Sorry Youve Been Troubled

Chapter 1-2

'Straight poker,' he said. 'Five pound rises, no limit to betting, and a pound to play. O.K.?'

Everyone said O.K. They picked cards for deal. Starata drew an ace and dealt. Callaghan was on his left.

They all played. Callaghan put in his pound-note before he even looked at his cards. When he looked he was mildly surprised. He held a full house with Queens.

He bet five pounds. Preem and Lingley checked the first time round. Starata raised it to ten. Callaghan put it up to twenty. Preem and Lingley threw in their cards. Starata raised Callaghan to thirty. Callaghan made it forty. Starata saw him at forty. He had two pairs. Callaghan picked up the money.

'Nice work— if you can get it,' he said.

Preem's head was nodding a little. He said thickly:

'That damned whisky we had to-night wasn't so good. I believe they make the stuff themselves up in the bathroom at that cursed Anchor Club. I feel like hell.'

Starata smiled amiably. He said:

'You look like hell, Preem. But then you always do. You want to get wise to yourself. You've started slipping.'

Preem looked at Starata with narrowed eyes. He said:

'Oh yes? Well, look... you better have a look at yourself too. Let me tell you something... Willie Lagos is walking around talking a bit too much. He's not very happy. You want to know why?'

Starata folded his hands on the table before him. He was still smiling.

'You tell me why,' he said.

'O.K.,' said Preem. 'I'll tell you why. He's been sore at you ever since you took that girl off him. You know— the strawberry number. And why shouldn't he? Willie's got an idea you're too goddam fond of pinching other people's women.'

Starata said, quite pleasantly: 'Yes? Go on. You interest me, Johnnie.

Preem said: 'Don't worry, I'm going on. I got a bit of news for you. The Sphere & International don't like that claim of yours on the warehouse fire. They think it stinks.'

Starata said: 'This is getting very interesting. Tell me some more, Johnnie.'

Preem hiccoughed. He said:

'Willie Lagos and Callaghan were drinking highballs in the Silver Bar in Mayfair the day before yesterday.'

He stopped speaking as the door opened.

A man came in. He was short, thin, too well dressed. His black hair was sleeked down with some shiny hair compound, a cigarette was hanging from one corner of his mouth, a black soft hat was perched precariously over one eye. He stood in the doorway looking at the quartet. Callaghan put his hands on the table and tilted his chair back a little.

Starata said: 'Hallo, Leon, I'm glad to see you.'

The newcomer leaned up against the doorpost. He put his hands in his pockets. He looked at Starata with a peculiar smile playing about his lips. He said:

'Well, may I be sugared and iced, but I never expected to see Nick Starata playing cards with Mister Callaghan of Callaghan Investigations.'

There was a silence. It was broken by the noise of Starata gently drawing his breath through his teeth. Callaghan grinned at him.

'Too bad, isn't it, Nicky?' he said. 'Anyway, I told you my name wasn't Pelham.'

Starata said to Preem: 'Listen... did you bring him in on this party?'

Preem said: 'What the hell! I never saw him before to-night. I thought he was a pal of Lingley's.'

Callaghan said to Starata: 'The trouble with your friend Preem is he talks too much and thinks too little. That bit of information he gave me about Willie Lagos was just too sweet. I'll be able to go to work now.'

Starata smiled. He said: 'Will you...?'

Callaghan pushed back his chair, and in almost one movement kicked over the table; threw his chair at the electric standard. As the light went out, he swung round, hit Starata in the mouth with his left elbow. Leon's quiet voice came from the door. It said:

'All right, Nicky. I'm looking after the door. The bastard won't get out of here.'

Callaghan put his hand out. It found something soft. It was Preem's face. Callaghan hit it hard. Lingley's voice said:

'Where is that son of a b***h?'

Leon said casually from the doorway: 'Well, he's still here.'

Starata said coolly: 'Somebody strike a match.'

Behind Callaghan was the mantelpiece. He ran his hand along it until it met the clock. Callaghan took a careful aim at the doorway; he threw the clock. It was a lucky shot. It hit Leon in the stomach. He yelped, subsided on the floor.

Callaghan, moving round the left-hand side of the room along by the wall, got round to the doorway. He put his foot on Leon. As he did so someone charged at him. Callaghan thought that would be Lingley. Starata wouldn't be so excited. Callaghan went with the charge; he allowed himself to be forced backwards against the wall by the weight of Lingley's body. Then he brought his left knee up with a jerk into Lingley's abdomen. As Lingley went back, Callaghan hit him in the face.

He slipped quietly through the doorway. As he was closing the door Starata called out:

'Listen, Callaghan... don't get this wrong. We can square this, hey? And there'll be a nice piece of change in it for you. I...'

Callaghan closed the door. He felt for the key, turned it in the lock. He began to walk down the stairs.

At the end of Chapel Street, Callaghan turned into the telephone-box; called through to Nikolls. He told Nikolls not to worry about going to Chapel Street at four o'clock. Then he hung up. He came out of the box and began to walk in the direction of Berkeley Square.

THE CHINESE CLOCK on the bedroom mantelpiece struck four. Callaghan woke up, yawned, looked at the ceiling. His mouth was dry; his head ached. Through the window a gleam of cold March afternoon sunlight made a pattern on the carpet. He got up, sat on the edge of the bed running his hands through his thick black hair. He was thinking about Starata.

