Why Pick On ME?

by James Hadley Chase

  Just then the door opened and Ames came in with a bundle of clothing under his arm. He threw the bundle on the bed.

  “You wear these things while you are here,” he said. “Leave your clothes in the cupboard. All new arrivals here wear white until they prove themselves trustworthy. Your breakfast will be up in a few minutes. At eleven-thirty you will be interrogated.”

  Corridon nodded.

  “Purely from curiosity,” he said, “will you tell me how you propose to get rid of our friend on the meat hook you so thoughtfully showed me last night?”

  Ames smiled.

  “I see it made an impression on you. We can dispose of him very easily. The furnaces here are extremely adequate.”

  He went out of the room as silently as he had come, and closed the door. Grimacing, Corridon sat up to examine the clothes he was to wear. They consisted of a white boiler suit made of cotton-twill, and a pair of white crêpe-soled shoes. On the back of the boiler suit was a round yellow disc. Holding the suit against the light, Corridon saw the disc faintly illuminate, and guessed it would shine like a beacon at night. A nice easy target for even a duffer with a gun, he thought grimly. Not the kind of suit you would pick for a midnight flit.

  While he was shaving, the door pushed open and Yevski came in carrying a tray which he put on the bedside table. He favoured Corridon with a ferocious scowl before leaving the room.

  Corridon noticed there was no attempt to lock him in, and this in itself, he thought, was sinister. He opened the door and glanced up and down the corridor. It was long and brightly lit by electric lamps set behind thick glass in the ceiling.

  Shrugging, he returned to his room, finished shaving and put on the boiler suit. Then he poured himself out a cup of excellent coffee, ate the eggs and bacon he found under the silver cover, drank another cup of coffee and settled down in the armchair by the window for a smoke.

  Punctually at eleven-thirty, the door opened and Bruger came in. He jerked his thumb to the door.

  “Come on,” he said scowling.

  Corridon got to his feet.

  “How’s your poor neck?” he asked with his jeering smile. “It looks a little like the Sunday joint from here.”

  Bruger’s deep-set eyes lit up, but his stolid face remained expressionless.

  “Follow me,” he said curtly, and went down the corridor, down a flight of stairs to Homer’s study.

  Corridon strolled after him.

  Homer sat behind the desk in the bay window. Diestl stood with his back to the fire. Ames leaned against the wall near the door. Yevski, slapping his leg with a rubber truncheon, stood in the middle of the room.

  “Come in, Mr. Corridon,” Homer said, flashing his yellow teeth. “Do sit down. Bruger, get Mr. Corridon a chair. We’ll have it opposite my desk. Yes, that will do splendidly.”

  Corridon sat down. He appeared at ease, but be was conscious of Yevski just behind him; conscious also of the rubber truncheon.

  “Now, Mr. Corridon,” Homer said, “we won’t waste any time if you please. You have some information for us. I understand from Diestl that you say our movement is known and steps are being taken to curb our operations?”

  “Certainly,” Corridon said. “A special branch of the War Office, known as O.S.S.5 are concentrating on your activities. They know you engineered the murder of the Minister of European Affairs. They know, too, you are behind the various big strikes that have slowed down our export drive recently. They managed to catch one of your agents, No. 12, and he talked.”

  “So I hear,” Homer said and took out his handkerchief, holding it screwed up in his hand. His eyes were uneasy. “Who is the head of O.S.S.5?”

  “Colonel Howard Ritchie,” Corridon said promptly. “He and I worked together during the war. He is a first class man and extremely dangerous.”

  Homer and Diestl exchanged glances.

  “Just how much does he know?” Diestl asked curtly.

  “That I can’t tell you. But you can take it he has a pretty fair idea of your setup. He knows about the jade rings. No. 12 told him all he knew. You will know better than I what that amounts to. Whatever No. 12 knew, you can be certain Ritchie knows. He is onto Yevski and Bruger. He knows who they are. He warned me about them.”

