More Deadly Than The Male (30 page)

She noticed the change of his expression. "I say, I am sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to be funny. I suppose you're pretty badly in love?"

Instantly George warmed to her. "Yes," he said. "Is she very lovely?"

George nodded. "She's marvellous," he said, looking across the limitless expanse of the Heath. "You see, she doesn't think I've got any guts. She—she won't have much to do with me. She deliberately laid this trap, knowing that I couldn't do anything about it. That's why I tried." He drew in a deep breath. "I—I stole that taxi."

"Are you quite sure she's the right one for you?" the girl asked, looking at him curiously. "She doesn't sound your type at all."

"She isn't really," George admitted, "but sometimes one can't help that. A girl like that gets in one's blood and there's not much one can do about it. I can't, anyway."

The girl thought about this for a moment, then she nodded. "Yes, I can understand that," she said; "but you ought to be careful. A girl like that could get you into a lot of trouble."

Trouble? George thought bitterly. She had done that all right, if you could use such a word for murder.

"Well, I can't help it," he returned tonelessly. "I can't do without her."

The girl stood up. "All right," she said. "I'll help you. Take me home and I'll give you an outfit. I'd like to surprise your girlfriend. I only wish I could be there to see her face when you give it to her."

George stared at her, scarcely believing his ears.

"You'll give me an outfit?" he repeated stupidly.

"Yes. I'd much sooner give you one than have to go home without a stitch." She suddenly laughed. "I have to think of Daddy. It would give the poor darling a stroke; and think what the servants would say!"

Was this a trap? George wondered, suddenly suspicious. Was she going to get him to the house and then send for the police? Why should she give him the clothes? She had never seen him before. What was behind this?

She seemed to read his thoughts. "It's all right," she said, looking down at him "I'm not going to trap you into anything. It's just that I have a lot of clothes and it pleases me to help you. What do you say?"

Still George hesitated. The suggestion was preposterous. He had set out as a desperate bandit, and now the girl he had planned to rob was actually going to give him what he wanted.

"Do make up your mind," she said, throwing away her cigarette. "It's getting late, and I ought to be home."

He got slowly to his feet. "I don't know what to say," he muttered, looking at her uneasily. "It's fantastic."

"No, it isn't. You're nervous I'll send for the police, aren't you? I won't. I promise."

He remembered Cora's promise. Women made promises lightly, he warned himself, but looking at her he was inclined to believe her. Anyway, if he became suspicious he had his gun . . . and he'd use it, too!

"Well, thanks," he said. "I think it's awfully decent of you," and he opened the cab door for her.

"Has she my colouring?" the girl asked, sitting on the little turn-up seat so that she could talk to George as he drove. Cora had her colouring all right, but that was as far as the resemblance went. She had a better figure, more character in her face than this girl—not that this girl wasn't nice looking. In a way, George preferred her to Cora. She hadn't Cora's sulky expression, nor the lines near her mouth. She had a better skin than Cora's, and her hair was more beautiful. But that didn't mean she was more exciting than Cora: she wasn't. There was something about Cora which tortured George. He knew this girl would never torture him. "Yes," he said. "She's about your size, and she's got hair like yours."

"What do you think she'd like?" the girl asked. "Would she like a frock, or a costume, or a coat and skirt?"

Was she pulling his leg? George wondered. Had she got so many things to give away?

"Well, I don't know," he said. "I thought something like you're wearing."

She laughed. "Of course, that's why you picked on me, wasn't it? I think I've got something that'll do. I don't mind parting with clothes. It's money I hate parting with. You see, Daddy pays for my clothes, and gives me pocket money for extras. He doesn't seem to mind how many clothes I have, but he just won't part with any more cash."

George drove on, bewildered.

"We're just here," she called after a few minutes. "The gate's on the right."

George hesitated. Should he drive in? Should he risk a trap? Before he could make up his mind, he had reached the gates and had turned into a long, winding drive. But when he sighted a vast house through the trees, he slowed down and stopped the cab.

She jumped out. "Stay here," she said. "I won't be long."

