The Best of British Crime omnibus (76 page)

Not a sign of Harry.

In an effort to make the time pass more quickly she went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. She was smoking continuously and already four stubs had been crushed out in ashtrays scattered around the flat.

She had the cup to her lips when the doorbell rang. She put it down, noting that her hand had begun to tremble. The kitchen clock gave the time as only ten to eleven.

Had he decided to come early? Would Nat and Harry realise that he had advanced the time by ten minutes?

She hesitated, wondering whether it would be best to ignore any calls before the appointed time. The bell rang again.

She had to know. With beating heart she went to the front door, paused for a moment with her hand on the latch, then opened it.

The man standing on the doormat was a complete stranger, but there was something reassuring about his apologetic, gullible manner. He seemed as surprised as she was.

‘Oh!' he exclaimed, then remembered his manners and raised the rather cheeky little felt hat he was wearing. ‘Good morning.'

‘Good Morning.'

‘Can I have a word with Miss Wade, please?'

She studied him curiously. Could this possibly be—No, he must be one of Linda's ‘gentlemen friends'. She had a special appeal for these middle-aged, rather bashful men.

‘I'm afraid she's not here at the moment.'

‘Oh – oh, dear!' He half turned away, eyes cast down. ‘How very unfortunate.'

Though you could never be quite sure, it was hardly likely that he'd come at this hour of the morning to avail himself of Linda's services.

She said helpfully: ‘Can I help you? I'm a friend of Miss Wade's.'

‘Well – my name is Heaton. Sidney Heaton.' As he gave his name he looked at her in a confiding sort of way. ‘I have a pet shop in St. John's Wood, and Linda – er, Miss Wade—'

‘Oh, yes, of course. I've heard Linda speak of you. Do come in, Mr. Heaton.'

‘Er – thank you.'

The contact with another human being, especially such a defenceless creature as Sidney Heaton, was reassuring. Yet with the time moving on towards eleven she could not afford to have him settling down for a long chat. She stopped in the hall and left the door slightly open.

‘Linda's away,' she explained. ‘She's having an operation. I doubt whether she'll be home until the end of the week.'

‘Oh. I didn't realise that. I thought—Well, it's not important.'

He stood awkwardly, holding his hat with both hands, darting frequent glances towards the sitting-room as if he hoped that Linda might, after all, materialise.

‘Are you sure I can't help you?'

‘No. It's very kind of you but—' She thought that his way of talking in jerky, unfinished sentences must indicate some deep lack of confidence. ‘Well – it's just that Miss Wade said she might be interested in buying another Siamese cat and I've seen—She has one already, you know.'

‘Yes. I know. Chow.'

Judy had heard the lift begin to ascend. Through the partially open door she saw the number 1 glow as it reached the first floor.

‘That's right. Chow,' Heaton went on. ‘A sweet little thing. Yesterday a customer of mine brought me another one – just like Chow – an absolute darling. Perfect pedigree. I feel sure she'd sell it if the price was right—'

‘Why don't you phone Linda and have a word with her about it? In any case, I'm sure she'd be pleased to hear from you.' The number 2 had illuminated and was now glowing steadily. Whoever was using the lift had got out of the second floor. ‘She's in the Maylee Park Nursing Home, St. Albans.'

‘Can you give me the number?' Heaton had started to reach for his pocket notebook.'

‘I'm afraid not,' she said, moving round to usher him out. ‘But it's bound to be in the book.'

‘Thank you. That's a very good idea. I'll do that.' He hesitated, still interested in the sitting-room, then pulled the door open. ‘It's really very kind of you. Goodbye, Miss – er?'

She shook the offered hand but did not take the hint to give him her name.

She managed to summon up a smile, then closed the door and leaned her back on it. Five to eleven. She took a deep breath and started towards the living-room.

She had not crossed the threshold when the bell sounded again. She halted in her tracks. There had just been time for someone to come up quietly by the staircase from the second floor.

Strangely enough it took an even bigger effort to open the door this second time. When she did so the anti-climax was equally great.