  Homer patted the end of his nose with the handkerchief. He looked disconcerted.

  “Does he know about this place?”

  Corridon shook his head.

  “No, but he knows you must have a headquarters somewhere, and he is searching for it. He is very thorough. Sooner or later he will come upon it, especially if you continue to employ such obvious characters as Bruger and Yevski.”

  Again Homer and Diestl exchanged glances, then Homer said, looking at Ames, “Mr. Corridon appears to be extremely co-operative, perhaps we could continue this discussion without the assistance of these two,” and he waved apologetically to Bruger and Yevski who were glaring at Corridon.

  Ames nodded.

  “Get out, you two,” he said.

  When Bruger and Yevski had gone, Homer said, “And now, Mr. Corridon, just how did you come into this?”

  Corridon explained about Milly Lawes, the finding of the jade ring, how Milly had been murdered, how Rawlins had taken him to see Ritchie and what had been said at the meeting. He was careful to conceal nothing, and was aware that every now and then Diestl made a sign to Homer as if assuring him Corridon was speaking the truth.

  “You might as well face it,” Corridon went on, “you’re up against tough opposition. O.S.S.5 are the elite of any hunters. They never give up. If you want to exist for any length of time, you’ll have to move carefully and you can’t remain here much longer.”

  “And what would you advise?” Homer asked, looking worried.

  “For a start, withdraw these jade rings. That secret society stuff is not only dangerous, but puerile. Start a spy hunt yourself. Make sure every member of your organization is to be trusted. Don’t employ such obvious characters as Yevski and Bruger. Ritchie has a file of all petty war criminals. In using men like those two you are showing your hand. Ritchie knows them all.”

  There was a long, heavy silence, then Homer said, looking at Diestl, “He’s right. I was against using those two from the start. We’ll have to get rid of them.”

  “They can stay here,” Ames said coldly. “We needn’t send them out on missions, but I don’t want to lose them. They are useful.”

  “Yes,” Diestl said. “Keep them here.” His black, hard eyes searched Corridon’s face. “What other suggestions have you to make?”

  Corridon shrugged.

  “As I haven’t much idea how you run your organization or how you keep in touch with your members, I can’t very well do your thinking for you. I am willing to look your members over, and any I recognize I can point out to you. I think it is most likely Ritchie already has some of his men working for you. You mustn’t overlook the fact that he isn’t very interested in the small fry. He’ll hold his hand until he is sure of nabbing the Leader.”

  “Would you suggest we get rid of Ritchie?” Diestl asked silkily.

  Corridon said without hesitation, “He is the brains and guts of O.S.S.5. Get rid of him and you’d slow down their activities. But it wouldn’t be for long. There are always other men to replace him.”

  “But perhaps not so clever?”

  “That is possible.”

  “So you think it would be a sound move to get rid of Ritchie?”

  Corridon smiled jeeringly.

  “It would, if you could do it. He doesn’t exactly offer himself for assassination, you know.”

  “But it is possible?”

  Corridon shrugged.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  There was a pause, then Diestl said, “Would you care to undertake the job?”

  “It depends,” Corridon said. “What would it be worth?”

  Diestl frowned.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Look,
I am in this racket for what I can get out of it,” Corridon returned. “I’m not one of your soft-headed cranks who believe in new regimes. I’ll remove Ritchie for a thousand pounds, paid into my bank, half down and half when the job is done.”

  “I understand from what you said just now,” Diestl said icily, “that you and Ritchie were friends.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said we worked together.”

  “And you are prepared to get rid of him for us?”

  “Certainly, on my terms.”

  “Aren’t your motive a little mercenary?”

  “Certainly,” Corridon said and smiled. “What of it?”

  “And if we agreed to your terms, how could you set about it?”

  “I have no idea,” Corridon returned. “It would be a difficult job. It would need a lot of planning and thought. But this I assure you, it can be done, and I can do it.”

