He sat down and ran his fingers through his long, unruly hair. Would the girl be any use? He liked Susan. She was the right sort. She had guts. But could she do anything if he wasn’t there to direct her? He remembered how she had followed the man in the black shirt across London. She wasn’t a fool. He thumped his fist on the arm of the chair. She was the only one he could trust. Fresby was no use. He couldn’t trust him, but he could trust Susan.
He got abruptly to his feet, crossed the room and opened a small wall cupboard. He took out a steel box about six inches square. This he put on the table together with ink, pen and paper. With a long thin key he opened the box. It was crammed with one pound notes. He knew exactly how many of these notes were in the box. They had been given to him at one time or another by Cornelius and he had saved them for a rainy day.”
Three hundred pounds would be useful he thought. Surely Susan would do what he asked if he gave her all this money?
He sat at the table and wrote for several minutes. Then he laid down his pen, gathered up the sheets of paper and read them through. Satisfied, he folded them and forced them into an envelope.
He put Susan’s name on the envelope and sealed it. He laid the envelope underneath the pound notes and locked the box.
He pulled another piece of paper towards him and wrote a short note to Susan.
Keep this key, he wrote, until you receive a small steel box. You may not receive it, but if you do, the key will open it.
J.C.
He put the key and the note in an envelope, sealed and stamped it and then, picking up the box, he left the room.
It was after six o’clock when he reached Earl’s Court station. He knew Fresby would be in the Duke’s Head. He was always there at that hour. It was always his first call” after leaving his office in Rupert Court before going to his dingy little house off the Earl’s Court Road.
Fresby stared at him with blank frightened eyes. He was sitting in a corner on a plush-covered bench. There was a pint of bitter before him on a table which was covered with dirty used glasses.
Joe sat down beside him. “Hello Jack,” he said, looking at Fresby with cold dislike. “I thought you’d be here.”
“I’ve got a job for you,” he said, pushing the steel box into Fresby’s hands. “I want you to keep this by you.” He stared at Fresby for a long minute. “If you lose it, I’ll tell the police about you. I mean it this time.” If you lose it, you’ll have a crowd of coppers round you like wasps round honey.”
Fresby shivered. “I won’t lose it,” he said. “I’ll put it in my safe at the office. No one can get at it there.”
Joe shook his head. “That’s just where they’d look,” he said. “You’ll have to find a better place than that.”
“They? Who?”
“Never mind who. Just put it somewhere safe or I’ll tell the cops about you.”
Fresby clutched on to the box. “What’s in it?” he asked. “It’s nothing hot, is it? I don’t want to get into trouble.”
Joe sniggered. “You couldn’t be in more trouble than you are now,” he said cruelly. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing hot, but there’re certain people who’d like to get hold of it.”
Fresby nodded his head. He didn’t know what it was all about, but he knew if he asked any more questions Joe would become angry and he was frightened of Joe when he was angry.
“I’ll look after it,” he promised. “You know me, Joe. I’d do most things for you.”
“You mean you have to do most things,” Joe said, hunching his shoulders.
“All right, Jack, you keep it safe. Now listen,” he moved forward so that his thin white face was close to Fresby’s.
“Every morning at half-past ten I’ll ring you. If I don’t ring you you must go at once to 155A Fulham Road and give this box to Miss Hedder. Do you understand?”
Fresby picked up his beer. He drank some of it, wiped his moustache with the back of his hand and put the glass down on the table.
“Expecting something to happen to you?” he asked softly. The look of hope in his eyes chilled Joe’s blood.
“Maybe,” Joe said quietly, “but don’t think you can double-cross me. That box’s got to go to Miss Hedder if I don’t ring —understand?”
A wintry smile passed over Fresby’s face. “I’ll do it,” he said. “You don’t have to worry. Who’s after you?”
Joe picked his nose. “Never mind who’s after me,” he said. “I want you to get this clear. If I don’t ring at ten-thirty tomorrow, what will you do?”
“Go to 155 A Fulham Road and give this box to Miss Hedder,” Fresby said promptly, and again the thin, watery smile passed over his face.
“Why do you think you’ve got to do it?”
Fresby fiddled with the glass of beer. “Maybe someone’s put you away and this is what you want the girl to have.”
Joe nodded. “Don’t rely on it,” he said. “I may be trying you out. I may ring every day for a month and then I might decide not to. If you don’t deliver the box, what’ll I do?”
Fresby’s face fell. He hadn’t thought that this could be a trap. “I suppose you’ll go to the coppers,” he said surlilly.
“That’s just what I will do,” Joe said and stood up. “You understand now why it’d be unsafe to double-cross me?”
Fresby glared up at him. “Yes, yes,” he said, choking back his fury. “But who said I was going to double-cross you? I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“You wouldn’t do it a second time,” Joe said softly and he went out of the bar.
Fresby stared after him, his face twisted with hate and fear. Then he picked up his beer and took a long pull at it. He grimaced. Somehow the beer now tasted flat and sour.
Clem Marsh stood behind the reception desk in the lobby of the Gilded Lily Club, his soft, fat hands busy counting the guest tickets of the previous evening. There were not many of them. Rollo only allowed the most trustworthy members to bring guests to the club and even then he charged a guinea entrance fee.”
Marsh was a fat, puffy young man with crisp, curly hair, a grey pallid complexion and a wet, loose mouth. He dressed expensively in “City” clothes, his linen was immaculate and his grey and white tie the acme of fashion. Around his fat wrist was a platinum wristwatch which Margaret had given him and peeping out of his waistcoat pocket was a heavy gold cigarette case, a gift from May. Both these young women kept him. He never could understand why they should so willingly turn the bulk of their street earnings over to him, but as they both seemed happy to do so, and didn’t seem to mind sharing hers, he did not hesitate to accept what was offered. Both the girls seemed terrified that they would lose him to some society beauty who might come to the club. Whenever he was a little short of cash, he had only to hint that some society woman had been pleasant to him for either Margaret or May, or both of them, to give him what he wanted.
Although his fingers counted the guest tickets, his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking of Fresby. Who was this Susan Hedder? Why did she want a job at the Club? He scowled down at the tickets. It’d mean he’d have to pay her out of his own pocket. Rollo would never agree to extra staff. Damn that snake Fresby!
He would have to do it because Fresby could shop him. He had only to tell Margaret and May about Joan and the balloon would go up. Just the kind of rat’s trick Fresby would play.
How he found out about Joan, Marsh couldn’t imagine. A couple of months ago he had met her walking up and down Old Burlington Street. She seemed a nice kid, new to the game. Marsh had fixed her up in a flat in Conduit Street.
Before, she had a place in Pollen Street which was a pretty awful dump, but the Conduit Street flat was all right. She’d do well there. Of course, he expected something for his trouble. She didn’t seem to mind giving him fifteen quid a week.
He only had to see her once a week, so if it wasn’t for Fresby, neither Margaret nor May would ever know about her.