Why Pick On ME? (25 page)

As he made the move, Kara jerked up her gun and fired at him. But Ames in trying to save himself swerved and the bullet meant for Corridon hit him in the middle of his forehead. His already lifeless body, projected by Corridon’s kick, crashed into Kara, bringing her down.

Corridon’s attack was made so quickly that Yevski stood rooted, too surprised to move. Taking advantage of this, Corridon sprang across the room. His foot stamped down on Kara’s wrist as she grabbed at the gun that had fallen from her hand. Leaning over her, Corridon hit her on top of her head with his clenched fist, coming down with the force of a sledge-hammer, driving her senseless to the floor.

He spun round in time to meet Yevski’s bull-like rush. Ducking under a wild swing, he straightened up inside Yevski’s guard and drove an upper-cut to his jaw, sending him flying back as if he had been struck by the blast of an explosion. Yevski slammed against the wall, slid down and stretched out on the floor.

Breathing heavily, Corridon rubbed his skinned knuckles and grinned at Marian.

“Well, luck’s running our way now for a change,” he said, bent to pick up Kara’s gun, then crossed over to Marian. He undid the straps and helped her to her feet. “How’s it feel?”

She leaned against him, white and shaken, and for a moment or so, couldn’t speak. Then, “I knew you’d get me out of that,” she said, and tried to smile up at him.

“I very nearly didn’t. We’re not clear yet.” He put his arm round her. “Where’s Rawlins?”

“He’s on his way here. I told him where I was going.”

“You should have waited for him. Ames wasn’t bluffing.”

She shuddered.

“I know. I was terrified.”

Corridon moved away to bend over Ames.

“Well, he’s dead now.” He went to Yevski, turned him and ran through his pockets. He found an automatic which he gave to Marian.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I want a word with Homer before Rawlins arrives. I’ll take you to my room. You’ll be safe there for ten minutes or so.”

He opened the door and glanced up and down the passage.

“All clear.”

She followed him out into the passage. He closed the door and shot the heavy bolt.

“They’ll be all right in there for a little while. No one can hear them. I’ll go first. If we run into trouble, don’t take any chances. Shoot first and apologize after.”

Moving silently, with Marian a yard behind him, he mounted the stairs, paused to look into the hall, but seeing no one, motioned her to join him.

“We go up the next flight of stairs,” he said, keeping his voice low. “My room is the second door on the left. If we meet anyone, leave him to me, and run for my room.”

She nodded, and he suddenly grinned at her.

“You’re taking it very calmly,” he said. “I believe you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, no. That awful man frightened the life out of me.”

He moved into the hall. Somewhere at the back of the house he heard voices, but no one appeared. Together they moved silently to the stairs.

“Second door on the left,” he said, pausing at the head of the stairs. “I shan’t be long. Shoot if you have to.”

“You’ll be careful?” she said anxiously.

“That’s funny coming from you,” he said, and gave her a little push towards his bedroom door. As soon as she had entered the room and closed the door, he retraced his steps down the stairs into the hall. He held Kara’s gun out of sight by his side.

After a moment’s listening, he walked silently down the corridor to Homer’s office. The door was ajar and he peered in.

Homer was going through a stack of papers on his desk. His broad, fleshy face was white and he breathed heavily. His movements were hurried and his big fat hands shook as he bundled the papers into a briefcase.

Corridon stepped quietly into the room. Homer stiffened, looked up and caught his breath sharply.

“Don’t move,” Corridon said, and lifted the gun.

Homer turned to a figure of stone. Only his breathing made him alive.

Corridon closed the door.

“You may as well face facts,” he said, moving to the desk. “You’ve played your last trick. You can’t grumble; you have had a pretty good innings.”

Homer continued to stand motionless. His eyes protruded, making him look like a frightened horse.

“What do you want?” he managed to say.

“Sit down and put your hands on the desk,” Corridon said. “I want the name of the Leader.”

Homer sat down.

“I don’t know,” he said, a quaver in his voice. “How should I know?”

Corridon smiled at him.

“The police’ll show up in a few minutes,” he said. “Whichever way the cat jumps you’ve had it. You’ve two alternatives. Ten years in jail or a bullet in the belly. Which do you fancy?”

Homer blanched. He tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come.

“The position is this,” Corridon went on. “If you don’t tell me who the Leader is, I’ll put a bullet into you. If you do tell me by the way, you haven’t a great deal to look forward to, for I shall hand you over to Rawlins.”

