Sinister Errand

1: The Heap of Feathers-2

The woman behind the bar said: "Yes, he might have been here then. I was upstairs. I wouldn't have seen him." She said to the white-faced young man: "Did he leave any message?"

He said: "I don't think so. He went off with Janine."

I moved over towards my effeminate young friend. I gave him a charming smile. I said: "You're being very helpful. I suppose you wouldn't know where he and Janine were going?"

He smiled cynically. He said: "Well, I could make a guess. I should think they were going to Janine's place."

I said: "I see. And would you know where Janine's place is?"

He smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile. He said: "I should think everybody knows that. Anyway, if you go straight up to the end of Mulbery Street and turn to the right you come to a place called Daisy Place. Go across it, and there's a little street on the other side— Verity Street." He simpered a little. "It's quite a nice street— most amusing— old houses and all that. Janine lives at No. 16, I think."

I said: "Thank you very much. Would you care for a drink?"

He said: "That's very kind of you. The only thing is I'm inclined to be expensive. I like brandy and soda."

I said: "Have a brandy and soda by all means. I'll have one myself."

I ordered two brandies and sodas. When he put his hand up on the bar to take the glass I noticed he was wearing a signet ring on the little finger of his left hand, but the ring was turned inwards so that one could only see the gold band. It was a flat band. There was a mark on it as if someone had tried to file it.

He said: "Well, cheerio! Thank you for the drink."

We drank the brandy. I said good-night and I went out.

The sun seemed to have disappeared. The atmosphere was rather depressing and grey. Walking along I wondered what the hell was the matter anyway. I seemed to be behaving like an old lady with the jitters.

I began to think about Sammy. A peculiar one that one. You were never absolutely certain where you were with Sammy. I don't mean that he was weak or fatuous or anything like that, but he had a way of flying off at a tangent. He used to say that there was method in his madness. Maybe there was, but in this particular case I thought he was rather giving me the run-around— and for what? He knew damned well what the Old Man had said, yet here he was playing around with this Janine piece— whoever she might be— amusing himself, while I didn't even know which way I was pointing. Or was he amusing himself?

I arrived at 16 Verity Street. It was a narrow street, old-fashioned and clean, and the houses were a good sixty or seventy years old. No. 16 had some flower boxes on the ground-floor window-sill. I went up the three stone steps and stood looking at the bell-pushes on the right hand side of the door. There were three— Ground, First and Second floors— and underneath each one in metal frame affixed to the wall was a visiting card. The middle card said: " 'Janine' 16 Verity Street." Just that— nothing else.

I punched the bell and waited. After a minute there was a click and the front door opened a bit. It had been opened from the first floor by one of those remote control switch things. I pushed open the door and went up the stairs. The stairs curved round to the right and on the first floor landing, leaning against the door-post of one of the two rooms was a woman.

What a piece! A hell of a piece, I'm telling you. Although she looked as if she didn't give a damn whether you thought so or not. I've never seen a woman look so bored in my life. But she'd got plenty of everything it takes and she was worth taking a long look at. Definitely a personality.

She was an ash-blonde— real, not a peroxide one— and she had violet eyes. Her hair was naturally waved and a little untidy. But it hung attractively over her shoulder tied with a ribbon. She was wearing a sapphire-blue Shantung silk housecoat that came down to the floor, with rose-coloured collar, cuffs and sash. The way she was leaning against the door-post caught the thin silk close against her thigh and outlined a shape that was very good. She had on rose-coloured velvet mules with very high heels and very sheer suntan silk stockings. Where the housecoat had opened a little I could see a vieux rose suspender.

I thought: Well... well... well... Sammy certainly does find 'em. He certainly does.

I said good-evening. I told her I was looking for a friend called Sammy Carew. I said I'd been told he was here.

She looked at me for a bit without saying anything. Her eyes were sombre. She looked as if something was getting her rather badly.

She said: "Was Sammy Carew a friend of yours?"

I nodded. "How do you mean— was?" I asked.

She pushed herself away from the doorpost. She pushed herself away from it with her shoulder and, as she turned one beautifully moulded leg came out of the housecoat. I've seen some very good legs in my time but this one had the best pair I've ever come across. Altogether she was a hell of a dish. I was beginning to get a little interested in her myself.

