was waiting as impatiently for the whisky as I was for the information.
I pushed open the front door and stepped softly across the hall,
mounted the stairs, I didn’t want Julius Cole to hear me. Madge
Kennitt’s door was ajar. I paused, frowned. I remembered closing it
when I left. Maybe she had opened it to let the cat out, I thought,
pushed the door, glanced into the room.
Madge was lying on the chaise-longue, her mouth open, her eyes
glassy. Blood welled from a great gash in her throat, poured down her
floppy bosom on to the Turkey carpet.
She was as dead as a soused mackerel.
Chapter X
FOR a full minute I stood staring at Madge Kennitt too shocked to
move, then I stepped into the room, stood over her.
Her sightless eyes glared up at me, the blood dripped steadily on
to the floor. I turned away, weak at the knees.
Because I didn’t know what to do, I wandered around the room,
looking aimlessly for the weapon that had killed her. I couldn’t find it.
I stepped to the chaise-longue, peered over the offside.
Three empty whisky bottles and the carton of Woodbines met my
eyes. The dust on the floor-boards that side was thick; written in the
dust within reach of Madge’s hand which flopped lifelessly on the
floor was a word. I moved closer, peered at it. It was badly written,
and it seemed to me that Madge might have written it either when
she was dying or just before the killer had struck. It took me a few
seconds to decipher the scrawl. She had written on the floor in the
dust the name: Jacobi. It meant nothing to me, but I stored it away in
my mind for future reference.
I suddenly remembered Corridan. If he was still hanging about
outside and decided to come in to see what I was doing, I’d be in a
hell of a spot. I made a dive for the door, ran down the stairs, opened
the front door. I looked up and down the street, but could see no one.
Across the street was a telephone box, and I hurried over, dialled
Whitehal 1212, asked for Corridan.
While I waited, I glanced idly along the street. The headlights of a
car appeared out of what seemed an alley, down the street on the
opposite side to where I was telephoning. A moment later a car came
swiftly towards me, went on towards the West End. As it passed
under a street light, I recognized it. It was the battered Standard
Fourteen and Frankie was at the wheel.
Before I could think anything of this, someone came on the line to
say Corridan was out on patrol with a police car. I asked for them to
get into immediate touch with him and to tell him to come at once to
Mrs. Crockett.
“Tell him it’s a murder,” I said, hung up.
I didn’t fancy waiting for Corridan in Madge’s room, so I returned
to the house, sat on the doorstep. While I waited, I did a little
thinking.
I was at last getting somewhere. I’d have probably solved the
whole business if Madge hadn’t dropped her bottle of whisky; but I
wasn’t discouraged. I had found out that a girl had been in the flat
with Netta, and I was positive that it was she who had died and not
Netta. It seemed pretty obvious that she had been murdered, and I
wondered with a feeling of sick apprehension, if Netta had taken a
hand in the murder. Could the man who had returned with Netta and
the other girl be Jacobi, whoever he might be? Had he been listening
to Madge and me talking, and had killed Madge before she could give
me the information she had promised? Was that what Madge had
tried to convey when she had scrawled the name in the dust? What
was Frankie doing on the scene of the murder? How much was I going
to tell Corridan? If he suspected me before, he had every reason for
suspecting me still more now. I should have to handle him with care.
Corridan arrived in a fast police car in less than ten minutes. He
jumped out of the car, ran up the steps before I could get to my feet.
“What’s this, Harmas?” he snapped, his cold eyes searching my
face. “What’s happened?”
“Madge Kennitt’s been murdered,” I said briefly.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“I came to see her,” I returned, told him briefly what had
happened. “You saw me leave, Corridan,” I went on. “I spotted you as
I was driving away. Why were you tailing me?”
“It’s just as well that I was, isn’t it?” he returned curtly. “I’m
beginning to wonder about you, Harmas. You’re not making things
easy for yourself, are you?”
“You don’t think I had anything to do with her death?”
“You could have killed her, couldn’t you?” he returned, shortly.
“Every time someone dies connected with this case, you appear on
the scene. I don’t like it. I’ve told you before to keep out of this, and
I’m telling you again for the last time. This is no business of yours.
Now, will you please understand that once and for all?”
“Hadn’t you better take a look at Madge?” I said.
He snapped his fingers impatiently, went past me into the house.
Two plain-clothes men followed him. I brought up the rear.
“Stay in the hall, please,” he said to me, entered Madge’s flat.
That settled it, I decided. Corridan could stew in his own juice.
From now on, I was going to work on the case and keep all my
findings to myself. Then I’d surprise the lug when I’d solved it.
I sat on the stairs, lit a cigarette, waited.
I heard the three men moving about the room, and after a while
one of the plain-clothes men came out, went across the street to
telephone.
When he returned, he glanced at me and I said, “How much
longer do I have to wait here? I want to go to bed.”
“The Inspector will want to talk to you,” he returned, went into
the room again.
I lit another cigarette, continued to wait.
The stairs creaked, and I glanced around. Julius Cole was coming
down stealthily, holding the skirt of his yellow-and-black dressing-