Homer stared at him in horror.

“But I don’t know,” he stammered. “I – I tell you, I don’t know.”

“Then it’s too bad for you. I’m all for wiping you out. Once the police get hold of you, they’ll probably spoil you. The police are notoriously kind.” He lifted the gun. “Just to make it a little more exciting I am going to count. It you haven’t told me who the Leader is by the time I reach ten, I shall shoot, and remember, where I shall shoot you you won’t go quick.”

“But I don’t know!” Homer cried, pushing back his chair. “I’ve never known…!”

Corridon stood very still, the gun pointing at Homer’s paunch.

“…five, six, seven, eight, nine…”

His finger curled round the trigger.

“Stop!” Homer screamed, his fat body sagging over the desk. “I’ll tell you. It’s George Mainworthy.”

Corridon grinned at him.

“I thought so. It would be Mainworthy. He was kicked out of the army, and this is his idea of getting even.”

“They’ll kill me for this,” Homer groaned. “I’ve got to have protection. They’ll kill me.”

“Don’t be hysterical,” Corridon said tartly. “There won’t be any of them left to kill you or even bother with you.”

He heard the door open behind him and swung round. Rawlins stood in the doorway, a wide, beaming smile on his face.

“There you are,” he said. “I was wondering where you had got to.”

Behind him lurked three plain-clothes men. They came in and surrounded Homer.

“Surprising little trouble,” Rawlins went on, scratching the side of his nose. “None of them seemed anxious to make themselves awkward.”

“Get him out of here,” Corridon said, motioning to Homer. “He’s one of the bigger fishes. Is Marian all right?”

“Most certainly she is,” Rawlins said. “She’s outside.”

He went to the door, beckoned and Marian came in.

“You don’t know how wonderful he’s been,” she told Rawlins, smiling at Corridon. “If you had seen him tackle those three in that awful room downstairs.”

“I can imagine,” Rawlins said, as Homer was bundled out of the room. He seemed glad to be in the company of three detectives. “He always did fancy himself as a modern Douglas Fairbanks.”

“Any sign of Diestl?” Corridon asked.

“We’re looking for him now,” Rawlins told him. “You’ve done quite enough for one night. You can leave the rest to me.”

“There’s something much more important to do than clear up this mess,” Corridon said. “I want you to come with me right away to the Red Roost. Homer named our old pal Mainworthy as the boss of the organization.”

Rawlins nodded.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Ritchie always thought he was behind it. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be with you.” He went quickly from the room.

Corridon opened a silver box on Homer’s desk, took out a cigarette and as he lit up, he said, “Any news of your uncle?”

“He’ll be all right. He has a broken collar-bone,” Marian said. “He won’t even go to bed.” She paused, went on, “This has worked out well, Martin.”

“So it has.” He looked thoughtfully at her. “If we catch Mainworthy, the whole setup will collapse. But we haven’t caught him yet.” He moved over to the door, opened it and stepped into the hall. He was in time to see Diestl being led down the stairs. Diestl didn’t look at him, but went with his escort across the hall to the waiting police van. There was a bleak look on his face.

Rawlins reappeared.

“You have a couple of dangerous customers in the basement room,” Corridon warned him. “Kara and a Russian, Yevski. You’ll find Ames there too but he’s dead. Kara shot him.”

“Gate’s looking after them,” Rawlins said. “This seems a pretty neat bag, but it’s Mainworthy we want. I’m ready when you are.”

“Coming?” Corridon asked turning to Marian.

“Oh, yes, I don’t want to miss anything. Besides, uncle’ll expect to hear the fullest details.”

“He’ll get them.”

The three went down the steps to a waiting police car. As they drove off Rawlins said, “Think he’ll be there?”

“Probably not. I’ll be surprised if Homer didn’t warn him. We may be lucky, of course.”

But they weren’t. When they reached the Red Roost, Brett, dark and immaculate, with a sardonic expression in his eyes, told them Mainworthy had left the club about half an hour ago.

“He seemed to be in a hurry,” Brett said. “Is there anything wrong?”

Rawlins didn’t enlighten him and stayed only long enough to convince himself Mainworthy wasn’t there. The big office where Corridon had met and talked with Mainworthy was in a shambles. The desk drawers were pulled out, papers were scattered over the floor, and a small safe stood open.