  “We’ll consider your offer,” Diestl said. “It may not be necessary. If Ritchie died, the repercussions might be serious. If you attempted to kill him and failed, we could be in serious trouble. But if we do decide to take the risk, you will be given the first chance of doing the job. If you succeed, I see no reason why you shouldn’t become an active member of this organization and be rewarded suitably. If you fail, then I doubt very much if we shall have much use for you. Is that agreeable to you?”

  Corridon lifted his massive shoulders.

  “As I have never failed yet in removing a pest, the alternative doesn’t alarm me. We are agreed then, if I do the job, I get a thousand and become a member. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s fine,” Corridon said. “It certainly looks as if I’ve come to the right camp.”

  III

  The dining-hall was a long, narrow, high-ceilinged room, overlooking the terraced garden. The walls were oak panelled and adorned with a number of modern French paintings. The dozen long tables were laid with glittering silver and decorated with expensive, hothouse flowers.

  Corridon took his place between Feydak on his right and Ames on his left. He felt slightly conspicuous in his white boiler suit, and was aware that many eyes looked curiously at him as he sat down.

  The tables were occupied by an extraordinarily motley crew of men and women. Some of them were middle-aged, some young. None of them looked what they were: saboteurs, spies and murderers. The girls, Corridon thought, after a quick, calculated stare, were a ghastly lot, wearing shapeless clothes, all shapes and sizes, and most of them with hair like birds’ nests. A typical bunch of unwashed Bohemians, he thought, suitable only for causing trouble.

  He noticed at a table away from the windows there were six men in boiler suits similar to the one he wore. Most of them were elderly; all of them appeared to be listless and they sat silent, none of them paying any attention to the others.

  “Surely I should be with those gentlemen over there?” Corridon said to Feydak. “I feel I’m making the place look untidy by being with you.”

  “Well, no,” Feydak said with his quick, uneasy smile. “You are on probation, but those men are prisoners.”

  “I am glad to hear there is that shade of difference,” Corridon said sarcastically. “How long do you think I shall have to wear this get-up? The disc on my back has unpleasant associations.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Ames said with a sour smile. “So long as you don’t attempt to escape, you will be all right.”

  “That is encouraging news,” Corridon said. “I have no intention of trying to escape.”

  “You are to begin work this afternoon,” Feydak said. “We have a very special job for you. I believe you understand time-fuses and the like?”

  Corridon helped himself to roast potatoes. The food looked excellent.

  “I know as much as the next man. What’s the job?”

  “We wish to disable two generators at a certain power station. Two of the engineers who actually work in the plant are with us. We want you to show them how to disable the generators. We have all the necessary blueprints and photographs. Can you do that?”

  “Certainly,” Corridon said. “What do I get out of it?”

  “Nothing,” Ames snapped. “You either do what you’re told or you can spend a week in a cell. Please yourself.”

  Corridon grinned at him.

  “Then obviously I must do what I’m told.”

  Later, as they were finishing an excellent lunch, Corridon said to Feydak, “So much has happened since I arrived here I haven’t had the chance to enquire after your charming sister. How is she?”

  Feydak changed colour.

  “Oh, she’s all right,” he said.

  “Shall I see her here?”

  Feydak’s face became a grimacing mask.

  “Of course not,” he said. “She knows nothing about this organization – nothing at all!”

  Ames tapped Corridon’s arm.

  “We don’t encourage such talk here,” he said softly and Corridon was aware that Ames’ eyes were on Feydak: inquisitive, hard eyes.

  “Have you met his sister?” Corridon said affably. “She’s a lovely girl.” He glanced at the women in the room. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to choose from here, is there? I find these arty-looking, unwashed women a little tiresome, don’t you?”

  Ames’ cold eyes flickered.

  “They are nothing much,” he said.

  “That scarcely comes into it,” Feydak said getting control of himself. “They are here for service, and they do remarkably good work.”

  “I should imagine they do,” Corridon said with his jeering smile. “They are not suited for any other pursuit, are they?”

