The Strange Story of Linda Lee

by Dennis Wheatley

  The lawyer paused and lit a cigarette. Then he went on in a very level, quiet voice, ‘If Lottie hadn’t been so impatient to get back some of the dough she had paid for you and sent the Negro up to break you in last night, The Top would have had you out of her place and brought here this morning, because he had already made up his mind to make use of you.

  ‘This sanatorium, of course, is owned by him. It has a variety of uses. If any of his people are wounded in a gun battle, they are brought here and taken good care of until they are well again. There are cases when it is desirable to take certain people out of circulation for a while. They are brought here to relax pleasantly in rooms on the upper floor that have barred windows. Hence, too, the high wall that you may have noticed surrounding the property. Anyway, as Marco could not be found and questioned about who you were until too late, we had to have you collected from the hospital. But we can send you back there and no questions will be asked.’

  ‘And what would happen then?’ Linda enquired.

  ‘Now that you are well enough, the police would take you into custody and you would be charged with arson. Officially, as far as the police are concerned, Lottie’s place is a respectable rooming house. Marco would give evidence that he took you there at your own request because you were looking for a cheaper lodging. That he called on you the second evening you were there and found you quarrelling with old Lottie. You accused her of having stolen some money that you had left under your mattress when you went out that afternoon. She, of course, would give evidence to that effect. Both of them will say that you were drunk and swore you would get even with her. A few hours later a fire starts in your room. Presumably you started it and meant to get out; but you were drunk, made a mess of things and the flames spread so quickly that they reached the door before you could get to it. I won’t go into all the details, but plenty of supporting evidence will be given. When The Top gives orders for a case to be brought against anyone who has crossed him, the verdict is a foregone conclusion. You may bet your last buck that you’ll get at least two years in the can.’

  ‘Then it looks as though I’m likely to be sent to prison anyway.’

  ‘Oh, no! You certainly will be if you refuse to do as you are told. But, if you play along, the odds are a thousand to one against it. By the time it’s emerged that Cherril Chanel has never left Fiji, you will have disappeared. You will have a brand-new wardrobe, and The Top is no penny-pincher to people he employs. On completion of the job you will be given two thousand bucks with which to make your get-away, and as a sweetener towards forgetting that you had ever heard of The Top. If it ever came to his ears that you had talked about your very temporary association with his affairs, although you don’t know enough to do him any harm I wouldn’t give you more than a month to live.’

  ‘I see. And whereabouts in Canada would I have to go?’

  ‘To the capital, Ottawa.’

  Linda considered the matter, but it did not take her long. She knew that she would not stand an earthly chance in the sort of case that a man like The Top could bring against her. She had never been in Ottawa, and golden hair would greatly alter her appearance. Two thousand dollars was over eight hundred pounds, and she was to get a new wardrobe of expensive clothes into the bargain. The risk was small, and it meant a new start, with enough money to keep her comfortably for several months.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll take those papers through for you.’

  ‘Fine,’ he smiled. ‘Marco told us you were staying at the Sherman House, so we’ve paid your bill there and sent a forged note authorising us to collect your things. I’ll have the nurse measure you for others, then tomorrow I’ll come out here with them and give you your instructions.’

  Without wasting further words, he stood up, wished her a pleasant ‘good night’ and walked out of the room.

  Shortly afterwards the nurse came in and took her measurements, brought her, at her request, another half-bottle of champagne, then left her to her own devices. While drinking the champagne, Linda conned over this extraordinary new development which, unless she was very unlucky, would rescue her from poverty and anxiety and set her on her feet again. At ten o’clock she was still wondering if it would be best for her to endeavour to find a steady job in Ottawa and go to earth there, or try to get out of Canada, perhaps down to South America, when the nurse came in once more and gave her a ‘sleeper’. She fell asleep more relaxed in mind than she had been for a long time past.

  Next morning she was allowed to have a bath. Her calves and backside were red and tender, but had ceased itching. She lunched in bed and, not long after she had finished, the lawyer arrived. With him he brought a dressmaker and a hairdresser.

