The Case of the Running Mouse: A Ludovic Travers Mystery

by Christopher Bush

  The door closed. I peeped out.

  “It’s all right,” Worrack said. “I think I’ve got his mouth shut.”

  “He sounded a nasty piece of work,” I said.

  “Yes,” Worrack said. “Did you notice that little bit of blackmail he was trying? Give him the IOU’s and he wouldn’t say what he knew about Georgie.”

  “He sounded to me as if he’d do the hell of a lot of mischief if he only had the pluck.”

  “He’s got the pluck all right,” Worrack said. “Outside this room, I mean. That’s why I want you to get a move on. The only way to counter a swine like him is to show him the truth.”

  “Was he, by any chance, a particular friend of Mrs. Morbent?” I asked.

  “She rather liked him,” he said. “God knows why. Women have these queer sort of pets.”

  The buzzer went again. Worrack nodded into the receiver and hung up with a curt O.K.

  “The show’s starting,” he said. “We might as well go in. Any counters you buy, by the way, are dummies.”

  “The hell they are,” I said. “A small flutter’s just up my alley.”

  “Have it your own way,” he said, and grinned as he opened the door. “And if you want to pop in here during the night—just do. You’ll find a drink in that cupboard.”

  Most of what happened that night is of no concern to this story, but a few things are definitely relevant. There were about a dozen people in the main room when we came in, most of them standing round the bar. Worrack seemed very popular, though I saw at once that his policy was to keep himself just a bit aloof. To be the avuncular and presiding genius was his role, and he played it unobtrusively. Nobody came in after eleven o’clock. Hamson was there, and he seemed very pally with, of all people, Lewton-Molde, for they were hobnobbing in a corner over a couple of drinks. Barbara Grays was there, and I must say she greeted me in the most friendly fashion. If I had not known her I should have described her geniality as very near the flirtatious, though maybe it was all due to the friendly atmosphere of the whole room.

  For Worrack had not exaggerated when he had emphasised that side of his club. I saw no haggard faces, clutching hands, or spasms of despair, which the moral tales of one’s youth impress on one as the dreadful accompaniments of the gambling vice. I saw only one person who seemed rather concerned when things went wrong, and she was Molde’s girl—the one who had been with him that afternoon at Euston. She was a platinum blonde, neatly gowned and with a face something like Garbo’s, though the last one in the world to wish to be alone. When I had a word with Hamson about her, he said her name was Scylla Payton, and except that he thought she had money, that was all he knew. He also said that, as I’d probably noticed, she had plenty of IT. I gave a hypocritical heigh-ho, and said that sort of thing had long ceased to worry me. One thing I did notice about her, by the way, was that she had spatulate finger-tips, and rather ugly I thought they were. She must have thought so too, for her nails were unvarnished. Lulu’s—she was croupière for the first hour and a remarkably efficient one too—were an intense purple that clashed, to my eye, with the scarlet gown.

  Generally, the crowd might have been called mixed, but there was never a soul that hadn’t a moneyed look. Some of them, one could gather, regarded the chips as peanuts, and there was plenty of ragging of the earnest ones who had come provided with systems. Service men were there, but in mufti, and the soul of the party was a naval commander —hailed as Tubby—who was just back from six months at sea. It was Tubby who deftly flicked a cigarette lighter at the bottom of an evening paper which one fat and prosperous, but very genial, gentleman was reading, and when it went up in flames there was tremendous applause. Tubby had a girl with him, and she wasn’t his daughter.

  Usually about twenty people were there, and Worrack had hoped to make up for me a poker four or five, but as things were, we all played the roulette table. I pottered around on the red and black, and my extemporised system went so badly that even Lulu’s smile had a sympathy in it. Occasionally someone would look round and call for a drink, and Jean would give a “Bien, m’sieu” and be over with it. Which brings me to my thrill of the evening.

