The Good Old Stuff (22 page)

I didn’t
have much to say to him as we rode back to the Galle Face in the taxi. I was too busy with my own plans and problems.

We went up to my room, and I dug a bottle of brandy out of the suitcase. There were two glasses in the bathroom. I made two strong drinks and handed him one. I sat on the bed and he sat in the chair, his back to the windows, his elbows almost touching the high bureau.

“You’ve thought over what I said, Peter.”

“Yes, but I thought you wanted to stay around and prove that Christoff wasn’t to blame. I thought you wanted it to go on the records.”

“I did, but what are the odds? I’m more certain, yes, but what proof have I got? How do I know I’m going to get any more proof? How do I know I won’t be killed in the process myself? That crack O’Dell made about a Co-Prosperity Sphere sort of got me. I’m tangling with something big. It’s like an iceberg—I’ve only seen the little part that’s out of water.”

He sipped his drink and looked thoughtful. I marveled again at the long curled lashes. At last he said, “Maybe you’re right. At least I could carry on here, and once we break it up, I could arrange to have Christoff cleared officially. I’m sure we’ll break it up in time, whatever it is.”

“Let me show you something, Peter. It’s a letter that Dan’s wife got from the U.S. colonel out here. It’s what you’ve got to counteract.”

I got up and walked over to the bureau. He had to move his arm to give me room. I fumbled in the top drawer and cursed about not being able to find it. I looked in the bureau mirror and waited until I could see his head tilt back as he drained the last of the drink. I spun and chopped down hard with my right fist, swinging it like a hammer. It had to be good. It was. It hit him flush on the side of the jaw. My follow-through knocked the empty glass across the room. He was stunned but not completely out. I dropped my right fist and swung it up in an uppercut that straightened him out in the chair. He sagged back into it, completely limp.

I ran over to the door and locked it. Then I stripped the cover off my bed and took a sheet. I ripped it down the middle, the long way. Then I yanked him off the chair and tossed him on the floor, half in and half out of the bathroom. There was a transom over the high bathroom door. I tied one end of the half sheet firmly around his wrist and then lifted him up so that I could throw the other end over the transom. I caught it and pulled down with all my weight. It lifted him until his toes barely touched the floor. I knotted the sheet. Then I did the same with the other wrist. His head sagged forward.

Then I had to wait for him to regain consciousness. I had hit him a little harder than I had intended. I grew impatient. Finally I drew a glass of water and threw it into his face. He tried to lift his head. The second glass brought him around.

He stared at me, and then he craned his neck and looked up at the knots and the transom. He looked back at me, his eyes wide and startled. “Now look here, Garry, this better not be some kind of a joke.”

“It isn’t a joke. It’s the first smart thing I’ve done on this island.”

He smiled. He looked tender and forgiving. “I say, old man, this heat here is pretty grim. Now be a good chap and cut me down. This arrangement hurts my wrists. We’ll go see a doctor, right now.”

“You’re clever, Kaymark, but I can add two and two. You’ve made a few slips, you know.”

“Come on now, this is silly. Cut me down and I’ll forgive you the whole thing.”

“Wait a minute, Peter. You like mirrors, so you can watch that pretty face of yours. I think you ought to get a look at it now.”

I grabbed the heavy bureau and twisted it around so that it stood about eight feet away from him. I tilted the mirror until it was at the right angle. Then I walked forward and slugged him. I hit him high on the cheekbone, turning my fist as it hit so that I could be certain of splitting the skin.

Then I stepped back and waved at the mirror. “Take a look, Pretty Boy.”

His eyes widened and then narrowed. “That was cheap, Garry.”

“Sure! Cut-rate Garry. Cheap and practical. The working man’s thug. Now comes a little something that I happened to think of back in the January Club. I tell you this little something and, if you act dumb about it, I tap you again, in a new spot. Then I tell you something else. You understand?”

“I understand what you mean, but it’s senseless!”

“Maybe to you. You haven’t heard all. I’ll do work on that pretty face that no plastic surgery’ll ever fix. I’ll tell you when I come to the last point. If you don’t start talking then, I put my heart into one dilly that ought to spread your nose wide enough to touch the doorframes. Okay?”

