Death Knocks Three Times (12 page)

“If that’s the way you want it,” murmured he. “It’s quite simple. I need money.”

“That is hardly a development,” snapped the old gorgon.

“I need it very badly. In fact, Mr. Hammond will be out of pocket unless I can engineer a loan before midday tomorrow.”

“I assure you, Mr. Marlowe, you are wasting your time so far as I am concerned.”

“You are sure you are wise, Miss Bond?”

“If you have nothing else to say to me …”

“Come,” he urged her. “Be reasonable. You’re quite a person here, I can see that. At your age your position is probably the most important thing in your life. If I were to speak of all I know you might find that position seriously jeopardized.”

“If you suppose any one would listen to you …”

“Come, Miss Bond, you cannot have lived such a sheltered existence that you really believe what you say. You know perfectly well that if I give my version of what led up to poor Isabel’s death …”

“My sister was accidentally killed by falling from a balcony. The coroner found it was death by misadventure.”

“Ah, but it isn’t what coroners say that really matters, but what you can persuade people to believe. Suppose it came out that your sister and I were going to be married, and you intervened to prevent that marriage and that same night she had her fatal fall—

don’t you think there’d be a good deal of arithmetic being done all over Brakemouth?”

“No one who knows anything of your record could have anything but approbation for any action of mine that prevented such a step. Why, I have not even any proof that you were free to marry at the time.”

“That wasn’t the line you took then,” Marlowe reminded her. “And what if it came out that when your sister married, your income was halved? Mightn’t people begin to think it was cause and effect?”

She began to lose a little ground. “What is this, Mr. Marlowe? Blackmail? Or, rather, I should say, an attempt at blackmail?”

“There’s no need to use such terms,” he remonstrated. “I simply need a little financial assistance.”

“And if I refuse, as I certainly shall?”

“Then I’m afraid it will be very unpleasant for you. You might as well follow Isabel’s example and fall off a balcony. You see, your sister had a very confiding nature; she needed sympathy and affection, and if she couldn’t get these qualities at home, then she must search farther afield. I was very much in her confidence, so much so that she not only told me a great deal about her early life, she actually committed those facts to paper.” He drew a bundle of documents from his breastpocket, “These are only a few of the letters,” he said, “but they should be sufficient to convince you that you might be wise to accede to my original request.”

“And if I tell you I am not interested in the letters, Mr. Marlowe?”

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t believe you. Tell me, Miss Bond, do you ever see the Sunday Record?”

“I believe I have seen it lying about,” she acknowledged perfunctorily.

“Next time you see it just take a glance at it. That might help you to change your mind.”

“Even the Sunday Record can hardly be so impoverished for scandal that it will pay you for letters from a woman who has been dead nearly twelve months.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said Marlowe cheerfully. “They’d eat ‘em. Can’t you see the headlines? Echo of Seaside Mystery. Dead Woman’s Letters Reveal Spinster’s Secret Life.”

“You are very melodramatic,” said Miss Bond, scornfully. “Isabel had no secret life.”

“No one who reads these letters will believe that. She is very outspoken, and she desperately needed a confidante. She paints a haunting picture of her early days at home, of the lover you would not let her have, the truth about her father and that woman …”

Up came Clara Bond’s head with a jerk. “Isabel knew nothing. As to that, I mean …”

“He meant to marry her,” said Marlowe in a peculiar tone. He could have sworn the old woman’s face turned a shade paler. “You stopped that, too, didn’t you?” ‘

She said in a choked tone: “It was out of the question. It would have been indecent …”

“Anyhow, you stopped it. I fancy Isabel was more in the old gentleman’s confidence than you realized. Oh, don’t make any mistake about it. There’s a big public waiting for a story like this.”

Still she rallied. She hadn’t fought Bertha Williams and young Thomas and Isabel and Locket all these years without acquiring a stiff line of defense. I’ve fought before, she reminded herself, I can fight again.

Marlowe, in whom experience had bred a cruel knowledge of the weaknesses of women, was watching her intently. Now he perceived the first crack in her armor of resistance. She might put up a bold front, but she was afraid. This was the moment to push his advantage.

