by John Creasey
“Please.”
Sammy beamed and nodded, and when he sat back in his corner, the smile faded and the frown replaced it. He lit a cigarette, and stubbed it out almost at once. He scowled at the passing people, and scowled more darkly whenever they were held up in a traffic block.
When he reached the block of flats, a huge one which was known to have the highest rentals in London, the scowl had vanished. The two porters and three neighbours whom he passed on his way to the flat all received a beaming smile. To all outward appearances Sammy was himself.
His chauffeur took the car round to the garage, where he would wait for further instructions.
Sammy reached the door of his flat, on the second floor, and was surprised; usually the door was opened as he reached it, for the porter telephoned Watson, his manservant, to say that he was on his way up. He hesitated for a few seconds, before realising that the door was not going to be opened for him so simply. He rang the bell; nothing happened. He frowned again, and took out his keys.
Then a smile broke through the frown, and this time it was a genuine one; he understood! Dolly was here, planning one of her little surprises; she would have told his man not to open the door. It would be like her to be standing just behind the door, ready to jump and shout “Bo!” when he appeared.
He pushed the door open slowly, playfully.
There was no sign of Dolly.
Still smiling, he peered round the door, preparing to startle her as she would love to startle him; but all he saw was the wall and a picture of Picasso; Sammy bought only the best pictures by all the best artists.
He closed the door, and called: “Watson!”
Watson, who should have materialised on the instant, didn’t appear. Sammy’s smile faded again, and he walked across to the drawing-room, looking forward to an easy chair and, before long, a drink.
He thrust open the door.
Ross looked up at him from his favourite arm-chair and another man, tall and gangling and with a lean face, sat on a couch with his legs up, smiling crookedly.
“Watson’s out, having a chat with some friends,” Ross said. “We’re going to have a little chat with you.”
15
SAMMY BLEATS
SAMMY BRAY stood with a hand on the door, staring at the two men, mouth open and rounded, eyes also rounded, one hand raised a little in front of him as if he had expected something to be thrown at him. Slowly, he lowered both hands and moved farther into the room, and a tremulous smile spoilt the O of his lips.
“My dear Ross — good evening, good evening.” He glanced at Williamson. “I don’t think I know your friend.”
“Tim,” said Ross, “meet Mr. Samuel Bray — Mr. Timothy Williamson.”
“Very glad to see you,” said Bray. “A most unexpected pleasure!” He walked across to the window and stood with his back to it, considerably less than medium height, so well dressed that he looked just well built. “How are you, Ross?”
“Fine.”
“Good!”
“How are you, Sammy?”
“Me? I’ve never been better,” said Bray. “It’s a lovely day, I’m a very happy man — I can’t imagine wanting anything different. What can I do for you?”
“Where’s Mae Harrison?” asked Ross.
“Mae?”
“That’s right.”
“My dear Ross, I don’t know,” said Bray. “She hasn’t been to see me for some time, I only wish she had. What a lucky man you are, Ross, to be engaged to a woman like Mae!”
“Yes, aren’t I? Where is she?”
“I really don’t know what the joke is,” said Bray, a little warily. “I suppose you’ll tell me what it’s all about before long, but I assure you, I have no idea where Mae is. Probably buying a new dress! Will you have a drink?”
“No, thanks. Where is she?”
“Really, Ross...”
“Don’t get all indignant,” said Ross. “Let me tell you a story. After Mae had been kidnapped this morning her flat was burgled — someone had taken her key. The same someone burgled my flat, afterwards, but he didn’t have the same luck. I caught him. He put me on to a Mister William Tiger. Tiger told me that he’d had his instructions from you. Now whoever kidnapped Mae took her keys, and those keys were used by the burglar, who was employed by you. Where is she, Sammy?”
Bray said: “Really!” in a piping little voice, and ran a hand over his forehead; he was sweating, and began to look frightened. “This is absurd. Tiger? I’ve never heard of a man named Tiger.”
