Unless?” echoed Harrison.

  “Unless you are very much in love with her,” answered Jeanne, with a brilliant smile. “And I have assumed that you are not.”

  “You have a gift of knowing people’s feelings, Miss de Marplay,” said Harrison, lightly, at which Jeanne de Marplay stiffened slightly, as if this was not quite the answer she expected. “As a matter of fact, I was afraid of missing you at lunch.”

  “Another appointment,” said Jeanne innocently. “Surely you weren’t going to cut me?”

  “No, I was afraid you were going to cut me.”

  “How absurd,” said Jeanne.

  “Well, the Baron gave me to understand that you would.”

  “The Baron,” she exclaimed, mystified. “But what has he to do with it?”

  “I’ve seen him already this morning,” answered Harrison.

  “You pay your calls very early,” said Jeanne.

  “I have to,” replied Harrison, “to find people in.”

  “Is that sarcasm, Mr. Harrison?” asked Jeanne. “Or merely insulting?”

  “Neither I hope,” he replied. “But I felt that it was just possible that you would not be able to lunch with me as we had arranged, so I thought I would come along and call on you.”

  “Well, quite honestly, Mr. Harrison,” said Jeanne, “things have altered a bit this morning. A working journalist can never be quite certain in fixing things ahead, and I might have had to postpone the lunch. I should have let you know, of course.”

  “Postpone it for ever?”

  “For ever—how ridiculous,” she replied, but her lip quivered slightly. “Only for a day or two.”

  “But the Baron told you the game was up, didn’t he?”

  “Don’t bluff, Mr. Harrison,” she said decisively. “I’ve heard that sort of thing before.”

  “Then why were you packing?”

  “I wasn’t packing. I told you so.”

  “You’re lying, Jeanne de Marplay.”

  “Mr. Harrison—” she started, angrily.

  “Don’t bluff, Miss de Marplay,” he said, in the tone she herself had used. “Even if the Baron didn’t say the game was quite up, he told you that it was nearly enough up to make it necessary to have everything ready when it came to running for it.”

  She did not answer him, but he knew that he had got as near to the truth as not to have to worry about unimportant minor details. He knew also that Jeanne de Marplay was thinking hard. She had not expected him to call on her in this way, she had to look in every direction to find some kind of path that might lead to safety.

  “How extraordinarily inhospitable of me,” she said, suddenly, turning odd garments off a chair. “Won’t you sit down. Mr. Harrison, and have a cigarette? You can talk to me while I go on with my packing, as you call it.”

  Harrison sat down and looked with admiration at the woman who was keeping her nerve so effectively.

  “I admire you, Miss de Marplay,” he said. “You’re a very clever woman.”

  “Is that all?” she answered, looking straight in his eyes.

  “Surely you do not expect me to make commonplace remarks about your beau?”

  “Every woman does.”

  “But you’re something more than a woman,” said Harrison. “That’s what I admire about you. You’ve got the nerve and brain of a man.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harrison,” she replied. “You mean it as a compliment, I suppose, but, judging by most of the men I know, it’s a doubtful one. How would you like me to tell you that you are almost clever enough to be a woman?”

  “I should be flattered,” answered Harrison.

  “Your education again,” said Jeanne. “You’ve got to improve a lot before you can really deal with women.”

  “I idealise them,” said Harrison.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I get disappointments. I thought you were wonderful, partly because I knew you were beautiful, and now I find you mixed up with the Baron and his gang.”

  “Mr. Harrison, I wouldn’t try that virtue business, if I were you. I’m afraid I should only be rather vulgar if you started asking me whether I realised what my mother in heaven was thinking of her little girl now.”

  “I’m serious, Miss de Marplay, even if it sounds old-fashioned,” replied Harrison. �
�You’re young and much too attractive and clever to be mixed up in a sordid game like this. It isn’t good enough.”

  “And then?”

  “If you want to throw it up, I’ll help you. That’s a sporting offer.”

  “And give the whole show away as a quid pro quo?”

  “The whole show, Miss de Marplay?”

  “You know what I mean, Mr. Harrison,” she answered, with a slight trace of annoyance in her voice. “Why should we keep up this ridiculous pretence any more. I hate pretending.”

  “I know you do,” answered Harrison. “You prefer to tell the truth.”

  “I do,” said Jeanne. “Only people don’t always believe me. Even you don’t.”