“Don’t you think perhaps you would be wiser to live on a rather smaller income and keep the good opinion of your neighbors?” he suggested. “You won’t be able to stay in Brakemouth once these letters have appeared. It won’t be nice, you know, being pointed at in the street, knowing people are nudging one anotlier when you pass, whispering, ‘That’s Miss Bond. You know. Her sister had that funny accident.’ From there it won’t be far from their wondering if perhaps it wasn’t an accident after all.”

“May I ask what you consider these letters should be worth to me?”

“That’s better.” He smiled at her. “Now you did me out of a very nice little income about a year ago. Don’t you think it would be fair if you made over sufficient capital to bring in approximately

that sum annually? I’m not, you note, asking for any compensation for the loss of a charming wife.”

For a moment even the indomitable old woman was winded.

“Are you out of your mind?” she gasped. “You cannot really suggest that I should sell out half my investments for your benefit?”

“Why not? A lot of men would have asked for more. You’ve had the double income for nearly a year; then there’s the price you got for the house. I suppose legally half that would have come to Isabel if we had been married. No, I can’t agree I’m being rapacious. I’m sure you’re an enemy of the present Government and approve of private enterprise. I owe it to myself to do the best I can in my own interest. You may not believe it, but I’m nearly sixty-one. Even the Labour Exchange doesn’t take any interest in me. It’s never been easy for a man of my age to get a job …”

“And then you would hardly know how to settle to work after so many years of living by your wits,” she flashed.

“You should be in the racket yourself,” he complimented her. “You know all the answers. Well, are you sure you don’t think my offer worthy of consideration?”

“Do you imagine a newspaper would give you anything like that sum?” she demanded.

“I dare say not, but to a newspaper it’s only a feature. To you it’s life itself, isn’t it?”

As he spoke, all the charm and kindliness left his face; now he looked wolfish, gaunt, every minute of his age. This was how some of the women he had betrayed had seen him, utterly without pity, without a shred of principle. They, poor fools, could starve, pitch themselves in the Thames, as one had done not so long ago, go out humbly seeking some poorly-paid job to keep body and soul together. This man would be capable of any infamy, of putting a bill of sale on the furniture when he went, so that the last of his dupes hadn’t even a bed to sleep on, capable of emptying her box of its last pitiful scraps of finery, robbing her of her rings and modest bracelets while she slept. The metamorphosis was terrifying; it made Clara realize that she was indeed fighting for her life, but she intended to sell it dearly. Everything courageous and ruthless in her rose to meet this disgraceful challenge. Time was now of the essence of the situation. Given time for reflection she would still find some way out of this impasse.

“I shall consult my solicitor,” she said. “I believe you can get a long term of imprisonment for demanding money with menaces.”

He shook his head. “I call your bluff. By the way, if you could make it convenient to give me a little on account …”

“Not a penny shall you have from me. I’ve no doubt you wheedled quite a respectable sum out of Isabel, poor deluded creature …”

“If I did, she had full value for the money.” He looked at her curiously. “Tell me this. Miss Bond. Have you ever in your life performed a spontaneous, generous action? Did you ever give a man even sixpence because you were sorry for him, and without making inquiries as to whether it was his own fault that he was down and out? Forget your sister for a moment, treat me as a fellow human being who’s down on his luck. Lend me a couple of pounds to see me through till mid-day tomorrow.”

“Lend you money?” She could scarcely believe this last example of the fellow’s insolence. “I would sooner throw it in the sea or give it to the first drunken beggar I met. In a civilized society a ruffian like you would be behind bars. You are a public danger. You’re like a leech sucking blood, but unfortunately you cannot be dislodged by a burning cigarette end or a lump of salt. But when the police know of the infamows bargain you have proposed …”

“What was that?” he murmured, but his face had colored deeply and she saw that he was shaken with anger. “Don’t forget you have no evidence that I proposed any sort of bargain, and I shall naturally deny it.”

“You expect people to believe you? You?”

