1953 - The Things Men Do

by James Hadley Chase

  "Collins!" he gasped in a husky whisper. "I thought it was the cops."

  "Not this time, but they're outside. They're looking for me."

  "Am I glad to see you," he said. "I've been waiting hours. Gimme a drink, will you? You don't know what I've been through."

  "What's the matter with you?" I sat at the foot of the bed, holding the gun with the barrel pointing down at the floor.

  "It's my back. That bastard threw me. I must have fractured my spine."

  "What have you got to grumble about? The bastard as you call him is dead. Dix shot him."

  Berry's eyes narrowed.

  "That's nothing to do with me. What are you doing here?"

  "The police are hunting for me. They imagine I'm one of your crowd. Funny, Isn't it? You fellows collect three hundred thousand pounds' worth of diamonds and I get the blame. They might even hang me if they catch me."

  "They wouldn't do that," Berry said quickly. "They wouldn't hang me either, I didn't kill him."

  "The diamonds don't seem to be doing you much good now, do they?"

  "Never mind about the diamonds. Get me a drink, will you? And get me a doctor. Don't sit there staring at me. I've been lying here for hours. At first it hurt like hell, but it's stopped hurting now." His voice shook. "It scares me. I can't feel my legs anymore."

  "Bill Yates can't feel anything anymore."

  "What are you talking about? Look, for the love of Mike, give me a drink!"

  "Can’t you move?"

  Barry swore at me.

  "Don't I keep telling you! I've busted my back. I can't feel my legs. I can't even raise my head. You've got to get to get a doctor to me."

  "Why didn't Dix or Joe or Louis send for a doctor?"

  Berry closed his eyes.

  "Joe said he was going to. Maybe he couldn't get hold of one."

  "Are you trying to kid me?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "They've left you here to die, that's what I mean."

  "No! They wouldn't do a thing like that," he gasped.

  "Maybe they're in a jam themselves. What does it matter now? You're here. Get me a doctor. Use the phone over there. Call a hospital."

  "They might hang you."

  "Don't talk crazy. They don't know who I am. They don't know I pulled the job. I can say I had a fall. Get on the phone, damn you!"

  "Where's Dix?"

  He stared at me, his thin, hard mouth working.

  "How do I know? Will you get a doctor?"

  I took out a packet of cigarettes, lit one and put the packet back while he lay snarling at me.

  "For God's sake! Can't you see how bad I am? Gimme a drink. There's Scotch in the other room. I haven't had a filing for hours. Gimme a drink and call the hospital!"

  "Where's Dix?"

  A furious, trapped expression came into his eyes.

  "I'll fix you, Collins, if you don't do what I say! If you don't get on to a hospital I'll see your goddam wife gets those art pictures!"

  I leaned forward and smacked his face hard enough to jerk his head to one side. He gave a sharp, stifled scream, his eyes rolled back and he went limp.

  I got to my feet, and bending over him, I felt his pulse. It was beating feebly. By the look of him I didn't think he was going to last long. I didn't want him to die before he told me where Dix was. He must know. If he didn't, then I was sunk.

  I went into the other room and over to the bar. I mixed a weak whisky and water. Before returning to the bedroom, I paused to look out of the window.

  The police car had gone, and there was no sign of anyone in the street below.

  I went into the bedroom, and poured a little of the whisky and water between Berry's lips. He gasped, opened his eyes and looked dazedly up at me.

  "Come on," I said. "You wanted this, so drink it."

  He drank what was in the glass and then closed his eyes again. I didn't like the look of him. The flesh on his face sagged, and his breathing came in slow, laboured gasps.

  I decided to let him rest for a few minutes before asking him again, and turned my attention to the big wardrobe by the door.

  It contained several suits. I took down a fawn-coloured sports coat and a pair of dark brown whipcord trousers. I tried on the coat. It was a little loose on me, but the fit was good enough. I found a yellow linen shirt and a hand-painted orange and red tie.