It looked as if the Starata case was in the bag. Callaghan thought that in the normal course of events Nicky Starata would clear out his safe deposit and make a getaway, but in these days of war there was no place to make a getaway to. It would be easy. A nice job, thought Callaghan. He made a mental note to ask the Sphere & International Insurance to increase his retainer.

He got up, began to walk towards the bathroom. On the way he stopped suddenly, turned off into the sitting-room, went to the corner cupboard, took out a bottle of Canadian Club, put the neck of the bottle into his mouth and took a long swig. He shuddered. He wondered if the man who invented the proverb of 'the hair of the dog that bit you' really knew what he was talking about.

The inter-communication telephone from the office downstairs rang. He took off the receiver. It was Effie Thompson. She said:

'Good-afternoon, Mr. Callaghan.'

He said: Is that all?'

'No,' said Effie, 'it isn't. I hope you didn't mind my saying "Good-afternoon." I rang through to tell you that Mr. Gringall's down there. He's just arrived. He says he'd like to see you personally.'

Callaghan said: 'I wonder why. Where is Mr. Gringall?'

'He's in the outer office,' said Effie. 'I'm talking from your office. Do you think it might have something to do with last night, Mr. Callaghan?'

Callaghan said: 'Why should he be concerned with last night?'

She said: 'I don't mean about the Starata business, Mr. Callaghan. Didn't Mr. Nikolls tell you about the other thing?'

Callaghan said: 'He hadn't a chance. I didn't see him. I rang him up and told him not to worry. What happened last night?'

'An Admiral Gardell came here last night. He spoke to Wilkie. He wanted to see you urgently; said it was a matter of life or death. Wilkie stalled him, but when the Admiral bothered some more he rang up Nikolls and told him.'

Callaghan said: 'I see.'

'Also,' Effie went on, 'this morning Wilkie brought me an envelope containing a note that the Admiral had left for you. Shall I send it up?'

'No,' said Callaghan, 'don't bother. Bring Mr. Gringall up and send up some tea.'

'Very good,' said Effie.

Callaghan hung up; went into the bathroom. He came out five minutes later wearing a pastel-grey crêpe-de-chine dressing-gown with black fleurs-de-lis.

Gringall was sitting in the big chair by the fire. He said:

'Hallo, Slim. How are you? That's a pretty good dressing-gown. Must have cost a lot of money. I suppose one of your women clients gave you that.'

Callaghan said: 'How did you know? But then you know everything, don't you?'

Gringall smiled.

'Just a little bit,' he said, 'not very much.'

Callaghan stood in front of the fire looking at Gringall. His hair was black and tousled; his face thin and long. His jaw was obvious but not too obvious. His shoulders were wide, tapering down to narrow flanks. He was five feet ten inches— compact— impatient-looking.

He said: 'Tell me why I am honoured by a visit from Chief Detective-Inspector Gringall, and would it be in order for me to tell you that your waistband's down by about four inches?'

'Whose waistband isn't?' said Gringall. 'This war will take more than four inches off me by the time it's through.' He smiled suddenly. 'You haven't been doing too badly for yourself lately, have you, Slim?'

Callaghan said: 'I don't know what you mean.'

'No?' said Gringall. 'What about those three or four nice little jobs you had from the Home Security Department?'

Callaghan raised his eyebrows.

'I see, so you were behind that, were you? Well, that's all right. Look at the good turn I did you over that Haragos case. But for me you'd still be scrubbing around in the undergrowth looking for somebody you'd never find.'

Gringall sighed. He said:

'I think you private detectives are just too wonderful.'

Callaghan grinned. He said:

'For once I agree with you.'

The door opened. Effie Thompson came in carrying the tea-tray. There was a chocolate cake on the tray.

Callaghan said: 'You see how we look after you. Even with rationing in the condition it is, Miss Thompson remembers you like chocolate cake, or maybe she's trying to get on the right side of you.'

Effie went out. She closed the door quietly behind her.

Gringall said: 'That's a pretty girl. She doesn't look too pleased about something, does she?'

'Right again,' said Callaghan, 'she isn't. She's annoyed with me. She gets that way occasionally.'

Gringall said: 'I don't wonder.' He scratched his nose. 'It must be tough working for you,' he said, 'especially for a girl like that who's crazy about you...'

'Nonsense,' said Callaghan. 'Where'd you get that idea?'

Gringall smiled.

'That Canadian bloodhound of yours,' he said. 'He told me. He said she had to be crazy about you, otherwise she wouldn't work here.'

Callaghan said: 'Effie's a very efficient secretary. She just happens to dislike me some of the time.'

Gringall said: 'You mean to tell me that women don't like you all the time?'

Callaghan went to the sideboard, helped himself to a cigarette. He said:

'Have you considered how boring life would be if women liked you all the time?' He grinned. 'But maybe you haven't been troubled a lot?' he said.

Gringall poured out the tea. He poured out a cup for Callaghan. He cut himself a large piece of chocolate cake. After a minute he said:

'I suppose you wouldn't have heard of an Admiral Gardell?'

Callaghan thought for a moment. Then he said:

'No, why should I?'

Gringall shrugged.

'He was murdered last night,' he said. 'Or rather early this morning. It must have been early this morning because he was here about two o'clock.'