  Since my system was a simple one, I had leisure enough to study my fellow-gamblers. Hamson, Barbara Grays, and Molde and his girl were the ones who particularly interested me, and it was about Molde that I became aware of something peculiar. He suddenly grew anxious about something in the neighbourhood of the bar, and every now and again would give a quick look round. Then, without having received any order, Jean was bringing him a drink.

  “Your veesky, m’sieu.”

  “Thanks,” he said curtly. Then I saw his eyes lift towards Scylla, who was facing him across the table. A moment or two and she rose.

  Now there was nothing peculiar about her leaving the room. People were always getting up and disappearing, and Tubby had informed me in an audible whisper that a visit to the summer-house was the surest means of changing one’s luck. He himself was winning and he wasn’t going to stir, he told me sotto voce, even if his bladder was like a Zeppelin.

  I got up and strolled over to the bar.

  “A drink, m’sieu?” Jean asked me.

  “A small whisky and soda,” I said, and had a good look at him at close quarters. He was over fifty, flat-skulled and with a florid, upward-sweeping moustache that made him the very spit of the boulevardier of stage or screen.

  His eyes were decidedly shifty.

  “What’s your part of France?” I asked as I took the drink.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Me, m’sieu? I am what you call ceetizen of ze vorld.”

  “The devil you are!” I said amusedly, and finished the drink at a go. “We must get together some time.”

  I gave him a friendly nod and turned back to the table. Then I changed my mind, for I was suddenly feeling a bit sticky and a wash, I thought, might brighten me up. I remember I did look round as my hand went out to the knob of Worrack’s door, perhaps because I’d instinctively wondered what people would think if they saw me making free use of the office. But all eyes seemed to be concentrated on the revolving wheel, and even Jean happened to have his back to me.

  Inside the room I gave a gasp, and the gape of my mouth must have made me look a first-class idiot. Scylla Payton was at Worrack’s desk, and I’d disturbed her in the act of going through the drawers. So intent was she on the job, I’d slipped between her and the door before she really saw me. And was she startled?

  “Lost something?” I asked amiably.

  She had whipped the top back and was standing with hands on it, and behind her, eyes tense and glaring. I was still smiling pleasantly, and then her hand went suddenly out to the switch and the room was in darkness. Before I knew it her arms were round my neck and her lips were on mine.

  She held me so tightly that even if I had wished to disturb that moment, I should have had to wrest her away by force. Then at last that kiss ended. The lips moved upwards towards my ear.

  “You won’t say a word?”

  “Devil a word,” I said.

  She kissed me again, an even more luscious effort that time, and then she had gone, and I heard the rustle of the curtain before her. A moment or two and I turned on the light. In the mirror above the wash-basin behind the curtain I saw with sudden horror the lipstick on my lips and cheek. When I’d washed it off I looked round and found that the lights in office and curtained annexe were operated by a two-way switch.

  I didn’t feel like going back for a minute or two, and just when I was really going, Worrack came in.

  “Hallo,” he said. “Had a drink?”

  “Came in for a clean up,” I said.

  He opened the door again, had a quick look out, then took out a key and locked it.

  “I just had a word with Hamson outside,” he said quietly. “I think he was on the look-out for me. What do you think he asked me? Did Molde owe me any money!”

  “You mean he shouldn’t hav
e known?”

  “Not that,” he said. “I gather that’s fairly common property. But wait for what’s coming. I said I thought everyone knew it, and he asked if Molde had paid up. I said he had, more or less, and to-night. Then he was a bit persistent. Apologised and all that, of course. What did I mean by more or less. I said he was to keep it to himself but he’d coughed up two-fifty, and the balance was probably being cancelled. I thought he made a bit of a wry face. And that’s all.”

  “I get you,” I said. “You think Molde touched Hamson for the money and got the whole five hundred. Molde paid you two-fifty and now pockets the rest. He’s playing with some of it to-night.”

  “That’s what it looks like,” he said. “But why should Hamson lend Molde money? Molde stinks.”