  I stripped off my own clothes and changed into the clothes I had chosen. On a shelf in the wardrobe I found a grey, slouch hat. It was a shade too big for me, but by jutting a strip of newspaper behind the hat band it fitted well enough.

  I surveyed myself in the mirror. I had been wearing a blue double-breasted suit without a hat. This gaudy outfit I know had on changed my appearance from a distance in a startling way! I looked like an American tourist, and so long as I could keep a fair distance between myself and any detective, I had no misgivings that I would be recognised.

  I next unearthed a pair of brown and white, reverse calf shoes which fitted me as if they had been made for me.

  Hunting through the drawers in the wardrobe I came upon a pair of dark green sunglasses, and when I put them on and put on the hat I was satisfied my disguise was complete.

  I took off the hat and glasses and went back to Berry.

  He lay watching me, his face lined with pain.

  "Where's Dix?" I asked, bending over him.

  He closed his eyes.

  "If you want a doctor you'd better tell me."

  "I don't know."

  "You must know where he was heading. Where did you plan to meet him before you were hurt?"

  His eyes shift.

  "We were going to meet here."

  "You're lying. He wouldn't come here." I reached out and took hold of his shirt front. "You're going to tell me. If I pull you upright it'll kill you, and that's what I'm going to do if you don't tell me."

  ''Leave me alone!"

  "Where's Dix?"

  I tightened my grip and moved him slightly.

  Sweat jumped out of his face and he screamed out.

  "Stop it! Don't do it!"

  "Where's Dix?"

  He put his hand on my wrist and his nails cut into my skin as he tried feebly to break my hold. Again I lifted him a fraction of an inch. His eyes started out of his head and he screamed out again.

  "I'll tell you."

  Very carefully I relaxed my grip.

  "Where, is he?"

  "Monk's Farm, Ilmer," he groaned.

  "That's near Princes Risborough, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "Come on," I said roughly, "you're washed up, Berry. Don't kid yourself they'll come back for you. Why should they when they can get away with all that money and leave you to carry the can. Where do they go from Ilmer? Are they planning to leave the country?"

  All resistance seemed to have gone out of him.

  "Yes. When it's dark a hover plane's going to pick them up. There's a field at the back of the farm. They're going to Paris."

  I stood away from the bed. I couldn't be absolutely sure he was telling the truth, but I had an idea he was.

  "Where are the negatives of those pictures you took of me?"

  "Get me a doctor," he groaned.

  I caught hold of his shirt front again.

  "Where are they?"

  His eyes snapped open.

  "Don't touch me. They're in the desk in the other room. Get me a doctor, Collins. I'll do anything you say if you'll get me a doctor."

  I smiled at him.

  "Didn't you hear what I said? The police are outside watching for me. I don't want a doctor to find me here. You'll have to wait."

  I went into the other room, searched through the desk and found a wooden box packed full of negatives and prints.

  The pictures of Gloria and me were on top of the rest of them.

  I had to go through a lot of muck before I found the negatives.

  I carried the box over to the fireplace, emptied the contents into the
grate and set fire to it.

  I thought of the misery that was going up in those flames; of the men like myself who had stepped out of line and had been blackmailed probably for years.

  I wondered if there were any more-prints of the negatives in existence. There would be time to go into that later on. Even though I had told Ann what I had done, I still couldn't bear the thought of her seeing those pictures.

  I returned to the desk and wait through every drawer. I found about thirty pounds and some odd silver in a tin cash-box which I didn't hesitate to put in my pocket. I also found an ignition key I guessed belonged to Berry's Humber and another larger key with a label attached on which was scrawled: Garage No. 3.

  That gave me an idea. I went into the kitchen that overlooked the back of the building. Below in the mews I could see a row of garage lock-ups.

  I returned to the bedroom.

  "Is your car in the garage?"

  "You're not going to leave me!" he gasped. "You're going to help me, aren't you?"

  "Is your car in the garage?" I repeated.

  "Yes, but before you go, you'll call a doctor, won't you?"