“Are they more likely to believe a cranky old woman whose god is money? How many years is it since you last looked in a mirror, Miss Bond? You might have a shock if you saw how you appear to other people. No, don’t waste any more energy on me. You’ll need it all to cope with this situation. Remember, my offer holds until midday tomorrow. After that my terms go up each day. Don’t forget to mention that to your solicitor when you consult him.”

His arrogance aroused in her every atom of antagonism of which she was capable.

“Take your letters where you please, Mr. Marlowe. I am not interested, and I shall be surprised if any one else is. In any case I

propose to go to the police in the morning, about some anonymous letters I have received recently. You cannot help me there, I suppose, Mr, Marlowe? Ah well, I dare say the police will trace this rascal, and at the same time I will have a word with them about yourself. I fancy they may be very interested to know about your career and your manner of getting a living of recent years. Whatever you do, don’t destroy Isabel’s letters. I am sure the authorities will be interested in them if no one else is.”

He moved toward the door. “Your last word. Miss Bond?”

“It will not be my fault if it is not.” Suddenly anger flamed up in her. “I would sooner die than treat with you,” she cried.

That anger reassured him. She was frightened, all right.

“Perhaps you will, Clara Bond,” he said. “Perhaps you will.”

He swung round for a fine dashing exit, but this was spoiled by a quite insignificant plump little man who came hurrying in at that moment, wearing what Marlowe privately considered a rather awful black felt hat and a utility overcoat.

“Sorry, I’m sure,” he murmured, but John Sherren belied his appearance by saying: “If there’s any hanky-panky I shall remember those words. Aunt Clara, this chap …”

“One of poor Isabel’s pick-ups, down on his luck, as msual. We mustn’t delay you, Mr. Marlowe. John, remind me that in the morning I have to go to the police about some letters that might interest them.”

R
OGER MARLOWE strode through the hall defiantly humming a contemporary catchy tune.

“You can have her, I don’t want her,” he sang under his breath. The lift was just going up and he went up in it. He wanted to be alone to think for a minute. He hadn’t anticipated that the old woman would be an easy pigeon to pluck, but he hadn’t believed she would go to the police until he heard her speak to her nephew, Marlowe might bluff all he pleased, but it certainly wouldn’t suit his book to have his record raked up. As for Isabel’s letters—they were far more valuable as a weapon to extort cash out of Isabel’s sister than as copy for the press. Miss Bond might be a big noise in Brakemouth but in the world at large she was just another of these domineering old ladies who are the pest of hoteliers and shopkeepers. She hadn’t really much publicity value, and anyhow it was so long ago. Unless, of course—his eyes brightened—these letters could be linked up with a more recent scandal. If she committed suicide he’d be on toast. All the same, he didn’t want to find himself pilloried as the man who drove the old woman to her death. He cursed John Sherren for his untimely entrance.

Like his antagonist, he was accustomed to fighting a lone hand, and he didn’t give in easily. He had had his defeats, of course, and as one got older one’s attractions faded. Sometimes, catching sight of himself in the morning before he was armed for the day, he would be shocked to see that lined, haggard face, the pouches under the eyes, the tousled gray hair. An hour later, of course, it was dif-‘ ferent. He was quite unrecognizable: a spruce, hearty, pleasantly spoken fellow, looking not much over fifty. Oh, he had a few years left. The old tricks were still good enough, and you couldn’t afford to let yourself go. Age was a man’s chief enemy. He thought sometimes, when vitality was at a very low ebb, about fellows who fall in front of trains or out of windows; but he knew he’d never follow their example. He hadn’t the nerve. His kind of life bred an insolent defiance. Brakemouth was still full of elderly unaccompanied women, who’d be good for a loan, if nothing else. And there were scores of Brakemouths all around the coast. He got up and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked every hour of his age now. What he wanted was a double Scotch, but in a place like this you’d be expected to pay for your drinks as you had them. He went despairingly through the pockets of his coat, but it was no good. He hadn’t change for five shillings in the world. The only thing to do was stroll down and look around as if he were expecting a friend. He could tell the barman he’d wait. Perhaps someone would offer him one, and before it was his turn to pay for a round he could mutter something about the telephone. It was a very old gag but there weren’t any better ones.