George put the tray on the table. He was surprised to find how indifferent he was to all this. He felt cold, pitiless, and he realized then what real hatred meant. The discovery shocked him.
“Will you have some?” he asked vaguely, looking round.
No one said anything, and he looked helplessly at Emily for guidance.
“I want a cup,” she said. “Never mind about anyone else.”
He poured out the tea and handed the cup to her.
“I think. perhaps . . . I’ll have a cup myself,” he said apologetically.
Emily stirred her tea, added sugar and sipped. Then she nodded to George. “It’s good tea.”
“Don’t you think . . . ?” Max said, glancing at Cora.
Emily’s hard little eyes snapped. “We don’t have to talk to her,” she said. “It’s a question of how it’s to be done.”
Cora pointed to George. “He did it,” she said breathlessly. “You can’t blame me. He did it. He shot Crispin.”
Emily smiled. “We know all about that,” she said. “He told us.” She looked Cora up and down. “No one can harm us without paying. You were in it as deep as Sydney. You must go too.” She glanced at Poncho. “Arrange it, and be quick. An accident with an electric iron . . . if there is one here.”
Poncho came back after a few minutes with a portable ironing-board; an electric iron and some underwear he had found in Cora’s bedroom.
“Everything,” he said, with a triumphal grin.
He worked quickly and methodically, setting up the ironing-board and plugging in the iron. Then he produced a pen-knife and began working on the flex.
Emily noticed George’s blank gaze.
“He’s clever,” she said, smiling. “In a moment that iron won’t be safe to touch.” She leaned forward. “They’ll find her some time, and they’ll think she died because of a faulty flex. The joke is, it will be because of a faulty flex.”
Cora crossed the room slowly and stood before George. Her eyes were dark with terror.
“You’re not going to let them do this to me, are you?” she said. “You can’t do it.” Then her voice suddenly rose to a scream. “George! You can’t let them. Don’t you understand what they’re doing? They’re going to kill me. Save me! I’ll do anything! I swear I’ll do anything if you’ll only stop them! You can do it! You’re big enough! Save me, George!” And she rushed forward, putting her arms round his neck, her face against his. “I’ll never leave you, George,” she went on wildly. “Forgive me! Don’t let them touch me.”
His feel of her slight body against his, the smell of her perfume, her hair against his face suddenly weakened him. He felt sick and faint.
Nick snatched her away from him, twisting her arms behind her.
“Have you forgotten your cat so soon?” Emily said, looking at him thoughtfully. “You’d better go. You needn’t bother with her or us any more. You’re lucky. You tell a good story, and I think it’s true. I’m sorry about your cat. You mightn’t think it, but I like animals myself.”
“George!” Cora screamed. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”
Nick put his hand across her mouth. His fingers dug into her cheek.
“Go now,” Emily said.
George walked unsteadily to the door. He hesitated, then went on out of the flat to the stairs. As he began to walk down the stairs a dreadful cry of terror and despair tore through the door past him into the dimly lit confines of the building. He shivered, the bleakness in his heart frightening him; but he kept on. Then there was a bright flash of blue light from the fuse-box at the bottom of the stairs, and the lights went out. He knew that Cora would never worry him again.
For a moment he stood still, trying to see in the suffocating darkness. Thoughts flashed through his mind. Where was he going? What was he going to do? He would be lonely. There was no Leo now. There was no Cora either. He would have nothing. The future loomed before him: dark, empty, ageless.
He reached the front door, opened it and stepped into the rain. Men appeared from out of the darkness and crowded round him. He saw the glistening capes and the police helmets.
“What . . . ?” he began, weak with fear.
“I’m Detective-Inspector Tuck,” a voice said, and George could just make out a tall man wearing a bowler hat pushing his way through the little crowd of policemen. “I think you are George Fraser. It’s my duty to arrest you and charge you with the robbery of a garage near Kingston.”
George blinked at the detective, then his fear went away and he sighed with relief. In his bones he had felt all along that they would get him in the end. Well, now they had him. It was a good thing that all this ghastly business was ended.
“Oh yes . . .” he muttered, aware that two policemen were running their hands over his clothes.
“Stop,” the detective said quickly. “I have also to caution you that anything you say will be written down and may be used in evidence at your trial.”
“I understand,” George said. “Thank you, but I want to tell you everything. You want me for murder too.” He drew himself up feeling a sudden sense of pride. “I killed Crispin and Little Ernie.”
They took hold of his arms, but they were quite gentle with him, and when the detective spoke again he sounded kind.
“Little Ernie? You did that? Hmmm, well, all right; it’s a good thing to get everything off your chest. You come along with me. Who’s this fellow Crispin you’re talking about?”
“Oh, it’s a long story,” George said, suddenly feeling tired. “But the others are up there. They’ve just killed Cora. You’ll find them all up there: Emily, Max and the two Greeks. You mustn’t let them get away.”
Four of the policemen pushed past him and entered the building. He could hear them running up the stairs.
“I don’t know how you found me . . .” George said, moving towards the car. “I’ve always read how clever you are. I thought somehow . . .”
“You were identified,” the detective said, getting into the car and sitting beside him. “The fellow at Kingston saw you about an hour ago. He telephoned the Yard, and here we are. We’ve had our eye on you for some time. We didn’t like the company you kept. Here, have a cigarette.” He offered a crumpled carton.
“I don’t think I’ll smoke,” George said slowly. “I didn’t drink my tea. Do you think I could get a cup where we are going? My mouth is very dry.”
“That’s all right,” the detective assured him. “That’s all we do—drink tea. There’ll be a cup for you all right.”
George nodded. “I suppose they’ll hang me,” he said. “You know, I’m not afraid. I’ve been awfully lonely all my life.”
“Now don’t talk like that,” the detective returned, looking at him sharply. “While there’s life there’s hope, you know. You don’t have to get depressed.”
“Oh, I’m not depressed,” George returned. “I’m really quite happy now.”
A moment later the car took him away to meet his destiny.
The End
Table of Contents
Synopsis
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
Table of Contents
Synopsis
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
1946 - More Deadly than the Male Page 27
