No Business of Mine

That settled it, I decided. Corridan could stew in his own juice. From now on, I was going to work on the case and keep all my findings to myself. Then I’d surprise the lug when I’d solved it.

I sat on the stairs, lit a cigarette, waited.

I heard the three men moving about the room, and after a while one of the plainclothes men came out, went across the street to telephone.

When he returned, he glanced at me and I said, “How much longer do I have to wait here? I want to go to bed.”

“The Inspector will want to talk to you,” he returned, went into the room again.

I lit another cigarette, continued to wait.

The stairs creaked, and I glanced around. Julius Cole was coming down stealthily, holding the skirt of his yellow-and-black dressing-gown in one hand, the other hand on the banister rail.

Looking at the dressing-gown I thought of the yellow-and-black Bentley, wondered if there was any connection.

“Hello, baby,” he whispered, his eyes on Madge Kennitt’s door.

“What’s going on?”

“I’d have thought you’d have been on the scene before now,” I said, scowling at him. “You’d better beat it. You’re in the way, Fatso.”

He came on, plumped himself down beside me, smiled his secret smile. I smelt perfume, drew away from him.

“Has something happened to the old hag?” he asked, rubbing his big, white hands together. “Has she lost something? Is it the police?”

“Someone cut her throat,” I said brutally. “Odd you didn’t see him arrive, or did you?”

“Cut her throat?” he squeaked, his face going slack. “You mean she’s dead?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, staring at him. “She knew too much.”

He was on his feet now, his mouth working, his eyes full of terror.

“You’ll be next,” I said, kidding him. “You know too much, too.” I wanted to loosen him up, and then I was going to move in and take him to pieces, but I guess I punched him too hard. He bolted up the stairs before I could grab him. I heard him rush into his room, slam the door and shoot the bolt.

I hadn’t expected quite such a reaction, but on consideration, I realized that he also had seen the man and girl return with Netta. He, too, stood a likely chance of getting his throat cut; and he knew it.

I got to my feet, undecided whether to follow him or not, when Corridan came out of the room. His face was grim.

“Now, let’s hear some more from you,” he said, planting himself before me. “How long have you known this woman?”

I frowned at him. “Why, I’ve only just met her. I told you I thought she might have seen something the night Netta was supposed to have died. I came here, talked with her, and she admitted she did know something. Then she upset her bottle of Scotch, wouldn’t talk until I’d got her another. I got another from Sam at the Blue Club, but when I got back I found her dead. Someone had stopped her talking for good.”

“It’s lucky for you I saw you come out when you did,” Corridan said coldly. “Even then, it still doesn’t mean you couldn’t have killed her.”

“For God’s sake, Corridan!” I exploded.

“You’ve brought it on yourself,” he returned. “You are definitely on my suspect list.”

“That’s fine,” I said bitterly. “After all the meals I’ve bought for you, too.”

“Tell me exactly what she said,” he ordered, watching me with uncomfortable intentness.

I couldn’t avoid telling him the truth, although it irritated me to do so. It was his job to find out that Netta had come back with two other people, not to receive it as a gift from me.

He listened in silence, seemed very thoughtful by the time I had finished.

“There goes your suicide theory,” I said, eyeing him. “I told you all along Netta didn’t kill herself.”

“I know,” he said, looking up sharply. “If she didn’t kill herself, then you might have a reason for stopping Madge Kennitt from talking. Thought of that?”

I just gaped at him.

“On the other hand it still could be suicide,” he went on. “These two visitors could have left her after doing whatever they had come to do, and then she committed suicide. It depends on what time they left.”

“Well, Julius Cole can tell you. He saw them too.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” Corridan said grimly. “Will you walk to the corner with me?” I asked, remembering Frankie. “I want to check something.”

He opened the front door without a word, and together we walked to the entrance of the alley from which the Standard had come. I struck a match, peered at a small pool of motor oil on the cobbles. It would seem from that that the Standard had been parked there for some time.

“Look at this,” I said. “When I was trying to get you on the phone, I spotted a Standard car come out of this mews. There’s some oil here that leaked from it. I should say it’d been standing there some time. I happen to know the car belongs to Jack Bradley. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Except you seem to know more about this case than I thought,” Corridan returned. “How do you know the car belongs to Bradley?”

“I consulted my Ouija board,” I returned.

“You’re not in the position to be funny,” he snapped sharply. “How did you know?”