  “Possibly not,” he answered. “Now we’re not going into details. We’ll assume that I know quite a lot of them. That’s not pretending or bluff, Miss de Marplay; the Baron will tell you the same. I know you’re in a very dangerous game—the players in which I intend to round up before I leave Geneva—I can assure you of that. Now I don’t want you to tell me about anybody or anything. I am just going to promise you that I will do nothing to you if you get out of the game at once and try and go straight.”

  “Very generous,” answered Jeanne, drily.

  “I mean it,” said Harrison.

  “And what else?” asked Jeanne.

  “Nothing else.”

  “My dear Mr. Harrison,” said Jeanne. “Do you expect to take me in with a story like that. I suppose you intend to get me out of the way and then go along to the Baron and say, ‘Jeanne has told me everything before she ran for her life.’ That sort of thing. Not very clever of you, I must say.”

  “Miss de Marplay, I assure you—”

  Harrison was interrupted by the ringing of the house telephone. Jeanne answered it and, from her replies, it was obvious that Henry had arrived and was doing his duty. Jeanne explained that it was impossible for her to come down. Could the gentleman come up. Harrison chuckled to himself. That would be the last course of action Henry would agree to. Was the message so important that the gentleman could not wait a little while? Obviously it was. Jeanne began to look flustered. Too much was happening for her to think clearly enough, and she looked imploringly at Harrison. Finally she announced that she would come down at once. She put down the telephone and looked towards Harrison as he sat calmly smoking.

  “But I can’t leave you here,” she exclaimed.

  “Why not?” he answered. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “But—” she said. “Oh, very well. I shall be back in a minute,” and she went quickly out of the room.

  Harrison immediately saw that the door was closed and went to the trunk which was open on the floor and in which Jeanne had been placing various articles of apparel. He turned them over quickly with the expert hand almost of the customs officer and suddenly saw a black garment at the bottom of the trunk which made him whistle to himself. This he took carefully from the trunk and examined. He then replaced it; at the same time his lips tightened and a grim look came over his face. The pleasant feeling of the morning had vanished. He had struck something he did not like. Something uglier in the case than he had really expected—something he would rather had not been there at all.

  When Jeanne returned in a flaming temper, he was seated again with his cigarette, looking steadily at it. But had Henry been there instead of somewhere below, he would have told any interested spectator that the calm boded no good, and that the two lines on his master’s forehead meant trouble for someone.

  “No one there,” exclaimed Jeanne.

  Harrison almost smiled to himself at the thought that Henry had not had the pluck to face it out. He had obviously run away after giving his message, like a little boy who has pulled a bell belonging to an irate neighbour.

  Harrison’s eyes must have betrayed his thoughts in some measure, for Jeanne, who had been looking at him closely, said: “So you arranged it.”

  “Of course I did,” answered Harrison. “Can you guess who it was asked for you?”

  “I don’t care who it was,” said Jeanne, angrily.

  “It was Henry, my invaluable clerk,” said Harrison.

  “That man,” exclaimed Jeanne, with disgust. “How obvious.”

  “But you had to see who it was, didn’t you?” said Harrison.

  “Just to give you a chance of having a rout around in here,” cried Jeanne. “You’ve been through all my things, haven’t you?”

  “Steady,” said Harrison. “People in the other rooms will hear you.”

  “But you haven’t found the dope,” said Jeanne, in a quieter tone.

  “No, the police have that,” answered Harrison.

  “Of course they have,” said Jeanne. “Against you, Mr. Harrison.”

  “So the papers say, Miss de Marplay!”

  “And you’ll find it very difficult to explain away, too. The Swiss are very suspicious people, especially about dope, and it was in your luggage, wasn’t it, Mr. Harrison? I’ve let you ramble on in your own sweet way, because I rather like you, despite all the trouble you’ve caused us. But when you think you have so many tricks in your hand, you make me laugh. Do you think you can beat the Baron and myself? Just see what happens next.”

  “I will,” said Harrison, calmly.

  “Now don’t make a fool of yourself,” answered Jeanne. “You have been very sporting—that was the word you used yourself in your offer to me. I know decency when I see it, even if it doesn’t often come my way. Now I’m going to make an offer to you, Clay Harrison, really far more practical than yours to me.”

  “Well?” answered Harrison, stonily.