“Please cut me down.” His composure was gone. His voice was getting high and thin. I knew that it wasn’t helping him any to be able to see the quick swelling of the spot on the cheek where I had nailed him.

“Now for point number one. Remember when I told you that I thought Constance had been drowned by someone? Your normal reaction would have been to go back out and check the body again to look for any signs of violence. You didn’t.”

“That’s absurd. I’d already checked the body.”

“But you claimed that you checked it thinking that it was an accidental drowning. Where’d you like the next one, sonny?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. It made me feel faintly sick to hit a man who couldn’t hit back, but it had to be done. I swung hard and hit the other cheek. I made a better cut across the cheekbone. It began to bleed immediately. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but the sheets held his upper arms too tightly against his ears.

“Point number two is minor. If you don’t work with the police, how did you know Conny had drowned? Who’d inform you? Why would you be out there if swimming isn’t recommended this time of year? You popped up too quick. Ready to talk a little?”

“This is mad, Garry. Stop it now before you go too far.”

I had to mark him up badly and save the delicate nose for last. I planted a short choppy right on the corner of his mouth. It smacked hard enough to swing him back a little. He shut his eyes and groaned.

“The next pernt, dearie, is the charming way you decided that all my plans concerning the January Club were no good. Even I could see that the smart thing to do would be to gather up all those jokers and sweat something out of them.”

“But you can’t handle these people that way. They never talk. Damn you, stop all this, you’re cutting me.”

“Sure, I’m cutting you. And sure it’s a bloody shame it is, me fine bhoy.”

I slammed another one into his mouth. I felt teeth give under my knuckles and the blood spurted across the back of my hand. I saw him glance beyond me into the mirror. He was twisted around the eyes like a small boy trying not to cry.

“The next point, Peter. Who knew about my bribing the boy at the door? Only you. Certainly that boy looked too smart to let anybody else know. And he got it the same night. Very very peculiar.”

“Wait!” he screamed. “They must have found out some other way. They had to find out some other way.”

I ignored him. It made me ill, but it had to be done. I hit him hard over the right eye, hard enough to split the cartilage.
I had to plan on his being too inexperienced to know that the marks I was making would be gone in a few months, leaving possibly a few tiny white scars.

“Another point. I don’t think that the American consulate employs any local help until their honesty and loyalty has been pretty well checked. O’Dell said that an employee of the consulate tipped him off about my note. Nuts! I told you about it, and you told O’Dell. Talking yet?”

He surprised me. He pulled himself up a little straighter and looked squarely into my eyes. His face was as firm as it could be in its mangled condition. A moment before I had thought he was going to crack. I leaned on the next one a little more. The meaty smack of my fist against his face was loud in the room. It jolted his head back. When he straightened up, the other eyebrow was streaming.

“Another little fact. I was watching O’Dell. He wasn’t going to try anything. He was completely relaxed. You gave it to him because he was going to say too much. He never stood a chance. Cold-blooded murder, and not the first one.”

His eyes widened as I pulled my fist back. He was too busy being brave to do any talking. I grinned as I let it go. I smacked it into the least damaged portion of his mouth.

“Another point. You didn’t want me to talk to the police. That Saxon looks smart. Maybe, if he got enough dope, he might see through you.”

Again on the mouth. He started to curse me. He cursed through swelling battered lips that distorted his words. I stood back and let him finish. His voice got hoarse and indistinct and finally faded away completely. The blood was dripping onto his tunic.

“Also, chum, when I brought up the point of my leaving this place and going back to the States, you didn’t do much discouraging. You wanted me to go. You put up no argument at all. Just gave me a song and dance about cleaning it up later. And look, I have one more point coming up, a conclusive point, old boy. We are now ready for the master stroke, the slam on the schnoz. Take a peek in the mirror. Take a look at that nose.”

He looked. The pointed delicate nose stood out in the midst
of the carnage, shining like that good deed in a naughty world. I saw his face quiver as he looked and realized what would happen when I hit it. He was trying to brace himself.

I needed more psychology. I didn’t have any conclusive point. I’d made my last point. So I smacked my lips loudly and wound up like a bush league pitcher. “You don’t know how much I’m enjoying this, Pete. Guess I’m a sadist. Maybe I better take a couple of swings at it to make sure I get it hammered down nice and flat.”