“Liar.”
“My dear Ross, I must insist...”
“We’re doing the insisting,” said Ross. “My friend and I want Mae.”
“I have no idea ...”
“Where Dolly Leeming is,” said Ross.
Bray started violently, and his right hand went to his pocket; the others watched him closely, but he only took out a gold cigarette-case. He put a cigarette to his lips and rolled it from one side of his mouth to the other, but didn’t light it. His eyes were suddenly smaller, and he didn’t look so fat; he looked very nearly dangerous.
“What do you mean?”
“That you don’t know where Dolly is, and I don’t know where Mae is, and that fair exchange is no robbery.”
Bray said softly: “Are you telling me that you’ve kidnapped my Dolly?”
“Yes,” said Ross.
“The police ...”
“Won’t help. This is only hearsay, not evidence, and even if you had all the evidence you want, you couldn’t get the police to help you on this job. Where’s Mae?”
Bray went to a chair and dropped into it. Williamson stood up and, watched by the little plump man with dazed eyes, struck his lighter and held it out. Bray gulped, and said:
“Thank you, thank you. Ross, I don’t understand....”
“I couldn’t make it any clearer,” said Ross. “When I have Mae back, I’ll really talk business. For instance, who you’re working for and why you’ve dabbled in this kind of dirt. You’re supposed to have clean fingers, although we’ve often doubted whether that’s true. Now, about Mae?”
Bray said slowly: “Where is Dolly?”
“Comfortable, but scared.”
“You’ve no right...”
Ross said: “Bray, three men were killed at Shepperton last night.”
“What has that got to do with me?”
“It could get you hanged.”
“Oh, nonsense!”
“It isn’t nonsense. You’re playing in a deadly business, and you’ll find out more about it as time goes on, but just now, I want to know where Mae Harrison is. When I have her safe and sound, you can have your Dolly, and we’ll talk business. But Mae’s the first thing.”
Bray didn’t answer.
He drew at his cigarette and studied the carpet between his feet; it was fawn-coloured, without any pattern. The silence in the big room was so profound that the two men could hear his breathing. Ross looked at the thin patch on top of Bray’s head, and wondered what was passing through his mind. He did not know how much Bray knew, did not know whether he was dangerous or whether he was just a tool of the people who wanted Conway.
Bray looked up.
“Blackmail is an ugly thing,” he said, in a bleating voice. “It’s a terrible thing. I am being — blackmailed.”
“You shouldn’t keep skeletons in your cupboard.”
“How can a man undo his past?” asked Bray, and his lips and voice trembled. He drew his hand across his forehead and drooped in his chair, as if the life had been drained out of him. He looked like nothing more than a disappointed and frightened child; the change was fascinating. “Ross, I hoped I should never have to confess to any man that — that I made my start in life — dishonestly.”
Williamson and Ross exchanged glances.
“Poor chap,” said Williamson.
“It may be funny to you,” said Bray, “but I assure you that it is not funny so far as I am concerned. It is
— a tragedy. I have been haunted by my past throughout the years.”
“You’ve hidden it fairly well,” said Ross.
“Yes, yes, I have put on a bold face. I am temperamentally a happy and easily contented man, and nature will out. I do not propose at this stage to tell you what I did or how I broke the law, but — this is the simple truth — for some months I have been blackmailed.”
“By whom?”
“I do not know,” said Bray, and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I do not know his name, but — he has given me several ultimatums. It has been a shrewd and cruel business, because the man has not asked for money, which I could easily pay, but for — my services.”
“Such as?”
“The demands have varied,” Bray said in a tremulous voice. “I have been asked to give information on the financial status of certain men.”
“What men?”
Bray closed his eyes.
“Politicians — statesmen — permanent officials at various ministries. Men in high positions.”
“And you’ve given the information?”
