Death on the Highway

by Death on the Highway (retail) (epub)

  He could not refuse a pressing invitation to return with the Crewes to the Luxor Hotel and indulge in a final drink as a climax to a remarkable evening, and again he appreciated the warmth and charm of his company when they were all once more in the sitting-room.

  “Mr. Harrison,” said Mrs. Crewe, “you will admit I’m no mean psychologist, I hope, after this?”

  “I certainly will,” answered Harrison.

  “I pride myself on my knowledge of men,” continued the old lady. “At my age I ought to know something about them, although there are some women who never learn, however old they get.” She looked at Netta and laughed.

  “Netta will learn one day, I expect,” said Archie. “Hard experience will teach her something.”

  Netta flushed and looked as if she intended to make some bitter retort, but she pressed her lips tightly together, the little frown appeared on her forehead, and she remained silent.

  “You enjoyed your dinner, I know,” said Mrs. Crewe. “A baby could have seen that, but possibly a baby could not have arranged the dinner to make you enjoy it. Something even less observant than a baby could have seen how you revelled in Der Rosenkavalier—it did me good to see it myself—but it was I who saw that this was the kind of entertainment you would most appreciate.”

  “I need hardly say how grateful I am to find a hostess with such judgment,” answered Harrison.

  “I was not fishing, Mr. Harrison, I can assure you,” said Mrs. Crewe. “No, what I wanted to say was this. Although I think I’m a good psychologist, I’m frankly puzzled. I don’t understand you. Either you’re infernally clever or—”

  “Or?” asked Harrison.

  “Or infernally lucky.”

  “I don’t understand you, now, Mrs. Crewe,” said Harrison.

  “I wonder,” answered Mrs. Crewe. “If that is really so, then you are infernally lucky. And my advice is, don’t strain it. Luck doesn’t hold for ever. Keep on your guard.”

  “All this is quite beyond me,” said Harrison, with a laugh. “Still, I’ll remember the warning.”

  “I would,” replied Mrs. Crewe.” And now, finish up your drink and let me get to bed.”

  Harrison obeyed orders and was soon in the midst of saying warm farewells. Mrs. Crewe hoped that there would be another opportunity for them to go out together before they left England, and Harrison cordially expressed the same hope. Netta was obviously loath to part, and Harrison felt, for the first time, almost embarrassed by the affectionate look in her eyes. Archie Crewe came to the end of the corridor with him and even his farewells seemed so warm that he could hardly tear himself away. Eventually he went up the stairs to the floor above and Harrison slowly walked down to the hall.

  Somehow, even in this short space of time, his feeling of pleasure was waning and he was criticising himself for so easily throwing off his enthusiasm and letting his mind get back to what really mattered to him, his work, when he walked across the hall and noticed that the night porter was speaking on the telephone.

  He had reached the front door and was just letting himself out when the porter called out to him.

  “Just a minute, sir,” said the porter, putting down the telephone. “You are Mr. Harrison, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” answered Harrison. “What’s the matter?”

  “It was Miss Crewe on the telephone, sir,” said the porter. “You left your cigarette case behind. She’s taken it along to her own room and she wants you to go back and get it.”

  Harrison looked at the porter and the porter looked steadily back at him. There was no betrayal, even by the flicker of an eyelid, that he thought this, in any way, unusual. He even added, “No. 17, sir, on the second floor.”

  Harrison’s mind was moving rapidly. His preference for cigars very often made him so unsociable as to forget to put a cigarette case in his pocket at all. He had forgotten tonight and had been somewhat ashamed of being unable to offer any to the company.

  “Of course I will,” he said, coolly. “But that reminds me. I wonder if you would get through to my number and give a message. I mustn’t keep Miss Crewe waiting. She’ll be wanting to go to bed. But I’ve forgotten something else and she’ll never forgive me. You don’t mind, do you?”

  The porter beamed and said that he would be only too pleased to help in any way.

  “Just tell whoever answers that Mr. Harrison says the package is to be addressed to Miss Netta Crewe, Room 17, Luxor Hotel.”

  The porter looked doubtful, and seemed to be wondering if Harrison was not playing some kind of practical joke. “It doesn’t sound very urgent,” he said.

  “It means more than you think,” said Harrison, mysteriously, at the same time producing a coin. “And we mustn’t keep Miss Crewe waiting.”

  The porter seemed impressed by the mystery and the adequacy of the accompanying payment, for he turned towards the telephone again as Harrison went upstairs.

  In Room 17 he found Netta Crewe waiting for him with a penitent air. She had made an extraordinarily quick change of garments during the short time Harrison had been downstairs. Her elaborate evening gown had been exchanged for a very flimsy wrap which could only have covered the scantiest of raiment, while her bare feet were arrayed in attractively dainty slippers.

  “Do come in, Mr. Harrison,” she said, as he stood waiting by the door.

  He advanced a little into the room and the girl, with a quick movement, slipped behind him and shut the door.

  “It was good of you to come back,” she said. “I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself. But now you are here, be a kind man and sit down and talk to me.”

  “Why not?” asked Harrison.

  “Cigarette?” she asked, passing her case.