  "If you want a doctor so badly, call him yourself," I said, coming to the foot of the bed and looking down at him. "I wouldn't raise a finger to help a rat like you. I was going to kill you, but now I don't have to. You haven't much longer to live. A doctor can't do anything for you." I waved my hand towards the telephone. "If you think he can, go ahead, and call him. I'm not stopping you." I picked up the grey hat and the sunglasses and made for the door.

  "Collins!" he gasped. "Don't leave me! I'm sorry for what I did to you. Don't leave me to die here alone."

  "So long," I said, opening the door. "If you're lucky your pals will do something for you, but I doubt it. You're not fit to live. While you're waiting to die, think of all the mugs you photographed and blackmailed. It'll take your mind off yourself."

  I went out of the room and shut the door.

  In the hall I opened and examined the two suitcases. I repacked one, taking the most useful articles such as a suit of dark brown material, some shirts, shoes, shaving kit, another automatic, a half-pint flask of brandy and about ten thousand francs, from the two cases.

  I could hear Berry feebly calling, but I paid no attention.

  I had a gun, money, a car and a change of clothes. I was ready now to settle my score with Dix.

  chapter seventeen

  I drove the big Humber along the narrow mews and out into Queen's Avenue.

  At the top of the avenue I spotted the police car drawn up by the kerb. The detective who had been following me stood by the car, talking to the driver. Both of them glanced at me as I drove towards them. I kept on at a Steady pace. I had the slouch hat pulled well down over my eyes and I was wearing the big sunglasses. Although I was confident they wouldn't recognize me, it was a tricky moment as I passed them.

  Neither of them seemed interested in me. I glanced into my driving mirror. They hadn't moved, and the detective had resumed his conversation. I was aware that my hands were damp as I drove into the Park and headed for Queen's Road.

  The clock on the dashboard showed five minutes past eleven. I reckoned I would be in Ilmer at noon. The traffic at this hour was light, and I got down to Shepherd's Bush without the usual crawl through the bottleneck at Notting Hill Gate.

  Once on Western Avenue, I sent the Humber along at a fast clip, and I reached Princes Risborough a few minutes after eleven forty-five. A mile or so beyond the little town, I turned left where the sign post indicated Ilmer, a mile and a half down the road.

  Ahead of me and walking towards me was a woman pushing a pram. I slowed down and pulled up near her.

  "I'm looking for Monk's Farm," I said. "Can you direct me, please?"

  "Take the first turning on the right. It's up a narrow lane," the woman told me. "About a couple of miles from here. You can't miss it. It's the only farm up the lane."

  "Thanks. I hear it's for sale."

  She shook her head.

  "It was for sale; about six months ago. It's been sold now."

  "Someone told me it's coming into the market again. I thought I'd look at it. You don't happen to know the owner's name, do you?"

  "I haven't seen them. I don't believe they've moved in yet. The place was empty the last time I passed it; that would be last Saturday."

  "Well, now I've come so far I might as well look at it. Thank you for your help."

  I engaged gear and drove on. About two and a half miles farther on I spotted the turning on the right. About fifty yards beyond the turning was a public house. I drove to it and pulled into the car park.

  A big, red-faced man came out of the pub and nodded to me.

  "All right to leave my car here?" I asked. "I feel like a long walk. I may not get back until late."

  "That's all right sir," he returned, and gave me a friendly grin. "Bless me if I'd want to walk if I had a car like that."

  "You would if you'd been cooped up in London all the week." I pointed back to the lane. "Where does that lead to?"

  "Monk's Farm, but there's a footpath beyond the farm that'll take you to Thame if you're planning to walk that far."

  "Sounds fine. Thanks." I took five shillings from my pocket and gave it to him. "Just in case I don't see you again."

  "Thank you, sir." He looked surprised. "I hope I'll see you in the bar before you go. You should have a thirst after a walk like that. It's going to be hot this afternoon."