“For what I imagined to be my own peace of mind, yes,” Bray said. He opened his eyes, and it looked as if there were tears in them. “I know a great deal about finance, I know the rich and the poor and those who are putting up a show which they really cannot afford. My business is money, and I have to know the financial status of everyone with whom I do business, and it was not difficult for me to find out what this man wanted to know.”
“You’re sure it’s a man?” asked Ross.
“Yes, yes. He has spoken to me on the telephone, but I cannot be sure that I have been dealing with the principal. He is a man I do not know, as I have told you. Yesterday, his demands took on a new aspect, in its way — sinister. Yes, sinister,” breathed Bray, and again his lips quivered. “He asked me to report on — you.”
“Ah,” said Ross.
“And your beloved.”
Williamson smothered a laugh and turned it into a snort, and Bray opened his eyes and looked at him sadly.
“Little is sacred to you, Mr. Williamson, I can see that. The young have so little regard for the higher things in life, it is one of the sad facts about the new generation, and I think it is part of the explanation of the unhappy state of the world. Be that as it may, Ross, I was asked to report on you and on your fiancée. I was asked to find out whether there were any stresses and strains, whether you seemed perfectly happy or not, and — and a strange thing was added.”
“What?”
Bray looked fully into Ross’s eyes, and chose his words with great care.
“Believe me or not, I was told that I must find a way of coming between you. That I must, somehow, cause emotional trouble for you. Do not ask me why I was selected for that melancholy task. I received those instructions last evening, and when I went to the Dive and saw you, believe me I was heavy hearted — a very sad man. And then you quarrelled!” Bray raised his hands. “Without any prompting from me, you quarrelled — and I was greatly relieved. There was no need for me to do what the man wanted, it had already been done for him. I knew that I only had to report, and that I would be free of at least one weight upon my conscience.”
“Ah,” said Ross, heavily. “And then?”
“And then he telephoned me again, late last night. I had to obtain for him the services of a man who could pick locks and open safes. He told me to get in touch with a man in the East End —this Tiger. Tiger supplied such a criminal. I told this man, through Tiger, to raid your flat, and go to Miss Harrison’s flat this morning. These were my instructions.”
Bray stopped.
“And that’s all?” asked Ross.
Bray did not answer immediately, but pressed his hands against his forehead and stared at Ross; and his eyes looked glazed and glassy, he had lost colour. Williamson moved slowly across the room, but Bray took no notice of him, appeared to be completely obsessed with what he was saying.
“That is not quite all, Ross. The man telephoned me again, this morning. He said that I was not to be surprised if I heard that Mae Harrison had disappeared, and that I was not to say a word to you, to the police, or anyone. For my own safety, I promised that I would not. Then later, I had a warning that you had seen Tiger, Ross. I knew then that if you came to me, I should not have the strength of mind to keep quiet. Finding you here was a great shock — a very great shock. I knew I should have to talk, and I have told you everything I can. Everything.”
16
DEAD END
THE story answered almost any question they might want to ask about Bray and told them nothing they wanted to know about Mae. The plump little man sat in that attitude of absolute dejection, his eyes glassy with the strain; that might be good acting. He made no appeal, seemed to realise that it would be a waste of time.
Ross said: “When Mae’s back, you can have Dolly.”
“Ross!”
The word was agonised.
“I’m not in this business for my health,” said Ross.
“What — business — are — you — in?”
“Never mind.”
Bray stood up slowly, and went to a cabinet, opened it, and fumbled with bottles. He took one out, but didn’t unstopper it, just turned to face Ross.
“I know a little about you, of course. Your mysterious errands, some of the people you know, where you go. I’ve always guessed that you were in the Secret Service.”
“Have you? Why?”
“I have to know these things,” said Bray vaguely.
“I don’t see why.”
Bray smoothed the bottle with his left hand.
“I need to know everything I can. Ross, you wouldn’t hurt Dolly. Whatever you are, whatever you’re doing, you wouldn’t harm my darling Dolly.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Bray closed his eyes, and muttered: “You’re not human!”