  The latter flattened Linda’s hair on top of her head with some glutinous substance which he said would easily wash off, then fitted her with a pale-gold wig dressed in the same style as Cherill Chanel was wearing her hair in a recent photograph. He next partially shaved her eyebrows, added tiny pieces to them which gave them a slightly different slant, tinted them and her eyelashes; then, satisfied with his work, handed her over to the dressmaker.

  Meanwhile the lawyer had brought in four expensive air-travel suitcases, bearing the initials C.C. One of them, to Linda’s relief, contained her mink coat and few possessions. The others held a variety of dresses, shoes and lingerie. Over another hour went by while the ready-made clothes were fitted, then the dressmaker took them away to make the necessary minor alterations. Linda got into bed again and the lawyer came back into the room.

  Sitting down in the armchair, he said, ‘Now I must make it clear that in our business we take no chances. Everyone is suspect and a check kept on them by someone else. Cherril would naturally have a personal maid with her. So will you. Her name is Gerta Hoffman. She is unknown in Chicago and we’ve brought her up from New York specially for this job.

  ‘Presently I shall take you to the airport. Gerta will have the tickets and it will appear that you are only changing planes here, having both just flown in from San Francisco. There would be an hour and a half’s wait between planes. One of our people at the airport will put you in the V.I.P. waiting-room. The time between planes is enough for the Press to learn that you are passing through Chicago. We shall leak it, anyway. So, as you go on board, you will have to face the Press photographers. Smile at them, but you are not to say one word. Gerta will do any talking that is necessary.

  ‘At Ottawa the Press photographers will be waiting for you. Again you will keep your mouth shut. A suite has been booked for you at the Château Laurier. You will drive straight there and have supper for both of you sent up to your sitting-room; and so to bed.

  ‘The following morning a gentleman will call you from the lobby, and ask if he may come up. You will say yes, and Gerta will go out into the corridor. She will remain within call, and within call of her there will be two of our men in Ottawa; one by the lift and the other by the stairs.

  ‘When your visitor comes in, you will ask him for the password. It is “Peace Pledge”. Remember that—“Peace Pledge”. You will then place on a table the packet of documents that I shall give you before we part. He will also place a packet on the table. You will then swap packets. His should contain two hundred and thirty thousand dollars in U.S. currency. You will count them through carefully while he is examining the documents. If all goes satisfactorily, he will go out and Gerta will come in. You will hand her the money and she will give you your two grand. You should, of course, have packed beforehand. You can then leave the hotel as soon as you like.

  ‘Should anything go wrong, or your visitor try any funny business, you will step on a small mechanism that Gerta will have fixed under the table, within easy reach of your foot. It will set going an electric siren which Gerta can’t fail to hear. She will alert our two gunmen and they will tackle your visitor before he can get away.

  ‘But remember, the papers you will be carrying are immensely important. You will be under surveillance the whole ti
me. Should you get cold feet at the airport and decide to quit, we have people there who’ll gun you down in order to get those papers back at once. And when you reach Ottawa the same applies. Is that clear?’

  Linda gave a wry smile. ‘Perfectly clear. When am I to start?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘In about an hour’s time. I’m afraid you will have to miss your dinner, but I’ll have some sandwiches and champagne sent up to keep you going.’ With a light wave of his hand, he left her.

  The dressmaker had laid out the clothes Linda was to wear. The suitcases and all her other things had been taken downstairs to be packed there. The nurse brought her the wine, sandwiches and a plate of cakes. When she had eaten as much as she wanted, she went to the bathroom, made up her face very carefully, then returned to the bedroom and dressed.

  At six o’clock the lawyer came for her. He was carrying a blue leather beauty box, with the silver initials C.C. on it. ‘This,’ he said, ‘contains the goods. It has a simple combination lock. The letter C is equivalent to the number 3. So I’ve set it with your initials, plus an extra C. You can’t possibly forget that. Turn the knob left three times to 3, right twice to 3, then once back to 3, and it will open. You had better try it.’