  “Is this the one I left behind?” returned Harrison.

  “Not very bright of me, was it?” she said.

  “Well,” said Harrison, “I don’t like cigarettes and unfortunately I didn’t bring a case.”

  “How sporting of you not to let me down to the porter,” she replied. “I know it’s quite wrong of me, but I did want to have you all to myself for a little while.”

  “I should not have selected this particular time myself,” said Harrison.

  “Now don’t be angry with me,” said Netta. “The others are quite enough. You do forgive me, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” said Harrison.

  “I believe you think I’m trying to ‘vamp’ you,” she said, with a laugh.

  “I don’t flatter myself as far as that,” was the reply. “Other people might think so if they found me here.”

  “There’s no chance of that,” said Netta. “They’ve all settled down to sleep. It is rather exciting, you know.”

  “It may be ungallant of me,” answered Harrison, “but I’m afraid I don’t see it in that way. I should have said it was very indiscreet.”

  “But here’s nothing wrong in having a talk with you, is there?” she pleaded.

  “I trust not,” said Harrison.

  “Then sit down and be comfortable,” answered Netta. “I’m afraid cigars are beyond me—”

  “I carry them myself.”

  “Splendid,” said Netta, “then light one and be thoroughly comfortable.”

  Harrison lit a cigar and, at Netta Crewe’s urgent persuasion, settled down in the one armchair the room possessed.

  “You won’t think it indelicate if I sit on the bed, I hope?” said Netta.

  Harrison laughed. “Now then, Miss Crewe,” he said, “what do you want to talk about?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I really hardly know what to say now you are here,” said Netta. “I want to talk, that’s all. You ask me some questions.”

  “You really want to talk about yourself?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Are you unhappy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why did you say the others were quite enough?” asked Harrison.


  “That is really why I wanted to talk to you,” was the answer. “You seemed very sympathetic and I’m afraid I decided to take a mean advantage of you. You see, I don’t get a chance to talk to many people. Not really talk, you know. They won’t let me.”

  “Won’t let you?”

  The girl was about to answer when she noticed that Harrison’s eyes were fixed on the mark on her arm where Mrs. Crewe had gripped it earlier in the evening. It was still very evident, and possibly Harrison’s gaze had gone towards it in subconscious confirmation of her last remark.

  “You saw that, did you?” asked the girl.

  “I couldn’t help it,” answered Harrison, somewhat untruthfully.

  “I had hoped you wouldn’t,” said Netta, rather sadly. “You will admit I kept myself in pretty well.”

  “You did,” answered Harrison; “I admired you for it.”

  “Thank you so much,” said Netta. “That’s the kindest thing that’s been said to me for many a day. I felt so humiliated. They are always trying to humiliate me in front of other people. You must have seen that. It isn’t fair.”

  “But why?”

  “Well, mother’s clever and quick and old—and a bit cruel into the bargain,” replied Netta. “She thinks I’m a fool. She may be right. But she gets impatient and she doesn’t realise that I am grown-up. She still thinks of me, I am certain, as being about ten years old. And Archie, he does exactly what he thinks mother would like him to do.”

  “But why won’t they let you talk to other people?”

  “I suppose they think I shall do something dreadful,” she answered. “They expect me to do the most unheard-of things if they let me out of their sight for a second. I don’t know what would happen if they found you here.”

  Harrison looked at the girl but made no comment.

  “You’re a wonderful man, Mr. Harrison,” she said. “It doesn’t seem to worry you in the least.”

  “To the pure—” he started, maliciously.

  “That wouldn’t impress mother,” answered Netta, with a smile. “Still there’s no chance of it. And now I remember I did want to ask you something. Did mother say anything about me while I was out of the room tonight?”

  “Yes,” said Harrison, “she warned me not to encourage you.”

  “That makes our talk still more exciting,” returned Netta. “She would be surprised.”

  “As I should hate her to have such a shock,” said Harrison, “I think I’d better be going.”

  “Oh, you can’t go yet,” said Netta. “You haven’t finished your cigar. And it was hard enough work getting you here. If you start going now, you don’t know what I may do. I may start to scream and make an awful scene.”

  The girl laughed as she spoke, and yet Harrison thought that the tone in which she spoke seemed harder than before and the words almost sounded like a vague threat.

  “I really think mother’s jealous of me,” the girl continued.

  “That sounds rather absurd to me,” answered Harrison.

  “Old women can be very jealous of young ones,” said Netta. “Mother must have been very attractive when she was younger, and she may object to someone else taking her place.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  “But I think she is jealous about you, too,” said Netta. “If she thinks you have made a conquest of me, Mr. Harrison, I can assure you that you have certainly made a conquest of her.”

  Harrison felt that the girl was now trying to make conversation, and he was getting somewhat annoyed with the whole business. An accident might happen and then things could be very awkward.

  Suddenly he thought he heard a sound outside the door and, whether the girl did the same or it was pure coincidence, she suddenly sprang from the bed and came towards him.

  “You have made a conquest of me, Mr. Harrison,” she said softly. “Don’t you like me a little bit?”

  There was a gentle tap on the door.