She said: "You'd better come in." She had a husky voice— a low and very soft sort of voice— and she spoke in a rather lazy manner that indicated that she didn't give a damn whether she said anything or whether you listened if she did.

She went into the room. I crossed the landing and went in after her. I stood in the doorway, with my soft hat in my hand, looking at her and the room.

The room was pretty good. It was large, very clean and well-dusted, and very nicely furnished. It was the sitting-room of a person of taste. The walls were primrose; there were one or two good prints and quite a lot of flowers. I wondered where she could get that quantity of flowers in July 1944, but after a second's consideration I came to the conclusion that some man was probably cashing in with them. After all, if a man is stuck on a woman he gets flowers somehow. And she was the sort of woman that ninety-nine men out of a hundred would be well and truly stuck on. The hundredth man would have to be blind or stupid.

She stood in the middle of the room looking at me. She was relaxed and poised but she looked faintly worried and fearfully bored with everything— including me.

She said: "If Sammy Carew was a good friend of yours this isn't going to sound so good to you." She looked as if she was about to yawn, and put her long fingers over her mouth. She was wearing a couple of diamond rings that had cost quite a lot of money. However, she decided not to yawn. Instead: "You'd better sit down, hadn't you?" she said. "If you want a cigarette, there's one in the box on the little table."

I said thank you and sat down by the little table. I took one of the cigarettes and lit it. It was a good Turkish cigarette— fat and expensive.

I waited. She stood quietly in the middle of the room, looking at me. She said: "You aren't very interested or curious, are you? You don't seem at all excited to know about Sammy Carew. Or don't you care?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I said: "I don't see what that's got to do with you, Janine. I'm just waiting to hear all about it. I'm a very patient type."

She said casually: "I didn't tell you you could call me Janine...."

I said: "I don't mind what I call you. But you've got Janine on the card by the door downstairs and if you don't want to be called that you ought to have your proper name on the card."

She didn't reply to that one. She moved, gracefully, to the settee on the other side of the room and sat down. When she sat down some more leg appeared. I realised that this wasn't done deliberately. She just didn't care if she showed some leg. I began to think that this Janine was wasting her time at 16 Verity Street. She could have made a million in pictures.

She got up, came over to the table, helped herself to a cigarette, lit it with a lighter produced from her housecoat pocket, went back to the settee and sat down again. This time she saw that she was showing some leg so she casually covered it with the housecoat.

She said: "Carew came here very early this morning— about four o'clock. I'm not certain of the time. He was here about an hour. Then he went off. Apparently when he left the house a War Reserve policeman saw him go. He went up the street, turned into Fells Street and then started to cross the Square. The policeman, who was at the top of the street by this time, could see him crossing the Square. Just as he was passing the place where some road repairs are being done, a flying bomb came over and dropped in the Square. The truck belonging to the road repair people was blown over and Carew was underneath. When the policeman got there he was dead. So the policeman came back here and told me about it. He thought I was a relative— or something like that."

I said: "So he was killed by the truck being blown on top of him?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows?" she asked. "The policeman said that he must have been dead before the truck hit him— the blast must have killed him."

I got up. I said: "Thanks a lot. I suppose he's in the local mortuary?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose so," she said.

I picked up my hat. I said: "I'm grateful to you for being so helpful. I suppose Sammy was a great friend of yours?"

She got up. She stood looking at me with half-closed eyes. She said: "Do you?"

I moved over to the door. "Thanks for the cigarette, Janine," I said. "I hope we meet again."

She was standing in the middle of the floor. The cigarette, held between the fingers of the left hand, that hung by her side, sent up a spiral of smoke.

She said slowly: "Well... if you want to I suppose you will."

I smiled at her. "You really think that?" I asked.

"Most people do what they want in the long run," she said. "People like you, I mean...."

I asked: "What do you mean by people like me?"

She made a movement with her hand. The smoke spiral from the cigarette was broken. She said: "Must we become involved in long discussions about things. I'm very tired. Good-bye."

I smiled at her again. I said good-bye and went down the stairs. I closed the front door carefully behind me and began to walk towards Fells Street.

I'd been right in my idea that things weren't so good.

When I got outside I looked at my watch. It was eight-thirty. I walked down Verity Street and into the Square I could see the place where the flying bomb had fallen. It was railed off and a repair section was at work. I walked over and asked one of the men where the nearest police station was. He told me and I went along there.