“I want Mae, and I want the man who kidnapped her, for more things than that job. And until I have them, you can’t rest in peace about your darling Dolly. Not that I think you care a rap for her. You’re a smooth liar, but still a liar.”
“I have told the simple truth.” A hint of dignity crept into Bray’s manner now. He took out the stopper and went back for glasses, poured out three nips and picked up the soda siphon. He had perfect control over his movements, although he hardly seemed aware of what he was doing. “If you hurt that girl ——”
“It’s a hard life,” said Ross. “Three people have been murdered.”
“I did not know that.”
“It’s true. And one more life won’t make much difference. You’ve guessed what I am, and you may have guessed wrong. You know I mean what I say — no Mae, no Dolly.”
“I can do nothing to help you.”
“You can.”
“Tell me — how.”
“This mystery man will get in touch with you again. Arrange to meet him.”
“I’ve often tried, but he won’t come into the open.”
“Try again,” said Ross. “Think of Dolly.”
Bray said: “I will try, but I don’t think it will do any good.”
“Then nothing will,” said Ross.
“How will you know when we meet?” asked Bray, after a pause.
“I’ll know,” Ross said.
Bray nodded, sadly, and lifted a glass, looked at it, and drank. Only then did he realise that he hadn’t given the others their drinks. He looked pathetically apologetic as he brought them across.
“Thanks,” said Ross, “but I’ll start drinking your health when I know where Mae is.”
He went out; and Williamson followed swiftly. Neither of them glanced at the plump little man who stood with bowed head and the glass in his hand.
Ross tried the old trick, slamming the door without properly closing it. Williamson went towards the front door, making plenty of noise, while Ross stepped back to this one, and opened it an inch. Bray wasn’t moving; but he might suspect the
trick. Ross backed away again, closing the door very gently, gave the man sixty seconds, and then tried again. Bray was standing in exactly the same position, and had a crushed, defeated look.
Ross joined Williamson, outside.
“Shall I keep tabs on him?”
“Will you, Tim? I’ll arrange with Craigie to send someone else, and have you relieved a bit later.”
“Right. Believe him?”
“I can’t be sure.”
“He loves his Dolly,” said Williamson. “Whether he thinks you’ll harm her is a different matter. He’ll probably call your bluff.”
“We’ll see,” said Ross.
Bray’s man, Watson, was downstairs; he had been questioned, seemed to know nothing. Ross let him return to his master.
When Ross went into his flat, the telephone bell was ringing. He answered it right away, and was prepared for the smooth voice of the man who had given no name. There was a difference; it was a harsher voice in some ways, and he did not think the man was pleased.
“Ross?”
“Speaking.”
“I’ve warned you.”
“The twelve hours isn’t up yet.”
“It won’t be long.”
“That’s right,” said Ross.
“You won’t get anything out of Bray, because he doesn’t know anything.”
“What else did he say?”
“For a man who talks so much normally, he was very reticent,” said Ross. “But he’ll talk. There’s one thing you’ve forgotten, stranger.”
“I am not forgetful by nature.”
Ross laughed, explosively.
“I shouldn’t like to say what you are by nature, but you’re a fool in most ways. If I throw my hand in, others will take up the job.”
“I’ll deal with the others.”
“You certainly think you’re good,” said Ross. “Listen — I’ll talk business when Mae’s back.”
“You’ll talk business before that,” the man said, and rang off.
His calls were local calls; so he was in London, somewhere within the dialling area. That meant they had only to search among the million-odd telephone subscribers to find him — unless he borrowed someone else’s telephone and used a different one each time. He was rattled; that had revealed itself in his voice. But he knew that Ross had seen Bray, and that meant he was keeping a close watch on the little man. Ross had seen no one at or near the mansion block who might have reported; but a porter would do, a next-door neighbour — there were dozens of possibilities.