  I waved to him and set off towards the lane. When I was out of sight of the pub, I checked Berry's automatic I had been carrying in my hip pocket. The clip held six .38 bullets and one in the breech. I snapped on the safety catch and transferred the gun to my coat pocket.

  I walked up the narrow, twisting lane for perhaps half a mile, then through the trees I caught sight of a white, thatched roof farmhouse standing a hundred yards or so back from the lane.

  I climbed up the bank, and holding on to a tree trunk to steady myself, I studied the building.

  As far as I could judge it was a seven-room house in a wilderness of a garden which offered plenty of good cover. Tall grass, straggling shrubs and several old shady trees surrounded it. The concrete drive was moss-covered and was still caked with the hard mud of last winter.

  Opposite the house, forming two sides of a square were dilapidated farm buildings: a barn, a cow shed, three pig sties and stables.

  At the back of the farmhouse was a small, overgrown kitchen garden, and beyond that a dense wood of silver birch and nutstems.

  I scrambled down the bank and continued up the lane. I moved cautiously, my ears pricked for the slightest sound. The lane twisted every few yards, and anyone coming down the lane would be on top of me before I saw them.

  At the last twist in the lane I saw the white farm gate, and I stopped, just out of sight. For some moments I studied the ground ahead of me, deciding the quickest and easiest approach.

  Finally I pushed my way through the hedge that lined the lane into the tall, overgrown grass of a paddock that flanked the house. My army training in jungle warfare now came to my aid. I moved forward, bent double, slowly and carefully until I reached the hedge that divided the kitchen garden from the paddock.

  I was safe there as the hedge was high, and I straightened up. I had trouble in finding a gap in the hedge, but after moving some yards to my right I found one that gave me a good view of the side and front of the house.

  I sat down, close to the hedge and surveyed the house. I remained there for over half an hour without seeing any sign of life, and I began to wonder if Berry had lied to me.

  They might have changed their minds about coming to this farmhouse, although to the right of the paddock in which I was sitting, I could see a big field that would be suitable for a helicopter landing.

  Suppose the helicopter had already picked them up? I thought this unlikely. It would be too risky to make such a landing in daylight.

  The local pol
ice all over the country must have been warned to look out for an unauthorized aircraft making a landing. Escape by air was the most obvious way out for Dix, and the police must have realized it.

  I wondered if I should take a chance and go up to the house. I was pretty sure I could approach within yards of it without being seen. I might get an opportunity to see into some of the rooms if I got closer.

  I was about to get to my feet when the front door opened and Joe came out.

  The sight of him sent a tingle down my spine.

  He was wearing a short-sleeved sports shirt and grey flannel trousers. Over his shoulder he carried a leather holster from which protruded the butt of a heavy automatic. He moved slowly down the drive to the farm gate and looked down the lane. Then he glanced at his wrist-watch, scowled, and again looked down the lane. It was, pretty obvious he was expecting someone who was late, and I wondered who it could be.

  After a few minutes, he turned and walked back to the house. As he reached the front door, Louis appeared. He was in a baggy flannel fit, and I could tell by the bulge under his coat that he too was carrying a gun.

  "No sign of them yet?" he asked, stepping out into the bright sunlight.

  "No. What the hell can have happened to them?" Joe said uneasily.

  In the quiet of their surroundings their voices came clearly to me.

  "Think anything's wrong?" Louis asked. His thin effeminate face was pale and there were dark circles around his eyes.

  "How the hell do I know?" Joe snarled. He looked at his watch. "They should have been here an hour ago."

  "Well, come on in and eat. The stuffs getting cold."

  They went into the house and shut the door.

  I got quickly to my feet.

  Were they waiting for Dix and Berry? I wondered as I crawled through the gap in the hedge. Were they the only two in the house?

  I decided to take a chance and get into the house to overhear more of their conversation.

  There was plenty of cover up to four or five yards of the house, and I crawled forward silently without the slightest misgivings of being seen.

  The window of one of the rooms at the back of the house was open. I would have to cross a path to reach it, and the path offered no cover.