Corridon looked thoughtfully at the safe, wondering how much it had contained. It was probable Mainworthy had gone off with the bulk of the Movement’s funds, and from what Ritchie had told him, the amount must be considerable.

Rawlins sat at the desk.

“We’ll pick him up,” he said. “I’ll just get the machinery in motion, then I’ll run you back to Stratford Road. Colonel Ritchie will want to see you.”

Corridon’s eyes were still on the safe, and following his glance, Rawlins frowned.

“What are you hatching up now?” he demanded. “You look as if you’ve never seen a safe before.”

Corridon grinned.

“I was thinking you owe me a bob,” he said blandly. “Kara got away. Like to give it to me now before you spend it?”

IV

Ritchie, his arm in a sling, sat in an armchair in his upstairs study, a whisky-and-soda within reach. Corridon leaned his bulk against the mantelpiece, a cigarette burned between his fingers.

“Apart from Mainworthy,” he was saying, “the Movement’s washed up. When they’ve got Mainworthy, it’s in the bag. Rawlins seems pretty confident he’ll catch him.”

Ritchie nodded.

“I think he will. It’s only a matter of time. He can’t get out of the country.”

Corridon pulled at his lower lip.

“He could. If he has the money, he could hire a boat or an aircraft. Still, that’s up to Rawlins. It’s not our business.”

“No. The thing’s out of our hands now,” Ritchie said, paused and went on, “You’ve done a good job. You always do a good job when you work for me. Marian’s been giving me the details. You risked your life for her. I’m grateful.”

Corridon moved restlessly. He disliked praise.

“There was nothing to that. I’m sorry you got winged. I should have known Kara would have had a crack at you.”

“It’s a damned nuisance, but it could have been a lot worse. I’ll be out of action for a week or two.” Ritchie paused to sip the whisky. “I need help badly, Martin. The War Office would increase my establishment if I asked them. I need a second in command. It would carry the rank of major, and there would be special pay. How about it?”

Corridon hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt Ritchie’s feelings, but he knew the job was no good to him.

“I appreciate that,” he said at last, “but I have other plans. We’ve been over all this before. I work better on my own.”

“It’s a useful and important job,” Ritchie said without much hope. “It’s time you settled down. Haven’t you thought of getting married?”

“Me?” Corridon looked startled. “Why, no. Why should I make some girl miserable? I’m not the marrying kind.”

“It depends on the girl,” Ritchie said. “Now, Marian…”

But Corridon wouldn’t let him go on.

“As a matter of fact,” he interrupted, “I’m going to Paris. I have a feeling Paris and I will get along together.”

Ritchie studied him, saw it was hopeless and smiled.

“You must please yourself, of course, but I think you’re making a mistake. It’s time you settled down. You’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m thirty-eight,” Corridon said a little piqued. “I’ve promised myself I’ll have ten thousand pounds in the bank by the time I’m forty. O.S.S.5 wouldn’t run to that.”

There came a knock on the door, and Rawlins came in. He looked tired.

“I’ve spread the net,” he said, dropping into an armchair. “We must now wait for him to walk into it. Unless he has some means we don’t know about of getting out of the country, he’s trapped. But I’ve warned the Continental police to stand by in case he slips out.”

“Has he any money?” Ritchie asked.

“I think so. Homer tells me they had fifteen thousand for running expenses, and there’s no sign of it.”

“I hope you catch him with it,” Corridon said and grinned. “That’s a nice little sum to hand over to the Treasury.”

“We’ll catch him,” Rawlins said shortly. He paused to light a cigarette, went on, “Homer’s been very useful. He’s done a lot of talking. We’ve arrested Brett. According to Homer he is one of them. We’ve also got hold of the woman who shot Lestrange. She’s confessed.” He glanced at Corridon. “So, that let’s you out.”

“Good show,” Corridon said. “Any news of Lorene Feydak?”

“We’ve let her go. She’s at the Mayfair Hotel at the moment. We’ve given her a strong hint to get out of the country. We’ve made it easy for her to go.”

Corridon pushed himself away from the mantelpiece.

“Well, you seem to have taken care of everything.” He looked at Ritchie. “I’m now retiring from active service. If there’s any money owing to me, I’d be glad if you’d send it to Fosdick and Butler, my solicitors. I hope to be in Paris by tomorrow afternoon.” He held out his hand. “Take care of yourself, Colonel. The next time there’s anything like this to do, don’t pick on me, will you? It’s been a little too much like hard work. So long for now.”