"All right," he said uneasily, and watched her walk swiftly towards the house.

As soon as she was out of sight, George left the cab and moved off the drive into the garden. He couldn't afford to trust her. He would give her ten minutes, and then he'd go. From where he stood, in the shadow of a big magnolia tree, he could see the house. He could see her run up the broad, white steps, open the door and go in. The ground floor was in darkness, but the windows of both the wings on the two upper floors showed lights.

He stood still, watching the house, his hand on the butt of his gun. A moment or so later a light sprang up in one of the centre windows, and he caught a glimpse of the girl as she passed to and fro before the window.

He relaxed slightly. Anyway, she wasn't telephoning, he thought. How astounding! He was sure if anyone had tried to hold him up, he would have given them over to the police at the first possible opportunity.

Scarcely ten minutes had gone by before he saw her coming down the steps again. She held a bundle under her arm, and George, convinced of her sincerity at last, went to meet her.

"I bet you had a bad ten minutes," she said, smiling at him. "I hope I haven't been too long. You'll find everything there. I duplicated the underclothes. The hat's the only thing I wasn't sure about. Does she wear hats?"

George blinked. "No," he said. "How did you know?" 

"I somehow felt she didn't." She pressed the bundle into his arms.

"I've got to get in now. Good night, and please don't hold up any more girls. You know, we don't really like it."

He watched her go, then he turned and stumbled hack to the taxi. People were kinds he thought. He would never have believed it. Never! To think that a girl like that, so rich, who had everything, should have been so damned decent, especially after the fright he had given her. It was terrific of her! It really was marvellous.

Driving back across the Heath, George had this girl Babs more in his mind than Cora. Cora had never been kind to him. She had always jeered at him. Babs was the only girl who had ever been decent to him except, of course, Gladys; but Gladys didn't count. It was her job to be decent to everyone. But Babs—why, she could have called the police, she could have trapped him easily enough; but instead, she had given him the impossible. She had done more for him—a complete stranger—than Cora would ever do for him, even though Cora knew he loved her.

He wouldn't wait for the morning, he decided. He would go into her bedroom and wake her up and lay the clothes on the bed for her to admire. He would stand over her and grin. It was something to grin about, wasn't it? "You cheap bluffer!" she had called him. Well, this would show her whether he was a bluffer or not.

A sudden stab of desire caught him. She might be so pleased that—well, it was no good thinking along those lines just yet. But she might feel that she could be nice to him. She might be very nice to him After all, few people would have done what he had done. He wouldn't tell her about Babs. He'd just say he kidnapped a girl and stripped her of her clothes. That'd startle her. That'd show her he had guts!

He was so excited at the thought of bursting into Cora's room that he threw caution to the wind and drove right through the West End to Hanover Square. There was no difficulty in leaving the cab on the cab rank there. It was nearly one o'clock and the Square was deserted. He hurried down George Street, across Conduit Street and into Clifford Street. He ran up the stairs to the top flat. There was a light on in the hall, and he could hear Eva's voice coming from the sitting-room. A moment later, Little Ernie answered. He wondered if Cora was with then; then he remembered she said she was going to bed. Well, he'd look in her bedroom first. He went down the passage very quietly, and opened the door. The room was in darkness, but the heady, exciting smell of sandalwood greeted him.

"Cora?" he called softly. "Are you awake?"

"Who is it?" Cora's voice asked sleepily, then she said more sharply, "What is it?"

"It's me, George."

"What do you want?" She sounded irritable, and a moment later she snapped on a light over her bed.

George looked at her, feeling a great rush of love and tenderness to his heart.

She's wonderful, he thought, looking at her. She was wearing a pair of satin, peach-coloured pyjamas he guessed she must have borrowed from Eva. 

"What is it?" she repeated, looking at her wristwatch. "Why, it's after one. Haven't you been to bed?"

"May I come in?" -George asked, still standing awkwardly in the doorway. "I've got a surprise for you."

Instantly a quick, calculating expression jumped into her eyes. "A surprise? What is it?"