‘I'm terribly sorry to trouble you again, but – did you say the nursing home was called Merton?'

He had his notebook and pencil in his hand. Clearly he had decided to write the address down before taking the lift.

‘No. Maylee.' She spelt the name out.

‘Yes, of course.' Heaton gave an apologetic little laugh. ‘How very stupid of me! Now whatever made me think it was Merton?'

Judy repeated the address as if dictating it to a child.

‘Yes. I've got it now. I'm not terribly bright this morning, I'm afraid.'

Was it an act? Was he simply carrying out a kind of reconnaissance before deciding to put his cards on the table?

‘If you'd like to come in, Mr. Heaton, I'll write it down for you.'

‘No, it's all right,' Heaton said after only a moment's hesitation. ‘I can remember it now, I'm quite sure.'

He raised his hat again. ‘Thank you again. You've been most helpful.'

A draught was blowing through the flat. It caught the door as she was closing it and made it bang more violently than she intended.

Still puzzled, she went towards the sitting-room. She saw immediately that the door leading to the bedroom was wide open. It had been closed when she left the room.

Suddenly she knew that there was someone watching her from behind. She whirled round.

Nat Fletcher was sitting on one of the stools in front of the ornate cocktail cabinet.

He gave her a reassuring nod as he saw her relax.

‘How did you get in?' she demanded, furious at the fright he had given her.

‘Your favourite fire-escape.' He pointed towards the bedroom. ‘You look frightened.'

‘I am,' Judy admitted. ‘I'm scared to hell.'

‘Don't worry. It'll be all right. Everything's under control.'

She searched around for the cigarette she had been smoking when Heaton arrived, could not find it and took one from the rapidly diminishing packet. Nat watched her hands as she fumbled with the lighter. As she drew the first breaths deep into her lungs, a clock somewhere nearby was striking the hour.

‘That man who just called,' she said. ‘He told me his name was Sidney Heaton. Do you think he—'

‘Don't worry.' Nat tapped the miniature radio set tucked into the top pocket of his jacket. ‘We've been keeping tabs on him ever since he entered the area—'

He was interrupted by the sudden shrilling of the phone. Judy spun round to stare at it.

‘Bang on time.' Nat slid off the stool. ‘Now don't forget. Play it cool.'

She moved very slowly to the telephone, her eyes never leaving it. Nat stood very still at a point from which he could see down the hall and into the bedroom.

Judy made a visible effort to summon up her courage, put down her cigarette and picked up the phone.

‘Hallo … Yes, Mr. Owen. This is Judy Black … Why don't you come up?'

Nat nodded approvingly. The tone of voice was good. Now that the action had started her nervousness had gone.

‘Why should I want to trap you? It's money I want. In return for evidence, of course. Evidence which could put you in prison for a very long time, Mr. Owen.'

As she listened, she felt the same draught on her back. She turned round and saw Harry coming on tip-toe through the door from the bedroom.

‘Don't forget. I knew Arnold Conway too. Knew him a lot better than you realised, I think. Anyway, you remember when you got him to snatch the little dog, Zero? Well, the collar Zero was wearing had some very incriminating information hidden in it. That's why Arnold gave Peter a different collar, which he showed to Mrs. Rogers. But you know all that now, of course, don't you?'

She threw an appealing look at Harry, conveying to him that she could not keep this up much longer. He held up his right hand with the index finger and thumb pressed together. She'd seen him use that gesture before. It meant: ‘You're doing fine.'

‘You know very well, because Arnold Conway decided to take over Mrs. Rogers' blackmailing enterprises, didn't he? He was trying to take you for £50,000'

Harry could hear the man's voice crackling in the receiver but he was unable to make out the words. He moved closer to her.

‘All right,' Judy continued in that hard tone which she could use so effectively. ‘But Arnold was not quite as rash as you thought … No, you see he thought you might try something. So, as a precaution, he gave me the evidence to look after.'

Her face was tense as she waited for the reply.