  She did as he bade her and saw that inside the box there was nothing but a thick, sealed envelope. Shutting the box, she twirled the knob, locking it again.

  ‘We’ll go now,’ he said. The nurse was standing outside in the passage. Linda thanked her and shook hands, then accompanied the lawyer downstairs. A chauffeur-driven limousine was drawn up outside the front door. They got into it and drove a hundred yards, halted for two minutes while the gates in the tall wall were opened, then drove on along a road. After covering about three miles, the car drew up again. The lawyer signed to Linda to get out. Surprised and slightly apprehensive; she did so. He pointed to another car standing at the roadside twenty yards ahead. As they walked toward it he told her that it was the car that would take her to the airport, and that Gerta Hoffman would accompany her. Then he added:

  ‘You will just say “Good evening” to Gerta as though you know her well. Then you will refrain from talking to her during the drive, and at the airport only as far as is absolutely necessary. Remember, although she is actually our watchdog on you, she is playing the part of your maid.’

  Beside the car ahead a dumpy female figure was standing. In the faint light Linda could only guess that the hard-featured woman was about thirty. She made a slight bob and said with a heavy German accent, ‘Goot evening, Madame.’

  Linda returned the greeting. The chauffeur from the first car was bringing along Linda’s luggage. When it had all been transferred to the boot of the other, the lawyer held out his hand to her and said, ‘It’s been a great pleasure to be of service to you, Miss Chanel.’

  She replied, ‘Not at all. I’m happy to have met you.’ Then she got into the car, Gerta followed her, and it drove off.

  A few minutes later they were in the outlying suburbs of Chicago. For half an hour they skirted the great city, then the car pulled up outside the airport—but not at the front entrance. Evidently The Top’s people had made special arrangements. An official met them on the far side of the building. With him there was a porter with a trolley, on to which the luggage was loaded. They followed the official for some distance to the entrance of a covered ramp. There he asked for their tickets. Gerta produced them from a heavy bag she was carrying and they were given to the porter, who went off with the luggage while the others walked up the ramp into the glaring lights of the airport terminal.

  Before leaving the sanatorium Linda had been quite satisfied with her appearance, but now she felt distinctly nervous. She half expected that everyone would recognise her as the famous film star, and feared that someone who knew Cherril might stop and speak to her. But she was wearing a scarf over the blonde-cendré wig and, except for a few men who looked after her in admiration, to which she was used, no-one gave her a second glance.

  It was not until they were ushered into the V.I.P. waiting-room that anyone took any special notice of her. The air hostess on duty stared at her for a moment, then exclaimed in a voice of awe:

  ‘Why, surely you are Miss Cherril Chanel?’

  Linda smiled and nodded. The girl hurriedly led them to comfortable armchairs in a corner and asked what they would like to drink. Linda asked for rum and coke, Gerta for coffee.

  While the drinks were being brought, Linda had her first chance to take a good look at her personal maid, and she was not favourably impressed. Apart from being physically unattractive, there was something mean about Gerta’s face. She was a blonde, with pale blue eyes and a small, pursed-up mouth. Her neck was short and thick where it merged into her heavy body. But she was dressed appropriately for her part, in a dark-blue coat and skirt, good but heavy shoes, a white blouse with a modest gold brooch, and had her dull fair hair drawn flatly back into a bun.

  Bowing his excuses, the official said he must leave them for a few minutes. To account for her silence, as soon as the drinks were brought Linda picked up a magazine and pretended to read it. Covertly, she saw that two other air hostesses had been brought in by the first, to gaze at her from a distance.

  The official returned with the baggage checks clipped to the tickets. Gerta took them and put them in her capacious bag. A few other people came in. One couple evidently thought they recognised Linda, and could not take their eyes off her. Presently the air hostess came over and said:

  ‘Miss Chanel, there are some Press men outside. They are anxious to have a word with you.’

  Gerta spoke at once in her heavy German accent. ‘No interviews. You say Madame iss too tired after her journey.’

