Murder in Piccadilly (24 page)

He was muttering to himself when Bobbie, white of face and scared of expression, joined him on the littered pavement.

“Where are we going?” he asked, forcing into his voice a strength which had left his body entirely.

“Got the price of a taxi to my flat?” Nosey said curtly. “Right-ho.” Nothing further was said until they were being driven towards the West End, but Bobbie's brain was thronged with questions and self-criticisms. Why had he not exerted himself and put this common person in his place? Why had he been such a fool as to be afraid of him? Why had he been afraid at all? He squirmed when he admitted that all these questions could only be answered in one way.

He was afraid of Nosey Ruslin, afraid of the gangster roughness and mercilessness of the ex-pugilist, but behind that fear was another and a more pregnant one, a more than faint suspicion that Nosey's sudden change from good temper to ferocity and his own tame surrender were based alike on the tragedy of his uncle's unexpected passing.

Chief Inspector Wake had hinted that there was more than mere coincidence in the timely death of the tenant for life of the Cheldon estate, that the heir had not owed his quick succession to mere luck and that, therefore, the murder of Massy Cheldon was the logical outcome of a cleverly planned conspiracy. Chief Inspector Wake had said all that and more in matter of fact, commonplace words and without any melodramatic display. Now as Bobbie tried to account for Nosey Ruslin's revelation of his ugly soul the only explanation that obtruded was that they were in some queer and inexplicable manner partners.

He began to perspire as recollections of stray words and sentences occurred to him. In the light of the tragedy in the Piccadilly Underground much that had been apparently ordinary and meaningless now became extraordinary and suggestive, even threatening. He wished he could laugh at a mental picture of the scene in his uncle's bedroom at Broadbridge Manor, but with Nosey Ruslin staring tight-lipped into vacancy it was impossible to see the humorous side of anything.

In silence they ascended to the second floor of the dilapidated block of flats and Bobbie, feeling that when the faded and paintless door opened to his companion's key he would be placed in a cell, had a fresh source of satisfaction in the recollection that he was now rich enough to forget that poverty of any sort existed.

“Nearly eight,” said Nosey, picking up a cheap clock and shaking it. “Have to meet Nancy at half-past. But we can do a lot in half an hour, Mr. Cheldon. Sit down.”

The voice was more conciliatory and the manner almost mild. Nosey wiped his forehead.

“'Fraid I was a bit off my head just now,” he said, apologetically, “but Wake has got me guessing and my nerves ain't improving.”

“Oh, that's all right, Mr. Ruslin,” said Bobbie, too relieved at the return to what he thought was the normal Nosey to remember his worries. “It's rotten to be mixed up in—in—”

Nosey Ruslin stared at him.

“We're both mixed up in it,” he said, grimly.

“Do you mean me?” Bobbie gasped.

“I mean you and me—that's the trouble.” Nosey was actually smiling.

His guest did not express his astonishment and dare not reveal the full extent of his resentment.

“Look here, Mr. Cheldon, if I've been a bit too ready with the rough stuff just try and forget it. The position's too serious for us to quarrel. I knew Wake would be with you when I called. He's not the only person who has watchers.” He chuckled without disturbing the gravity of his face. “But that was a jolt he gave us over the parcel,” he added, gloomily. “That's the worst of Wake, you never know exactly what he's up to. Keeps you guessing all the time by telling you everything or pretending to. He's famous for it. But I never thought he'd find out about the revolver.”

Bobbie's nervous horror was pitiful.

“Still, it's lucky he can't find out about the letter.”

“Did uncle write to you?” Bobbie whispered.

“You bet he did, and the sort of letter I'd have expected if I'd known him, I daresay.”

“Might I see it?” The voice was painful to hear. Nosey shook his head.

“It's not on the premises—'twould be too dangerous with that devil Wake on the prowl. I've hidden it along with one or two bits of paper from yourself. But Wake knows about the parcel and although I think I did a little expert lying he may worry us about it. Now, Mr. Cheldon, that's why I insisted on your coming here. We must have a plan, an agreement for the present and the future.”

“You must tell me more, Mr. Ruslin,” said his guest weakly. “Every time I try to think my brain seems to catch fire.”