  “What’s that?” cried the girl, her eyes gleaming with terror. She looked fearfully towards the door and then flung her arms round Harrison’s neck.

  “Save me, Mr. Harrison,” she said, in panic-stricken tones.

  “Control yourself, Miss Crewe,” said Harrison, sternly.

  “There’s somebody at the door,” she said, hysterically. “It must be one of them.”

  The gentle tap was repeated.

  “What shall I do?” she moaned, still clinging to him. “They’ll kill me if they find you here.”

  Harrison gently disengaged the girl’s arms from his neck and, at this movement, the girl threw herself sobbing on the bed. Lying like that, with her wrap slipping from her shoulders, her head buried in the pillow, and her arms flung wide in distress, she looked the picture of abandonment.

  “Miss Crewe, you’re not helping matters by going on like this,” said Harrison. “Pull yourself together.”

  The girl turned her face to him, wet with tears. The look of horror was still in her eyes.

  “You don’t know them,” she said. “You don’t know what they will do. I was a fool to ask you to come back. What shall I do? What shall I do?”

  There was a somewhat louder knock and then the handle of the door was turned but the door did not open.

  “You locked it?” Harrison asked the girl.

  “I didn’t mean to,” answered the girl, her voice filled with sobs. “I was afraid I shouldn’t be able to keep you here. What are you going to do?”

  “Open the door,” said Harrison.

  “You can’t,” said the girl. “You can’t, you mustn’t. Can’t you hide somewhere?”

  Harrison looked at her scornfully and she again buried her head in the pillow, her shoulders shaking with sobbing. One slipper had now fallen from her foot as she lay there and Harrison felt that she was paying dearly for her escapade.

  He walked across to the door, just as the visitor was starting to knock again, this time with slightly more insistence. He turned the key and threw the door wide and there, standing on the threshold, was Henry.

  Henry looked into the room, took in the whole scene and then gazed wonderingly at Harrison. All he received was a broad smile.

  There was silence for a few moments and eventually the girl raised her head wonderingly from the pillow and looked towards the door. Her wonderment increased as she saw Henry standing there.

  “Who are you?” she cried, sitting up and drawing her garments around her.

  “No need to worry, Miss Crewe,” said Harrison. “That is Henry, my assistant.”

  The girl looked daggers at Henry, and then turning to Harrison, said sharply, “How did he come here?”

  “To save you from a very difficult situation,” answered Harrison, moving towards the door. “You have been very indiscreet, Miss Crewe, and I hope this will be a warning to you not to repeat an experiment of this kind. Good night.”

  The girl still seemed too bewildered to reply, and Harrison went out with Henry, carefully closing the door behind him. The corridor was quite quiet and still but Harrison felt certain that, as he and Henry turned to go downstairs, there was somebody watching them from the stairs leading to the floor above.

  Chapter IX

  Harrison Feels Humble

  Harrison and Henry walked from the Luxor Hotel to the chambers and very little was said. Despite his natural curiosity and aching desire to ask innumerable questions, Henry realised when it was necessary to be discreet, and this was one of those particular times. Harrison was striding along, his brow furrowed and his mind miles away and it was not for Henry to bring him back.

  Henry certainly had not liked the episode at the hotel. He was fond of describing himself as broad-minded, and in the quieter Fleet Street taverns he had earned a reputation for a certain amount of daring in moral speculation. But when he was brought up against such facts as Harrison locked in an attractive girl’s bedroom and the particular girl lying weeping on her bed in the scantiest of coverings, all his innate Puritan
ism surged up. He trusted Harrison. The king could do no wrong. Still the king could have overwhelming temptations, and kings were human beings. The king might have given way, although it was difficult to believe, and he felt that Harrison owed him an explanation.

  They reached the chambers and still nothing was said. Henry made tea and Harrison puffed energetically at a cigar. He was smoking without realising what he was doing. In other men, he had complained of what he called the waste of a good cigar, and had suggested that if breathing exercises had been all they required a roll of smouldering brown paper would have been an adequate substitute. He drank his tea mechanically and continued to puff. Henry retired unobtrusively, vowing that he was entitled to a full explanation in the morning, and Harrison still sat on.

  At nine o’clock next morning Henry found Harrison sitting at his desk just as he had left him, except that he had exchanged his evening clothes for the tattered Norfolk jacket and a pair of old grey trousers. The ash-tray betrayed the number of cigars he had smoked in the interval, and Henry was inclined to think that Harrison had not been to bed at all.

  “Tea, Henry,” he said, “I’m parched.”

  “I should think so, sir,” answered Henry, looking meaningly at the ash-tray.

  “A pretty holocaust, Henry,” said Harrison.

  “You haven’t been to bed, sir,” said Henry.

  “Right again, Henry.”

  “You won’t be fit for anything,” commented Henry, busy with the preparation of tea.

  “You’re very angry with me, aren’t you, Henry?”

  “No, I’m not, sir,” said Henry, a little too emphatically.

  “Yes, you are,” replied Harrison. “I can feel it in the atmosphere. You fill the air with your feelings just as if they were a collection of germs. Better not be angry, Henry, it will make me feel worse.”