  “You’re going to be accused of dope-running, that’s all arranged. You are a man of brains and more than average intelligence. In fact, I might say the same things to you as you have been saying to me. Why not give up this crime-chasing business and join us in dope-running?”

  Harrison was really astonished and, for the moment, was unable to answer.

  “I know it may sound absurd to you,” Jeanne continued, “but it isn’t really, and I’m quite serious about it. Your brains would be an enormous help, and you could make a fortune out of it. You think of it as an evil business. You ask me to go straight and give it up. You’ve got the wrong point of view. I’m in it, and I think most of us are, for the excitement of the thing. There are precious few thrills about nowadays. I don’t think there are any lawful ones. And yet a large number of human beings need thrills. The law must be wrong somewhere. It is the excitement that counts. I couldn’t lead a humdrum life myself.”

  “And the harm that dope does?”

  “One can’t think of that in the excitement of it all. And it doesn’t do all that amount of harm. The whole thing is exaggerated. Why, it positively does good to some people.”

  “But you take it?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Jeanne, brazenly. “But very little. It hasn’t got a hold of me.”

  “You’ll increase the doses till it does,” replied Harrison.

  “I’ve enough will power not to,” answered Jeanne.

  “They all say that,” said Harrison.

  “But we’re not discussing my habits; they can take care of themselves. I really mean this as a serious proposition, Clay Harrison. We could work wonderfully well together.”

  “We couldn’t.”

  “I know the idea takes getting used to,” persisted Jeanne. “You have enough intelligence to understand all its implications. It is exciting, I assure you.”

  “It isn’t that,” said Harrison.

  “What is it then?” asked Jeanne.

  “I couldn’t work with you. I wouldn’t work with you.”

  “Just prejudice,” answered Jeanne.

  “I tell you I couldn’t work with you,” said Harrison, and with such an intonation that Jeanne looked at him narrowly and fear gripped her.

  “Why?” she asked, looking very anxiously at him.

  “I couldn’t work with a murd
eress,” answered Harrison.

  “Mr. Harrison, how dare you?” exclaimed Jeanne, but the colour had gone from her face and her eyes betrayed her apprehension.

  “I’m sorry I found it out in this case,” said Harrison, solemnly. “I said I idealised women. I do, and to find that a woman with your beauty and talent is just a beast of prey with no human feelings, well—”

  “Very sentimental, Mr. Harrison,” answered Jeanne, weakly trying to put a bolder face on the matter. “But you have no proof.”

  “Maybe I haven’t,” answered Harrison. “But I can tell you exactly what happened when you murdered that poor devil in London.”

  “My God,” exclaimed Jeanne.

  “After finding all about his arrival in London,” Harrison went on, “you traced him to a picture theatre and sat next to him, didn’t you?” There was no answer. “He was very lonely. He had only just come back to London and didn’t seem to have any friends. You spoke to him. I expect you told him you were not like the other women who go to cinemas to pick men up. You were a lonely woman and you just wanted to talk. You were attractive, very attractive, and he was pleased to talk to you. That is so, isn’t it?”

  Jeanne made no sign.

  “You were quite friendly by the time the show was over,” Harrison continued, in a calm, even tone. “I should say you parted in the cinema. You were much too clever to suggest going home with him or anything like that. He should not have any reason for mistaking you for a streetwalker. Far better for him if you had been—”

  “Stop,” cried Jeanne, impatiently.

  “If you could deny it, I might stop. But you can’t.”

  “Yes I can,” said Jeanne. “And I do.”

  “As you left him in his seat in the cinema I shouldn’t be surprised if you pressed a hypodermic syringe into his wrist. If he did notice it—enough to get up and follow you out—you would have been too quick for him. And so you waited outside the cinema until he came out, and then you followed him home.”

  “A very good story, Mr. Harrison,” said Jeanne, recovering herself a little. “Now for the next piece of romance.”

  “That is not so pleasant. You watched him into the house. I expect he was feeling a bit heavy by this time. As no light went on in the front of the house, you went round to the back and saw a light in his room. You waited until it went out and you guessed he had gone off into a doped sleep. He may have left the window open or not, that doesn’t matter much, but, at any rate, you got in through it and administered enough drugs to kill him. You had the forethought to put some drug tablets on the table by his bed and to take the syringe with you.”