  He wasn’t sure, but he had an idea that Ames was tacitly agreeing with him.

  “Wasn’t it you who put Milly Lawes out of action?” he went on, turning to Ames.

  “What of it?” Ames said with a sneering smile. “She was scarcely better than this cattle, and besides, she was a thief.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid she was. I knew her moderately well. Unfortunately that type of girl usually is. Give me the enthusiastic amateur any day of the week.”

  Ames gave him a long searching look, but he didn’t say anything.

  “One of these days,” Corridon went on, “you and I must paint the town red. I know a couple of lively girls who are amusing.” He went on to describe just how amusing they were.

  He saw a flicker of interest in Ames’ face as he shamelessly extolled each girl’s talents while Feydak regarded him with undisguised disgust.

  Ames abruptly pushed back his chair and stood up, cutting Corridon’s licentious descriptions short.

  “We will have to get to know each other a lot better than we do now,” he said, his eyes glittering suspiciously, “before we go on that kind of a party.”

  Corridon grinned.

  “We have time,” he said. “You will find it worth waiting for.”

  During the afternoon, Corridon worked with the two engineers from the power station. He showed them how to wreck the generators, and taught them the uses of time fuses, guncotton primers and the like. As individuals they interested him: two dissatisfied young men, full of imaginary grievances, determined to get their own back on society, disinterested in anyone’s well-being except their own. They told him they had joined the United European Movement because they were sick of the present system and wanted to see a change. Corridon pretended to agree with them, secretly astonished that they should accept and believe Homer’s clap-trap about a new regime.

  Later, when the lesson was over and Corridon was alone in the laboratory, Feydak came quietly into the big, airy room.

  “Were they satisfactory?” he asked.

  Corridon lifted his shoulders.

  “They’re all right. They’ll do the job if that’s what you mean, but whether or not they’ll blow themselves sky high at the same time I wouldn’t know.”

  “So long as they do the job,” Feydak said, and bit his low
er lip while he stared at Corridon. “I would take it as a favour if you did not mention Lorene in front of Ames. He is a very difficult man, and he is over-fond of women.”

  Corridon raised his eyebrows.

  “You can scarcely blame me for mentioning her. I was under the impression she was one of the movement’s most ardent members.”

  “Certainly not!” Feydak went pale. “You must never say that to anyone!”

  “But let us be reasonable. She does know about the organization.”

  “Very little. I’m afraid I have let slip a word here and there, but I don’t want her to get mixed up in it.”

  “And why not? It seems a very excellent cause.”

  “It’s too dangerous. I am very fond of Lorene,” Feydak said, clenching his fists. “I would be grateful to you to say nothing about this to anyone.”

  “But surely Diestl knows she…”

  “He doesn’t!”

  “This doesn’t quite add up, you know. Diestl used her to trap me. You’re not forgetting that, are you?”

  Feydak caught hold of Corridon’s arm.

  “Please listen to me. That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have allowed it. It was Diestl’s idea. He was in the club when you arrived. He knew you were working for Ritchie. He had seen you and the detective go to Milly Lawes’ flat. He told Lorene to make friends with you. I swear she didn’t know what was being planned. If Ames has the slightest suspicion that she knows anything about the movement, he will have her brought here and put in protective custody. You know what that means.”

  “Don’t get excited,” Corridon said smoothly. “I am very fond of Lorene, and I don’t wish her any harm. But we may be a little late. Ames is no fool. When I mentioned her, he locked curiously at you. Did you notice?”

  Feydak took out his handkerchief and wiped his hands and face.

  “If Lorene was brought here…”

  “You mustn’t worry,” Corridon said lightly. “If he asks me about her, I shall endeavour to lull his suspicions.”

  “Be careful what you say to him. He is very dangerous. He was the head of the Gestapo in Frankfurt during the war. No one is safe from him. I am telling you this because I know you are fond of Lorene. I – I suppose I am putting myself in your power.”