carton between a grubby forefinger and thumb. “Are you a friend of
hers?”
I nodded. “I knew her a couple of years ago,” I said, lighting his
cigarette and then mine.
He smiled. “She would be interested in an American,” he said as if
to himself. “And, of course, with her figure and looks an American
would be interested in her.” He looked up, his eyes sleepy. “It would
be interesting to know the exact number of girls in this country who
were ravished by American service men during their stay here,
wouldn’t it? I make a point of collecting such statistics.” He lifted his
broad, limp shoulders. “Probably a waste of time,” he added, wagging
his head.
“How did it happen?” I said sharply.
“You mean, why did she do it?” he gently corrected me. Again he
lifted his shoulders. The silk of his dressing-gown rustled. “It’s a
mystery, baby. No note . . . five pounds in her bag . . . food in the
refrigerator . . . no love letters . . . no one knows.” He raised his
eyebrows, smiled. “Perhaps she was with child. “
I couldn’t continue this conversation. Talking about Netta with
him was like reading something written on a lavatory wall.
“Well, thanks,” I said, and walked down the stairs.
“Don’t mention it, baby,” he said. “So sad for you: so
disappointing.” He went back into his room and closed the door.
Chapter II
MRS. CROCKETT was a thin little woman with bright, suspicious
eyes and a thin, disapproving mouth.
I could see she didn’t recognize me. She seemed to think I was a
newspaper man after a story, and she peered at me from around the
half-open door, ready to slam it in my face.
“What do you want?” she demanded in a reedy, querulous voice.
“I ‘ave enough to do without answering a lot of silly questions, so be
off with you.”
“Don’t you remember me, Mrs. Crockett?” I asked. “I’m Steve
Harmas, one of Miss Scott’s friends.”
“One of ‘er friends, are you?” she said. “Fancy men, that’s wot I
call ‘em.” She peered at me, then nodded her head. Her eyes showed
her disapproval. “Yes, I seemed to ‘ave seen you before. Well, you’ve
‘eard what’s ‘appened to ‘er, ‘aven’t you?”
I nodded. “Yes. I wanted to talk to you about her. Did she leave
any debts? I’ll settle anything she owed.”
The disapproving look was replaced by one of greed and
calculating shrewdness.
“She owed me a month’s rent,” she said promptly. “Never
expected to get that either. Still, if you’re paying ‘er debts, may as
well ‘ave it. You’d better come in.”
I followed her along a dark passage that smelt of cats and boiled
cabbage, into a dark, dingy room crammed with bamboo furniture.
“So she owed money?” I asked, watching the woman.
“Well, no,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “She always
paid up: I’ll say that for her, but she only ‘ad the flat on the strict
understanding it’d be a month’s notice or a month’s rent.”
“I see,” I said. “Have you any idea why she did what she did?”
Mrs. Crockett stared at me, looked away. “ ‘ow should I know?”
she asked, anger in her voice. “I didn’t interfere with ‘er. I knew
nothing about ‘er.” Her thin lips set in a hard line. “She was no good. I
should never ‘ave ‘ad ‘er ‘ere. Bringing disgrace to my ‘ouse like this.”
“When did it happen?”
“The night before last. Mr. Cole smelt gas and ‘e called me. When
I couldn’t get no answer I guessed what she ‘ad done — the little
fool!” The hard eyes glittered. “Fair upset me it did. Mr. Cole sent for
the police.”
“Did you see her?”
Mrs. Crockett started back “Who? Me? Think I want to ave ‘er
‘aunting my dreams?-Not likely. Mr. Cole identified ‘ er for the police.
Ever so considerate ‘e is. Besides, ‘e knew ‘er as well, if not better
than wot I did . . . always popping in and out of ‘is room whenever ‘e
‘ears anything.”
“All right,” I said, taking out my wallet. “Have you a key to her
flat.”
“Suppose I ‘ave?” she said suspiciously. “What’s it to you?”
“I’d like to borrow it,” I returned, counting pound notes on to the
table. Her eyes fol owed every movement. “Shall we say twenty-five
pounds? Ten pounds for the key?”
“What’s the idea?” She was breathing quickly, her eyes
overbright.
“Only that I’d like to look around her room. I suppose it’s as it was
. . . nothing’s been touched?”
“Oh, no, the police told me to leave it alone. They’re trying to
trace her relatives. Fat chance of finding anyone who’d own ‘er, I say.
I can’t imagine what’ll ‘appen to ‘er things. Anyway, I want ‘em out. I
want to let the flat.”
“Has she any relatives?”
“No one knows anything about ‘er,” Mrs. Crockett said with a
sniff. “Maybe the police’ll find out something, and it won’t be any
good, you mark my words.”
“May I have the key, please?” I said, pushing the little heap of
money towards her.
She shook her head doubtful y. “The police wouldn’t like it,” she
said, looked away.
“I’m offering you ten pounds to sooth your conscience,” I
reminded her. “Take it or leave it.”
She opened the drawer of the dresser, took out a key, laid it on
the table.
“It’s people with too much money what gets honest folk into
trouble,” she said.
“I’ll put that in my autograph book,” I said, a little sick of her,
picked up the key, pushed the notes farther in her direction.