“I know that feeling,” said Nosey sympathetically. “But we've got to defend ourselves, Mr. Cheldon, we've got to prepare for danger ahead. I'm not afraid on my own account—the busies will never hand me the bracelets—but there's yourself, a county gentleman with a large fortune. You don't want to be mixed up in no scandal.”

He might have been reading Bobbie's thoughts.

“But preparing costs money,” Nosey continued in a tone a shade lower, “and I want to be sure where I stand. I'm willing to foot the bill until you are handling the stuff.”

The stare from his companion was one of blank surprise, but there were no words of protest or of disagreement.

“So far I've done all the paying out.” The simian lips were twisting into all sorts of misshapen repulsiveness. “I didn't get that job done for nothing.” He appeared to be glancing at the beer-stained engraving over the dusty sideboard depicting the Sayers-Heenan fight, but the red eyes were on the alert to note and record every change of expression. Nosey had rehearsed in a crude way the scene which he was not acting now, but in despair had been compelled to trust to luck and whatever inspiration the encounter with Bobbie Cheldon might bring. If luck and inspiration failed then he would have to be the truculent bully and undisguised blackmailer as well as the coward prepared to sell his allies to ensure his own safety.

“What job?” The question uttered in a dry, hard whisper, took Nosey by surprise and deleted from his tongue the words which he had carefully and cunningly composed with the object of bringing the critical moment appreciably nearer.

“No need to tell
you
,” said Nosey cheerfully. “But you can take it from me as you did from Wake that if you'd waited for chance to get you ten thousand a year you'd have had to wait until you were an old man. See?” The soul as well as the body of Bobbie Cheldon sickened.

“Mind you, Mr. Cheldon,” said the human gorilla, smiling through the hideousness of his habitual expression, “I was careful to keep you out of it. You're a gentleman and you're delicate and refined. Nosey Ruslin is the other way about and isn't ashamed to say so. Earned my own living when I was ten and had a fortune before I was twenty-one. So when I began to think over the wickedness of your uncle keeping you and your lady mother—”

Bobbie sprang to his feet, and in his rage tried to grapple with the air.

“Don't bring her into it,” he shouted, in a paroxysm of helpless rage.

“Sit down,” said Nosey, pushing him into his chair. “I apologise. A gentleman can do no more. Well, as I was saying, when I decided that it was time a clever young gentleman such as you are had the money which ought to have been his years ago I did some quiet thinking. I had that letter from your uncle hinting that you'd been trying to make him acquainted with the business end of my revolver and there was the little note signed by yourself giving me permission to polish the old man off.” He rubbed his hands in company with a moment or two of happy reflection. “I'll not try and fool you, Mr. Cheldon, by saying that I didn't expect to scrape a few quids out of it for poor little me.” He grinned and as the grin faded into a leer he took a position astride of a rickety chair facing Bobbie's. “There's nothing more for me to say. You've inherited ten thousand a year, and I've old Wideawake on me hands.” He shrugged his shoulders.

Had Bobbie been older and wiser he might have been able to deal with a situation his imagination could never have prepared him for, but in his youthful ignorance and nervous condition when he did attempt speech his cheeks twitched and his lips moved noiselessly. He knew it was blackmail, and also knew that he must pay although no one could prove that he had murdered his uncle.

“Who—who did it?” he gasped, two lengthy minutes later.

Nosey Ruslin smiled with his teeth.

“Don't ask dangerous questions, Mr. Cheldon,” he advised him seriously. “Wake will be hanging round you again and if you knew you'd only give yourself away.”

“But you said I was here to prepare our defence against Wake?” he stammered.

“That's the little game. I was afraid you were under the impression that you'd nothing to do with my worries,” said Nosey pleasantly, “and I was getting nervous about Wake's visits to you. The old fox has a way of persuading those who don't know him as I do to talk about dangerous things.” He smiled again. “Wake wants to bring you on to his side.”

“That's impossible,” exclaimed Bobbie.