That got him. He came apart at the seams. Every ounce of guts ran out of him and he sobbed as he talked. “No, Garry! No! I’ll tell you about it. All of it. Cut me down.”

“Not till you get through talking. I’m aching for a shot at that nose.”

“Van Hosen. He’s in charge. Subversive group. Money from Japs in Java. Gold and jewels they took from the Dutch. War’s over, but Van Hosen ordered to establish Jap-type sphere of influence down here. I’ve been working for him for three years. I’m perfect cover for them. Can direct suspicion away from them. Van Hosen in charge. O’Dell used to be second, but he’s resented Van Hosen for a long time. I had replaced O’Dell. O’Dell was the one who gave instructions to kill Christoff. Christoff stumbled on card code by accident one night. He came to British headquarters to report it as something suspicious. By luck, he came to me. The January Club has been the base.”

“How about that boat ride. Quick!”

“I asked Christoff to work with our headquarters in trapping these people. O’Dell’s orders. Introduced him to Conny and O’Dell and told him later that they were suspected agents. Told him that we had information that they wanted to get over to India. Asked him to invite them out on the boat and pretend to be drunk and see if they’d ask him to take them across to India. Short trip. Told him that I’d give him a letter later that would cover him in case of any criticism. I told him not to tell anyone else of the plan. He did as I asked him, and at the first opportunity, O’Dell shoved him over the side.”

“Why’d you shoot O’Dell?”

“Orders. I reported to Van Hosen that you couldn’t be purchased
or intimidated. You blocked us when you sent the letter to the consulate. If you hadn’t done that, you’d be dead now. O’Dell thought he could torture you to write a letter to get the sealed note back. I knew you’d never write such a letter. Van Hosen told O’Dell not to chance it. O’Dell disobeyed orders, and I had to cover it all up. I thought I had.”

“Why is this organization so ruthless, anyway?”

“Thousands of weapons and hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition have been stolen and hidden in the hills. We will lead the revolt of the Ceylonese against England. We were to get millions, and Van Hosen was going to get us estates in the interior of Java after it was over.”

“Why was the doorboy killed? Did he know anything?”

“Not a thing. He was killed to discourage you from trying any of the others.”

“Who killed him?”

“Wend. That’s his job.”

“Who killed Constance?”

“Wend again. Sent her a message to swim out to his small boat early in the morning. She did, and she was held under long enough to drown her without leaving a mark.”

“Was it necessary?”

“Yes. She was weak. She was a danger, particularly with you around. You frightened her. You sent her a note somehow, and she thought it was from Van Hosen. She didn’t know his writing.”

“Where does this Van Hosen live?”

“Right here. Two floors above you.”

“How did you get in on this?”

“I was in the Shanghai Police Department before the war. I was the only boy taken on locally. The rest were out from England. Boys of good family. I’m a quarter Japanese. I never let them know. My grandfather was in the Japanese army. So was my mother’s father. I was loyal until Van Hosen came here. He had the information about me. I realized that if my superiors ever found out, I’d be through. Why should I have loyalty for a country that would throw me out for an accident of blood? Do I look like a Japanese?”

His voice was proud. He forgot for a moment and glanced
at the mirror. He groaned and hung his head. “Cut me down,” he said weakly.

“Not right now, Kaymark. I leave you right here while I go and get your colonel. Rith-Lee, wasn’t it? I’ll bring him along, and you can tell all this to him.”

I looked back at him just as I closed the door. He was too tired to continue bracing his toes against the floor. He slumped and hung with his entire weight on his wrists, his chin hanging against his chest. His blond hair was mussed and rumpled.

British Intelligence was located in a high gray bungalow set back behind a lawn banked with flowers. The creaking taxi took me up the semicircular drive and stopped in front of steep steps. I told the driver to wait for me in the small parking lot adjoining the building.

There is a character in British newspapers called Colonel Blimp. He’s a round man, a big man, with a bold bald head and a gray mustache which is one part grandeur and one part pathos. He wears shooting clothes and stout shorts, with a feather in the side of his gray wool socks. He blusters and belches and wheezes. He’s supposed to typify the “old boys.”