  All I could say was that the situation was interesting and I’d do my damnedest to look into it.

  “Did you know the outer door was open?” I said. “I tried it when I was in there.”

  “It’s left open,” he said. “George and Lulu might want to use it to slip along to their flats.”

  Then he said he saw what I was driving at. But there was no need to worry about an unexpected raid that way through the garage. George’s brother was the manager and the warning system was highly efficient.

  “But why shouldn’t Molde have slipped up that way?” I pointed out. “He saw you put the IOU’s in a drawer, and your desk isn’t locked.”

  He didn’t notice that slip; he was too amused.

  “So you were peeping, were you?” He chuckled. “But I didn’t put them in the drawer. I put them in this breast pocket and Molde saw me do it. What I put in the drawer was a paper fastener and Molde saw me do that. If you want to know where the IOU’s are, they’re in the safe.” That was a facer, but he didn’t know that.

  “You can really scare Molde with them?” was what I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “The old man’s on his last legs, they say, but he’d certainly cut him off with a shilling.” He shook his head. “And yet I don’t know. Molde’s more than I can sum up. There’s a look about him sometimes that makes me positively scared. I shouldn’t laugh,” he added as he saw my look of amusement. “His reputation’s about as unsavoury as I know. It’s only the snobs who put up with him. I let him come here because I wanted my money back. And he does attract a certain kind of customer.”

  I went out then and he followed in a minute or two. Nobody seemed to have noticed my absence, perhaps because it was near midnight and the quarter of an hour break. That was quite a jolly affair. Jean had already laid the tables, and was bringing sandwiches and snacks, and Lulu and George helped him with the drinks. People settled themselves haphazardly at the small tables, and the talk was largely the luck of the night. Tubby spun a questionable yarn that was received with shrieks of mirth. Worrack was there, at what might be called the high table, and Lulu and George joined him as soon as Jean could cope with all the drinks. It seemed to be considered a kind of honour to be asked to that table, for Tubby went over with alacrity when Worrack called him. I didn’t hear any of their conversation, except the opening gambit, which was when Tubby said, “How’s the game leg?” I was at Molde’s table, of all places, making small talk and being most attentive to his girl. Then Barbara Grays called me over to hers. The fat genial gentleman had just given her a Stock Exchange tip and she wanted to ask me what I thought of it. Perhaps I was pleasantly excited by the drinks I’d had, but I didn’t see the significance of that till far too late.

  The game was resumed, and I must say I was surprised when three o’clock came so soon. Then there were hilarious partings after the settling up, and Lulu was taking notes of those who were turning up the following night and of any guests they proposed to bring. At half-past three only Worrack and I were left, and he had nothing to do but switch off. We parted at the front door, for our homeward ways were divergent.

  As I strolled along in the light of the young moon I recalled his question as to what I had thought of things.

  I had been right, I thought, to say it had been a damn good evening. So it had been, though I had lost a couple of quid’s worth of chips and had insisted on standing them. Perhaps the drinks inside me made me so tolerant and made me put myself in the place of the rest of us who had tempted chance. After all, I said, when one goes to the races and bets quite unrestrained by law, the preliminaries cost the same couple of quid that Worrack charged, and with no drinks and supper thrown in. As for his two hundred a week profit, it didn’t seem excessive to me considering Georgina’s original outlay and the number of guests over whom the profits were spread.

  But that night I couldn’t do any serious thinking. As soon as I got into bed I did wonder what Bill Ellice might have discovered, and then when the bed was pleasantly warm I began thinking of the amorous Scylla. If it wasn’t the IOU’s she was looking for in Worrack’s desk, then what in blazes was it? And where did the shifty-looking Jean come in? Then just when I began thinking of that minute or two of darkness in Worrack’s office, I had some bad luck for I went off to sleep.

  CHAPTER VI

  OUT GOES HE

  There was a telephone extension by my bedside and it was the shrilling of the bell that woke me. I stirred, became aware of what the noise was, hooked on my glasses, grabbed the receiver and glanced at my wrist-watch, and all practically in the same moment. I thought it was midday, but it was only eight in the morning.

