No Business of Mine

“All right, Harmas,” he said, shrugging, “if that’s the way you feel. Don’t forget I’ve warned you.”

I grinned at him. “I won’t forget,” I said, “but you’ll find me a little harder proposition to take on than Madge Kennitt.”

His face tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’ve never heard of Madge Kennitt. You can get out and stay out. This club’s closed to you from now on. And take my tip — mind your own business, otherwise you’ll be a sick PUP.”

“Phooey!” I said, and left him.

Chapter Thirteen

On my way back from the Ministry of Reconstruction and Planning where I had been obtaining material for my third article, I ran into Corridan.

I spotted him hurrying along the crowded pavement, a dour, forbidding look in his eyes, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Hello, sour puss,” I said, falling into step beside him. “You look as cheerful as the National Debt.”

He scowled round, continued on his way.

“I never met such a chap,” he said, stretching his long legs as if anxious to shake me off. “You’re like a vulture. When anything happens or goes wrong, you’re sure to appear on the scene.”

My legs were as long as his, and I kept pace with him easily enough.

“What’s wrong this time?” I asked brightly. “Anyone been humped off?”

“Nobody’s been bumped off,” he returned coldly. “If you must know that damned Julius Cole has skipped. He climbed out of his bedroom window and hooked it last night while I was trying to get in.”

“I don t blame him,” I returned. “Not after what happened to Madge Kennitt. I suppose he thought the same thing might happen to him. Any idea where he’s got to?”

“No, but we shall find him. I want him for questioning, and a general alarm has gone out all over the country to bring him in. It won’t take long, but it’s a shocking waste of public money.”

“Don’t bother your head about that,” I said. “There are plenty of other things to worry about. The great thing is to find him alive.”

“I wish you’d stop dramatizing this business,” Corridan snapped. “You make it sound a damn sight worse than it is.”

“I wonder,” I shrugged. “By the way, how are you getting along with the Jacobi case?”

He mis-stepped, glanced at me sharply. “What do you know about that?” he demanded, slowing his pace.

“Oh, I’ve been following your remarkable rise to fame and fortune,” I returned lightly. “A couple of months ago your face and name were spread over every newspaper in connection with Jacobi. Have you found the missing loot yet?”

He shook his head. “Plenty of time for it to appear,” he returned curtly. “What makes you bring up Jacobi?”

“Oh, I’ve been consulting my Ouija board again. I thought it was a little odd that part of Jacobi’s loot should be hidden in Netta’s jar of cold cream. I wondered too, why you didn’t tell me that the ring was connected with such a sensational case.”

Corridan smiled grimly. “I don’t tell you everything. You appear capable of finding out most things for yourself.”

I nodded. “That’s so. You’d be surprised how much I do find out.”

“Such as what?”

“I don’t tell you everything either. One of these days I’ll take you into my confidence and we’ll have a good cry together.”

He made an impatient gesture, looked around for a taxi.

“Have you wondered if the Jacobi affair has anything to do with Netta Scott and Madge Kennitt’s murder?” I asked as the taxi, in answer to Corridan’s hail, drew up.

“I’m always wondering about everything connected with all my cases,” he returned dryly, climbed into the taxi. “I’ll be seeing you, Harmas. You can leave all this safely in my hands. You may not think so, but they are extremely capable.”

“Let’s keep that as something between you and me,” I said. “Some people wouldn’t believe it.”

I watched him drive away, grinned, and continued on to the Savoy. So Julius Cole had gone to ground. I wouldn’t be surprised, I thought, if I heard he had been found in a ditch with his toes in the air.

I entered the Savoy, asked if there were any messages, collected one from Crystal who suggested we should drink some more gin together that night, gave a telephone number and asked me to call her.

When I reached my room, I put through a call.

She answered immediately.

“Hello, this is your U.S. romance speaking to you from the Savoy Hotel,” I said. “I received your note and think your suggestion an excellent one. Where do we meet and when?”

“Come and pick me up at my place,” she said, gave me an address in Hertford Street.

“I thought you said you lived with your father-the guy who stuffs birds.”

“Oh, I’m nearly as big a kidder as you are,” she giggled, hung up.

I arrived at her flat a few minutes after seven. It was over an antique furniture shop, and after climbing red-carpeted stairs.

I came on a small landing which served as a kitchen.

Crystal popped her corn-coloured head out of a door close by, blew me a kiss.

“Go in there,” she said, pointing a bare arm at another door. “I’ll join you in two twos.”

“Too long to wait,” I said promptly. “I’m coming in here.”