No Business of Mine

“Two years. Oh, I know you’ll say people change, but I’m still sure she wasn’t the type.”

“What else?” The blue eyes probed, the thin mouth came near to a smile again. “Ignoring the jewellery, the stockings and her type, what else have you got?”

“I haven’t started yet,” I said, “but it’ll keep until we’ve fed. You don’t know anything about the girl?”

“She hasn’t a record if that’s what you mean,” he returned, contentedly chewing his food. “She worked at the Blue Club as a dance hostess and she’s been fined once or twice for car offences, otherwise we don’t know anything about her.”

“And the Blue Club? I hear it’s taken a dive since I knew it.”

“Most of these clubs that catered for Americans have deteriorated since the Americans have gone home. The Blue Club is on our suspect list, but Bradley is a little too smart for us at the moment. We believe the place is a gambling den, and there’s drinking out of hours. I’m sure the food is Black Market, but we’ve never been able to get any of our men in there, and a raid has always flopped. The Chief thinks one of our men tips Bradley off when a raid is going to be made. Anyway, he’s always one jump ahead of us, although he can’t last much longer.”

By now we had finished the meal, and Corridan went back to the armchair. I ordered brandy and cigars, saw he was settled comfortably.

“Well, now perhaps I can convince you,” I said, produced the Luger and handed it to him.

He sat for a long moment staring at it, his face expressionless, then he glanced up, his eves cold.

“Where did this come from?” he asked.

I told him.

He examined the Luger thoughtfully, shook his head, relaxed again.

“If you knew the number of women who have these damn things you wouldn’t think so much of it,” he said. “Nearly every American soldier brought one back from Germany, and gave it to his girlfriend. What makes you so heat up about it?”

“I’m not heat up about it,” I said, “but it’s odd she should have kept it hidden in a dress like that, isn’t it?” I suddenly wondered if I was making a fool of myself.

“Well, you can get into trouble having one of these things she might have hidden it with that in mind,” Corridan returned, stretching out his long legs and sniffing at his brandy. “Nothing more concrete?”

I told him about the sixteen five-pound notes, and handed them and the letter to Anne Scott over to him. I also gave him the diamond ring.

“You certainly searched the place pretty thoroughly,” he said, cocking an eye at me. “I don’t know if you had any right in there... had you?”

“Maybe not,” I returned, chewing my cigar, “but this business worries me, Corridan. I feel there’s something wrong somewhere.” I went on to tell him about the man who had attacked me.

He showed some interest at last.

“Did you see him?”

“It was damned dark, and I was startled. All right,” I went on when he half smiled. “I was scared pink. So would you’ve been if it had happened to you. The guy sprang out at me with what looked like a tyre lever, and he had a damned good shot at bashing my brains in. I couldn’t see much of him, but he seemed young, slight, and could run like hell. I think I’d know him again if I saw him.”

“What do you think he was after?”

“The gun perhaps,” I said, “that’s why I suggest you have it checked. You see there’s a scratch on the barrel and it looks as if at one time a name was engraved on the butt. I believe the gun might tell us something.”

“You’ve been reading too many detective stories,” he grunted. “Still, there’s no harm checking the gun.” He sniffed at it. “Been fired, I’d say a month or so ago. Smells of lilac, too.”

“Her favourite perfume,” I told him. “Well, that’s my story. I hoped you’d be more impressed, but I should have known better. The trouble with you is you’ve no imagination.”

He stroked his long fleshy nose. “Maybe I haven’t, but I’ve a lot of horse sense, and I still think she committed suicide.” He picked up the envelope, tapped it on his finger-nails. “Shall we see what’s in here?”

“Can we?”

“The police can do anything,” he said with a wink. He took out a pencil, slid it under the flap of the envelope, rolled it gently backwards and forwards. After a little persuasion the flap lifted.

“Easy once you know how,” he said, looking at me with his half-hearted smile. “You have to have the right touch, of course.”

“I’ll keep my mail out of your reach,” I said. “Well, what’s inside?”

He glanced into the envelope, whistled. With finger and thumb he hooked out what seemed a stack of over-printed paper.

“Bearer bonds,” he said.

I leaned forward. “Seems a lot of them,” I said, gaping.

His fingers flicked through them. “Five thousand pounds worth,” he said. “Now I wonder where these came from?” He glanced inside the envelope. “No note. Hmm, this is a little odd I must say.”

I laughed at him. “Now you’re starting. The whole thing’s odd to me. Well, what are you going to do about it?”