“It is, now that you know the exact position. Mr. Cheldon, I'll not keep any secrets from you. I know the man who murdered your uncle.” Bobbie started with the whole momentum of his body. “Because I wanted to do you a good turn I did all I could to make it impossible for Wake or any of his pals to charge you with complicity. My pal and me have shared all the risks, and so you have ten thousand a year.” The repetition of the income of the Cheldon estate which Bobbie himself had so often mentioned in the hearing of Nosey and Nancy had a special fascination for the ex-pugilist and he gave it the honour of a special intonation.

“You have ten thousand a year because your uncle was outed.” Nosey tapped him on the knee. “I look to you to help us to leave Wake guessing for the rest of his life and also—”

“Yes?” Bobbie croaked.

“Well, what about it? Do you suppose my pal risked his neck—is risking it now—for nothing? Haven't I had to pay him a bit on account?”

“How much?” The words cost the speaker a real effort.

“A hundred quid,” lied Nosey valiantly.

“I shall make it my business to pay you, Mr. Ruslin, the moment I am in possession of the estate,” said Bobbie importantly. “You'll not find the interest small either.”

There was something of his uncle in his tone and manner, but Bobbie and his companion were not to be bothered by comparisons.

“Thank you.” The heavy sarcasm was a threat. “I'm not annoyed, Mr. Cheldon, only amused.” The absence of amusement from the foxy eyes stamped the words with a meaning that even Bobbie in his most obtusive mood could not fail to appreciate at its full value.

“How much?” The curtness was unintentional, for Bobbie could not think or speak clearly in his chaotic condition.

“Ten thousand quid—one year's income—and cheap at the price.” Nosey, determined to prove how confident and self-controlled he was, went to the sideboard in search of a liquid, but the sideboard was bare inside and out.

“And if I refuse?”

“You won't, Mr. Cheldon,” said the pleasant voice from the other side of the tremendous head. “The master of Broadbridge Manor would rather pay fifty thousand quid than stand in the dock of the Old Bailey alongside of his friend, Nosey Ruslin, and—and the other chap.”

“So it's come to blackmail, has it?” Bobbie was slowly working himself up into a rage, although fully aware how useless rage would be.

“That's not a friendly remark, Mr. Cheldon. A few days ago you were an underpaid city clerk and Nancy was thinking of throwing you over. Now you're rich and you've a great future. There's no detective looking on you as the villain of the piece. You're Wake's blue-eyed boy even if he does bother you a bit, but he doesn't suspect you and never will unless—”

“Yes—unless?”

Nosey made a face.

“I was thinking of the revolver and the letter from your uncle. I've a copy of it here which you can have for keeps.” He took out his pocket-book and extracted a sheet of notepaper. “Never was much good at writing,” he explained as he handed it to Bobbie.

“
I am returning the revolver you lent my nephew and in doing so may I be permitted to point out that to entrust a deadly weapon to a young man on a visit to an uncle whose corpse is worth ten thousand a year to him is to subject him to severe temptation. He yielded to that temptation last night, but the Cheldon motto is ‘Courage and Loyalty', and I proved that I lived up to the first part at any rate
.

“
May I suggest that you look after your armoury yourself?
”

Bobbie read it aloud slowly, Nosey listening with an unctuous smile after the manner of an author conscious of the merits of his masterpiece.

“That's good enough, isn't it?” he asked gently.

“The fool!” he muttered, oblivious of time and place.

He started as a hand touched his back.

“We could talk a lot, couldn't we, but what would be the use? You can't afford to call me names, and it wouldn't be playing the game if you did. I always fought fairly when in the ring, and if I've got you ten thousand a year you ought to be grateful. Look on it as a bit of business and you'll feel happier. I'll keep you out of Wake's clutches. He was a bit sniffy about you, Mr. Cheldon, at the beginning, but I proved your alibi. But then they always suspect the chap who makes money out of a murder, and they're often right. Now be sensible and act sensibly. You're rich. Why? Well, because of a little arrangement by me. Supposing I hadn't done nothing about it? Your uncle would have lived another ten years at least. If it will suit your book better, say, five. Five tens come to fifty thousand quid, and all I want is ten thousand. Your pal Nosey has put fifty thousand, perhaps a hundred thousand in your pocket, and his fee is one tenth. I don't call that unreasonable.”