Why Pick On ME? (27 page)

Corridon glanced round the room to see if he had left out anything.

“Well, of course, you have only Homer’s word for it. He may be making it up,” he said as he crossed the room to collect a silver cigarette-box. “My regiment presented me with this when I left,” he went on. “I don’t know why unless they were pleased to see me go.”

“Never mind your regiment,” Rawlins snapped. “I have reason to believe you went down to Fairlight last night and found Mainworthy.”

“But whoever takes you seriously?” Corridon asked, slipping the cigarette-box into his bag. “You get the wildest ideas into that bullet head of yours.”

Rawlins breathed heavily.

“Did you go to Fairlight last night?”

“Good Lord, no!”

Rawlins sat down.

“Mainworthy had a boat. He was packed to go. Then suddenly he changed his mind and committed suicide. Why?”

“How do I know?” Corridon said. “Maybe he didn’t like French cooking. Maybe his conscience was worrying him or he thought it was time to talk things over with his ancestors. I wouldn’t know.”

“If he suddenly lost his get-away money, he might decide suicide was the way out,” Rawlins said. “I think he did lose his money.”

“Very careless of him,” Corridon said and locked the bag. “Well, if that’s all, old boy, perhaps you’ll buzz off. I’m in a hurry.”

“Would you object to me searching your bag?” Rawlins asked. “I think you have the money on you.”

“The ideas you get,” Corridon said and laughed. “Search it by all means, if you have a search warrant.”

“I haven’t,” Rawlins said gloomily. “But at least you can show me a little co-operation.”

“I’m right out of it this morning,” Corridon said cheerfully. “Besides, if I did happen to have the money, is it likely I’d have it with me, knowing you were certain to call? Give me credit for a little intelligence.”

“So you have got it?” Rawlins said, getting to his feet.

“I said
if
I had…” Corridon put on his overcoat and picked up his hat. “Never jump to conclusions. The trouble with you is you don’t trust anyone. It’s a pretty nervous failing. Well, I’m off.”

“I’ll have a little party for you at the Custom’s shed,” Rawlins exploded angrily. “We’ll strip you to the skin!”

“I took a bath this morning so I’ll have nothing to be ashamed of,” Corridon said, grinning. “So long. I don’t suppose you’ll see me for a year or two. Don’t get into mischief while I’m away.”

Rawlins followed him down the stairs. As Corridon locked the front door, he said, “I’m giving up this hole. I feel it’s time I lived in better surroundings. When I come back I’ll set up like a gentleman. I hope to make a pot of money in Paris.”

“You’re not there yet,” Rawlins growled. “I’m hoping to fix you up with free board and lodgings with bars at the windows.”

“To hear you talk one would think you smoked opium,” Corridon said. “Go and buy yourself a nice cup of tea. You’re getting into a tizzy.”

As Rawlins’ red face began to turn purple, Corridon patted him patronizingly on his shoulder and walked off, whistling a gay tune as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Three members of the Special Branch were at the Custom’s shed when Corridon arrived at Newhaven. He greeted him with an expansive smile and submitted to an exhaustive search both of his luggage and his person.

“I’m afraid poor old Rawlins is slipping,” he said, as he began to dress while the three detectives stood around and glowered at him. “He ought to retire. Look at the extra work he makes for you boys.”

They said nothing and were still glowering when he made his way up the gangway to the boat. He turned to wave to them but they didn’t wave back. They knew somehow he had fooled them, and they knew he would also fool the French police who were waiting patiently at Dieppe in answer to Rawlins’ telephone message.

It wasn’t until the Paris train steamed out of the station that Corridon felt reasonably certain he had got away with it. The crossing had been a little tense. The French police at Dieppe had been extremely discourteous. It was still possible more policemen would meet him at the barrier when he arrived in Paris. Rawlins was nothing if not thorough. So when Lorene Feydak passed his compartment, he studiously avoided looking at her, and she passed without giving him a glance.

Detectives were waiting at the station barrier. As they closed in on him, he saw Lorene making her way unmolested through the barrier, and he greeted the detectives with such an expansive and jeering smile that they knew at once they were wasting their time.

An hour and a half later, Corridon paid off a taxi outside a modest hotel in Rue de Balzac. He inquired at the desk for Mademoiselle Feydak, pleased to discover his French wasn’t as rusty as he had expected. Mademoiselle Feydak was expecting him, he was told, would he go up.

Lorene opened the door leading into a big, airy suite, consisting of a bedroom, sitting-room and bathroom.

“No trouble?” he asked, tossing his hat and coat on a chair and then going over to take her hands in his.

“They were far too occupied worrying about you to worry about me,” she said, and laughed. “If you’ll give me five minutes I’ll hand them over. I’ve stitched them in my suspender belt.”

“There’s no immediate hurry,” Corridon said, thinking how beautiful she was. “There’s seven thousand coming to you. It should give you a new start.”

“Thank you, darling. I was afraid you would say that. I suppose you want to go on from here – alone?”

“Yes,” Corridon said and put his hands each side of her waist. “But cheer up. You won’t be alone for long. You should be a big success in Paris.”

She looked up at him.

“Couldn’t we have a week together?” she asked, her hands on his. “Then I’ll try to be satisfied. You see, I’m utterly shameless.”

“You once said I wasn’t the kind of man a girl should fall in love with,” Corridon reminded her. “You said the girl was bound to get hurt. Be sensible, Lorene. As soon as I’ve sold the diamonds, we part. You know as well as I do it wouldn’t work.”

“I believe you’re in love with Marian Howard,” she said, not looking at him. “You are, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Corridon said, frowning. “Anyway, she’s in London and I’m in Paris. Let me have the diamonds. We’ll go out and celebrate.”

He pushed her to the bedroom door.

“A week,” she said. “Then we part. I won’t make a scene.”

“Go and get the diamonds,” Corridon said.

While he waited, he looked down at the bustling street, golden with sunshine. It was still spring, and the women, he thought, looked very gay. Perhaps, after all, a week with Lorene might be fun. Paris could be as lonely as London when you were on your own. It wouldn’t be permanent. She knew that. Firmly he put Marian out of his mind, and after hesitating, he went into the inner room where Lorene was hopefully waiting for him.

The End