  “Hallo?” I said sleepily.

  “That you, Mr. Travers?”

  “That you, Bill?”

  “Ellice speaking,” he told me formally. “I’ve got some news for you, sir, but I’d rather you heard it direct.”

  “Where’re you speaking from?”

  “The office,” he said.

  “Right-ho,” I said, “but give me a quick outline.”

  “Well, I got on the trail at once,” he said. “Had a bit of luck and found the taxi-driver. It was that red hair that did it. He drove her to Richmond.”

  “Richmond!”

  “That’s right, sir. The White Rose Hotel, and she’d booked a room beforehand. She stayed the night, and paid for another night, though she knew she was leaving before that night, so to speak.”

  “Let’s get it straight,” I said. “She arrived on the 13th and slept there the night of the 13th. She left the next day. Where to and when?”

  “I know when but not where,” he said. “A car—a private one I should think—came for her just after dark. About six o’clock. I’d like to go into it all with you, sir, then I’ll know what lines you want me to work on.”

  “Right-ho,” I said. “I’ll be with you in an hour. That do?”

  I hopped out of bed, rang for a service breakfast, had a shower and dressed. To my joy I hadn’t the trace of a hangover, maybe because I’d tried the old Army dodge of taking a Number Nine or its equivalent before setting out for Worrack’s place. That was pretty good, considering the atmosphere of that room and the usual circle of smoke, dry throat, drink, and then more smoke.

  As a matter of fact my mind was unusually clear as I ate my meal and reviewed that little matter of Molde and Scylla. What I was utterly flummoxed over was what she had been looking for in Worrack’s desk, for the rest seemed easy enough.

  It explained something that had very much puzzled me. I had heard Worrack tell Molde to get to hell out of the office, and he’d made no bones about showing what his opinion of Molde was. That was why I had been surprised to see Molde having a chat with Hamson, and looking afterwards quite at home at the roulette table, and not turning a hair in the presence of Worrack. Surely, I’d thought, he must have the devil of a thick skin to hang on after what Worrack told him. What he should have said was: “Get to hell, eh? All right. So I will. And you’ll never see me in your ruddy club again.”

  Now I knew why Molde had swallowed all that Worrack had had to tell him. There was something in the possession of Worrack—and not the IOU’s—that he most desperately needed,
and he and the wench had come prepared to get it. Jean had been nobbled. He had given the high sign that Worrack was out of the office for a safe time by bringing the unasked-for drink, and Scylla had done the rest. As for my easy promise to look into the matter—though not the matter that Worrack thought—well, I stood about as much chance of finding out what Scylla was looking for as I did of being made Chief of Hitler’s staff. I couldn’t even make a flank attack through Jean, for it was a certainty that the reasons that had been given him were far from the real ones.

  If—and why—Hamson had lent Molde that pretty hefty sum of money was something else I could not yet begin to work out, nor, strangely enough for me, could I hit on a theory. Then I suddenly realised something else. It was still less than twenty-four hours since the whole thing had started. Twenty-four hours, and it seemed already like days. But that day, I tried to assure myself, would see the last of my efforts. A loose end or two might be tied—hearing what Ellice had to report, for instance—and then I could tell Worrack with a perfectly good conscience that the case was regrettably of a kind which I did not feel myself competent to handle.

  The taxi got me to Broad Street well on time, and Ellice was waiting for me.

  “Good work, Bill—so far,” I said. “But what’s holding you up? Not being able to trace the car that called for her?”

  He said he’d like to tell me the whole story, which wouldn’t take five minutes. It didn’t. At the Richmond hotel he’d made discreet enquiries on the plea that the lady was urgently wanted back in town. Luckily he mentioned no names and so was in no quandary when he found out she’d registered under the name of Mrs. Graves. The room had been booked by telephone two days previously.