wear over-shoes and red flannel. The only way to convince him is for
you to meet him. If you kid him along he’ll take us. It’s just his way of
making things difficult. I’ve fixed for us to have a drink with him right
away.”
“But there isn’t time,” she said, worried. “And it’s dangerous; the
police may see us. I don’t like this, Steve. Why didn’t you bring him
here?”
“I couldn’t,” I said. “He had to do things. There’s nothing to worry
about. We’re meeting him at a pub off Knightsbridge. I have a car
outside. We’l talk over things with him; then he’ll go on back to the
airport, we’ll come back here, pick up your luggage and fellow on. The
plane doesn’t leave until ten- thirty. There’s plenty of time.”
I could see she didn’t like the idea, but there was nothing she
could do about it.
“All right, Steve,” she said. “You know best. I’ll put on a hat and
I’m ready.”
I waited for her, wandered around the room, thought of Madge
Kennitt, felt spooked.
Netta came out of the bedroom after a moment or so. Her hat
looked like a saucepan lid, but it suited her.
“He’ll fal for you all right,” I said, regarding her. “You look swell.” I
slipped my arm through hers. “Come on. On your toes. We don’t want
Mrs. C. to jump us on our way out.”
We sneaked down the stairs and into the Buick I had rented for
the evening.
As we drove along the Cromwell Road, Netta said, “What’s been
happening, Steve? Did you give Ju the money?”
I was expecting that one, and had my lie ready.
“Yeah,” I said. “he got it, the rat, and I only hope he won’t double-
cross us before we get out of the country.” I gave her a quick look,
saw she had turned pale, was tight-lipped.
“When did you give it to him?” she asked, a catch in her voice.
“Three-thirty this afternoon,” I told her. “Five hundred pounds.
It’s a lot of money, Netta.”
She didn’t say anything, sat staring straight ahead, a hard look on
her face.
As we pulled up outside a small pub in a back street off
Knightsbridge, she said, “And Jack Bradley? Have you heard anything
from him?”
“No,” I said. “There was nothing I could do about him. Corridan
was out of town. I couldn’t get the rings without asking him first.
Bradley’s ultimatum expired at four o’clock. For al I know the cops
are looking for me right now. If they are, they’re too late. I pulled out
of the Savoy this afternoon. All my stuff is in the back of the car. I’m
ready to go.”
We got out of the Buick.
Netta looked up and down the street. “You’re sure it’s safe,
Steve?” she asked, hanging back. “It seems madness to me to come
here where we can he seen.”
“Take it easy,” I said. “It’s safe enough. This pub’s as dead as a
dodo. They’d never think of looking for us here.” I hurried her across
the pavement into the pub.
Harry Bix in his leather flying-blouse on which was painted a
diving albatross, his squadron insignia, was propping up the counter, a
Scotch and soda in his hand.
There were only two other men in the bar. They sat in a far
corner, and didn’t even look up as we entered.
Bix, fleshy, powerful, good-natured, straightened when he saw us.
He took one look at Netta, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.
“Hel-lo!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “You certainly
picked yourself a pippin. Pin-up girl ! I’ll say!”
“Netta, this is Harry Bix,” I said, pushing her forward. “Shake
hands with Army Air Corps No. I pilot. And if he doesn’t always act as
if he was used to wearing shoes, forgive him. He’s just out of the
jungle.”
Netta slipped her hand into Bix’s large paw, gave him a dazzling
smile which rocked him back on his heels.
“Lady, what makes you go around with a heel like him?” he asked
earnestly. “Didn’t you know he has two wives, and eighteen children,
and he’s clone a ten-year stretch for criminal assault?”
Netta laughed, nodded. “That’s why I like him,” she said. “I’m that
sort of a girl.”
“For God’s sake!” he said, startled. “Do you really like him or is it
his dough you’re after?”
“A little of each,” she said, after pretending to consider his
question.
“Well, I guess that calls for a drink. How’s about starting a famine
in whisky or would you prefer something more fancy?”
“Whisky’s al right with me,” she said.
Bix waved to the barmaid, ordered two double whiskies. He
turned back to Netta.
“Where’ve you been hiding yourself all this time? I thought I knew
all the juicy dames in London.”
“And I thought I’d met all the lovely Americans until now,” she
replied.
Bix blew out his cheeks, punched me in the ribs.
“Brother, you’re through. Go outside and oblige me by breaking a
leg.”
“She’s just kidding,” I said. “That girl’s got an ice-cream cone
where her heart’s supposed to be. Why, ten minutes ago, she told me
all Army Air Corps personnel were jerks, didn’t you Netta? “
“But I hadn’t met Harry then,” Netta protested. “I take it all back.”
Bix leaned close. “We’re the salt of the earth, sugar,” he said.
“They say so in the newspapers, and newspapers don’t kid their
readers.”
“Not much,” I said.
When the barmaid had served the whiskies and had gone to the
far end of the counter, Bix said, “So you want to make a trip with me,
do you?”
