No Business of Mine

For two or three seconds we fought like animals. Both of us were half crazy with fear, and we punched, bit and kneed each other in a frenzy of waving arms and legs. Corridan was tough all right. He knew every dirty trick there was to know in fighting. If I hadn’t had a Ranger training as a war correspondent, I wouldn’t have lasted two minutes with him.

I got a head lock on him after a moment, tried to throttle him by squeezing his throat with my forearm, but he hit me so heavily about the body, I couldn’t hold him. I broke from him, jumped to my feet.

He had me around the legs before I could step clear, and I came down on my back. My breath whistled out of my body, and for one second I was helpless. That was a lot of time to a guy like Corridan. He was kneeling on my arms by the time I had my wind back, and it was like being sat upon by St. Paul’s Cathedral.

“Let’s look at you, you bastard,” he panted.

I heard a rattle of matches. If he saw who I was I was done for. I hadn’t a chance being caught with Littlejohns.

I made a terrific effort, brought my legs up, managed to boot him at the back of his head. He fell forward on top of me and I got my arms free. But he came back, grabbed at my head, tried to smash it down on the floor. By keeping my neck stiff I defeated this move, sank a punch into his belly that went in a foot.

He gasped, gagged, fell off me. My hand closed around one of the table legs. I swung blindly at him, felt a jar run up my arm as the table leg connected, heard him flop.

I lay gasping for breath, feeling as if I’d been fed through a mangle. I knew I couldn’t waste a moment; I struggled up kicked his legs off mine, reached out and touched him. He didn’t move. For one horrible moment I thought I’d killed him, but then I heard him breathing. Any second now he’d come to the surface. I had to get out while the going was good.

I got to my feet, staggered out of the room, peered into Netta’s room. The window was open. She had gone. I grabbed hold of the banister rail, nearly fell down the stairs. Reaching the front door, I waited a moment while I pulled myself together, opened it, stepped into the dark cul-de-sac. The night air helped me to come to the surface, but I was still groggy as I half ran, half walked to the main road.

I kept on, found myself in Russell Square, then Kingsway. I reached the Strand, and by that time I was walking steadily. I had to get myself a cast-iron alibi; an alibi so good that Corridan couldn’t even suspect it. I wondered if he had recognized me. I hadn’t made a sound while we fought, and it had been almost pitch dark. With luck, I’d get away with it.

I passed a telephone booth, hesitated, entered, called Crystal. I didn’t expect she’d be back from the Club as yet. It was only eleven-fifteen, but to my relief she answered.

“It’s Steve,” I said. “No, don’t talk. This is serious. How long have you been back from the Club?”

“An hour. I had a headache and thought I’d come home. Why?”

“Anyone see you come home?”

“No. What’s the matter, precious?”

“Plenty,” I said grimly. “I’m on my way over. I’ve been with you for the past hour, and I’m spending the night with you. Is that all right?”

“Is it all right?” Her voice shot up a note. “You bet it’s all right! You come right over.”

“I’m coming,” I said, hung up.

As I turned to leave the booth I had an idea. I put in two more pennies, called Fred Ullman of the Morning Mail.

When he came on the line, I said, “Pin your ears back, Fred. I’ve got the biggest story that’s hit the headlines for years! It’s exclusive and all yours. Will you earn it?”

“I’ll earn it, if it’s as good as that, but you’ll have to convince me. What do you want me to do?” he returned.

I leaned up against the wall of the booth and told him.

Chapter Twenty

I returned to the Savoy the following morning soon after eleven o’clock. As I asked the clerk at the Inquiry Desk for my key, I felt a hand touch my arm. I took the key, glanced around.

Corridan, looking very massive and dour, was standing at my side.

“Well, well,” I said, with what I hoped was a friendly smile. “My old pal again, always turning up like Boris Karloff. What brings you here? Lost your way?”

He shook his head. His eyes were frosty, his mouth set in a hard line. “I want to talk to you, Harmas,” he said. “Shall we go to your room?”

“Let’s go to the bar,” I returned. “It’s just on opening time. You look as if I need a drink.”

“I think we’ll go to your room.”

“Well, if you insist. Come along then. You don’t look your usual sunny self. What’s troubling you? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love, or is it indigestion?”

“This isn’t a joking matter,” he returned, walking with me to the elevator.

“That’s the usual trouble with you,” I said. “You haven’t a sense of humour.”

We entered the elevator, rode up to the second floor.