  A quarter of an hour later their wait was over. The official led them out. A group of about eight, mostly young, men were outside. Several had cameras. Linda was assailed with a barrage of questions:

  ‘How was Fiji, Miss Chanel?’

  ‘Why you goin’ to Canada?’

  ‘How d’you leave Ricky Maloney?’

  ‘Give us a line on your next film, do.’

  Linda remained silent and shook her head, but she gave a sweet smile and halted for a moment while the cameras took her. Between them, the official and Gerta pushed a way for Linda through the little crowd. Ten minutes later she was welcomed into the aircraft by a broadly-grinning steward, who led them to bulkhead seats. Everything had gone without a hitch and Linda was rather enjoying playing the part of a celebrity.

  During the six-hundred-mile flight she had plenty to think about. With luck, by this time tomorrow the end of this dangerous mission would be several hours behind her. She would be on her own again, but with ample money. But where should she make for? Even if she got rid of the blonde wig, it would be too big a risk for her to stay in Ottawa because she bore such a strong resemblance to Cherril Chanel. Somehow she must try to get out of Canada. Suddenly she remembered the U.S. passport that Marco Mancini had procured for her. She had never seen it again after he had shown it to her in the Lido. What a fool she had been. If only she had asked the lawyer to get it for her, or another similar, she could have returned to the States and had it visaed for any country she liked. But it was too late to think about that now.

  Dinner was served, which made the flight pass swiftly. By the time the aircraft began to come down, she had decided that she would go to Quebec. No-one knew her there and, as she had money, she might somehow manage to get herself smuggled aboard a ship.

  At the Ottawa airport Gerta produced two passports and, as soon as the Immigration officer opened Linda’s, he gave her a broad smile. In the Customs hall she was recognised. A chubby young officer asked her casually, ‘Anything to declare, Miss Chanel?’ When she said, ‘No, nothing,’ he chalked all her bags, touched his cap and wished her a good time in Canada.

  Outside the hall they were awaited by a group of reporters. Again the barrage of questions. Linda refused to speak, but posed smiling for her photograph.
A uniformed chauffeur had come up and led them, with their luggage, to a limousine. Linda noticed that he was a very broad-shouldered man with an aggressive but boyish face. He drove them straight to the hotel and, while the bags were being unloaded, Linda heard him say in a low voice to Gerta, ‘If any trouble blows up, call Room seven-seventeen.’ So she knew that he must be one of The Top’s watchdogs. At the Château Laurier they were given a two-bedroom suite on the seventh floor. In all the rooms there were flowers with the Manager’s compliments. Gerta tipped the porter, and as the man left the room Linda picked up the telephone.

  In an instant Gerta was beside her, grabbed her arm and asked throatily, ‘Who you gointa call?’

  Linda shook her hand off and replied, ‘I’m going to order myself a nightcap. Would you like anything?’

  ‘No. I nefer trink. It is not goot for pusiness. But I will order; not you.’

  When a brandy and soda arrived, Linda took it into her bedroom. There she found that, with German thoroughness in playing personal maid, Gerta had unpacked for her the few things she would require for the night. When Linda had thanked her, she said:

  ‘You make use off bathroom soon, please. After, I haf to lock your door. It is an order.’

  Linda shrugged. Evidently, just on the remote chance that she had been got at, The Top’s people were taking no chances. For fun she decided to take her time, and ran herself a bath. Gerta looked sullenly angry, but discipline restrained her from any protest at being kept out of bed for another hour.

  Quite early in the morning Linda was woken by the sound of Gerta unlocking the bedroom door, but she turned over to doze again, then, at half past eight, had Gerta telephone down for breakfast. When she had finished she dressed again in her travelling clothes and did her own packing. When she went into the sitting-room carrying the precious beauty box, which she had never let out of her reach, she found Gerta reading a heavy-looking book. The manager had sent up more flowers and a pile of newspapers. Linda tried to read one of them, but found it impossible to concentrate. Now that the time for the big deal was approaching, she could not keep her mind off it.