"I've got you some clothes," George said, showing her the bundle. Now he was in the light he saw that Babs had put the clothes in a pillowcase.

"Are you mad?" she said blankly. "What clothes?"

"You wanted an outfit," George said patiently. "I—I've got you one."

Cora sat up in bed. "You've got me one?" she repeated.

It was just as George had hoped it would be. He had staggered her. She was excited. She had never looked at him like this before.

He nodded. "I said you had only to ask and I'd get it for you."

"But how?" Cora demanded. "Don't stand there like a dummy. Come in, shut the door." She slid out of bed, now thoroughly awake and excited. "How did you do it?"

This was George's moment. This was the sweetest moment in George's life.

"Well, it wanted a bit of thinking out," he said, coming into the room and shutting the door. "I couldn't rob a store. I hadn't any money. So I decided to take the clothes off someone about your size."

Cora gaped at him—actually gaped at him! "You didn't!" she exclaimed. George nodded. Tears of elation pricked his eyes. "I had to pinch a taxi. That wasn't too easy, and then I cruised around the West End until I spotted a well-dressed girl. I offered her a lift. She lived in Hampstead somewhere and—and I took her up on the Heath and made her take her clothes off and—well, here I am."

"George!" Cora gasped. "I don't believe it." But she believed it all right; he could see the look of startled admiration in her eyes.

"You did that for me?" she said, jumping up. "Why, George! Why, it's wonderful!"

For a moment he thought she was going to throw her arms round his neck, but instead, she ran past him to the door and threw it open.

"Eva! Ernie! Come here! Come here at once!"

He didn't want the other two. He wanted to hear Cora say over and over again that he was wonderful. He wanted her to be very nice to him in that lovely peach-coloured suit. He wanted to be able to hold her in his arms and feel her hair against his face.

Eva and Little Ernie appeared in the doorway. They looked startled.

"Wot's hup?" Little Ernie asked, looking from Cora to George.

"You must hear this," Cora exclaimed, excitedly. "I asked George to get me a complete outfit of clothes. Of course, I was fooling. I knew he couldn't get them at this ti me of the night, but I wanted to pull his leg. I pretended to be dead set on having some clothes for tomorrow . . ."

"Well, I could have fixed you up," Little Ernie said, leering at her. "I've got tons of clothes. It's me job to keep my girls smart, ain't it, Eva?"

This was a triumph for George. Well, he'd beaten the little rat! In the morning Cora would have gone to him, and George would have had the humiliation of seeing her wear clothes from a pimp

"Shut up, Ernie," Cora said sharply. "George has actually done it! It's the most fantastic story I've ever heard. He pinched a taxi, picked up a girl, took her on the Heath and pinched her clothes." George could feel Eva's admiring gaze. Even Little Ernie's mouth fell open.

"For Gawd's sake!" Little Ernie said. "The old Chicago stuff! Wot 'appened to the girl? Cor luv me! I'd given me eyes to 'ave seen 'er. She must 'ave been 'opping mad."

George smirked uneasily. "I didn't bother my head about her," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I told her to scram, and she scrammed!"

"I bet she did," Little Ernie giggled. "And pinching a taxi! Wot an idea! That's brains! Lolly Cheese! I wouldn't 'aye thought of that one meself."

"Let's look at the clothes," Eva said. "What has he got you?"

"Of course!" Cora cried, snatching the bundle from George. "Let's see if his taste is good."

George giggled with excitement. He couldn't help it. Suddenly it seemed he was one of them. They were smiling at him, nodding at him. They said he had brains. Cora was like a kid in her excitement.

The two girls took the pillowcase over to the bed, while Little Ernie sidled up to George.

"Wot was she like, palsy?" he whispered. "Orl right?"

George winked. He suddenly quite liked this red-headed little man, and when Little Ernie nudged him in the ribs and put the obvious question, George shoved him off playfully and said, "That's telling."

There was a sudden silence that made him turn his head. Cora and Eva were looking at him They were no longer smiling. There was a look of suppressed rage and disappointment in Cora's eyes that startled him.