‘How much?' She gave a hard little laugh. ‘Well, I won't be as greedy as Arnold. Let's just say £20,000 in cash, shall we? Yes, £20,000.'

There was silence for a time, then Harry heard the man make some sort of suggestion. Judy glanced round at him in alarm.

‘Well Mr. Owen, how can I be sure that I can trust you?'

Harry signalled to her to cover the mouthpiece with her hand. When she had done so he whispered urgently: ‘Tell him you'll give him a sample of the evidence for £1,000, the rest to follow.'

Judy nodded. Her face had gone pale. ‘No, Mr. Owen, that's too risky. I'll bring you part of the information. And you bring a thousand pounds. just to show mutual good faith. We can talk about the rest when we meet. All right?'

She listened intently, her fingers repeatedly tapping the ash off the cigarette in her hand.

‘Yes … yes. I've got that. Cannon Street … Goodbye.'

She put the receiver down and leaned against the table. The two men gave her a moment to recover.

‘Well?' Nat broke the short silence.

‘I'm to take the underground to Charing Cross. He has to draw the money from his bank and it's near there, he says.'

‘What do you do when you get there?'

‘I'm to stand outside the Embankment entrance and wait until someone contacts me.'

It was the slack hour of the morning and the St. John's Wood underground station was not crowded. Judy had bought an underground ticket more times than she could count, but today she was all thumbs, dropping money on the ground and then trying to go on without her change.

She was on her own again now, though she knew that Nat, Harry and half a dozen other plain-clothes men were not so far away. She dared not look round to see who was following her. Harry had warned her that she might be under observation all the way from Defoe Mansions to Charing Cross. It was essential to behave as if she were going alone to the rendezvous.

Trains were running at longer intervals now, having carried several million passengers to their place of work. A sparse crowd had collected on the platform, spacing themselves out to wait patiently for the train. It was a comfort to feel that so many normal law-abiding people surrounded her. An instinct for self-preservation took her to the place where there were most passengers.

She stared fixedly at the advertisement on the curved wall opposite her. It depicted two girls severed at the waist, only their lower halves visible, discussing the marvellous new jobs they had found. She felt eyes on her back and could not resist the temptation to look round.

A young man was standing behind her, an expression of pleasurable admiration on his face as he contemplated her figure. She turned back quickly, trying not to show the pleasure she always felt when she knew a man was admiring her. To judge by the smile he was neither a detective nor one of Owen's hirelings. He seemed to be the kind of man who would come to her rescue if she appealed to him.

From far away down the black tunnel came the roar of the approaching train. The wind it pushed ahead of itself rushed along the platform and she put up a hand to brush back the strand of hair that had blown on to her, forehead. Then the leading coach burst into the lighted area and the train began to slow. Facing towards it she scanned the passengers on the platform, but could see no sign of Nat or Harry.

The people quickly fanned out with the reaction of experienced travellers, judging exactly at what spot the doors of the carriages would open.

The train was more than half empty, so there was no need to bustle for a seat. She entered by one of the doors at the extreme end of the carriage and sat in a seat close to it. With relief she noted that Nat Fletcher had climbed aboard at the opposite end. He had opened his newspaper and was paying no attention to her at all. A quick inspection of the dozen other people in the carriage reassured her. None of these could be Tam Owen. The young man had chosen a seat on the opposite side a little farther up from which he could admire Judy's legs.

There was the usual sound of hurrying feet as latecomers broke into a run to catch the train. A tallish man in a dark-grey suit with a rolled umbrella dangling from his forearm and a bowler hat on his head stepped unhurriedly into the compartment.

He paused in front of Judy. She looked up to see him smiling down at her. He indicated the empty seat beside her.

‘May I, Miss Black?'

She nodded, pursing her lips. This was the moment she had to keep her head. Harry's hunch had been right after all.

He sat down beside her. The doors were still wide open and the train was making its characteristic ticking noise. The driver was waiting for the signalman to give him clearance. It was strange how silent a train full of people could be as it waited in the station. No murmur of conversation, no excited shouts. Just this steady ticking, like a monstrous clock.