Again I shook my head. "No, what are they? Part of Jacobi's loot?"

He looked sharply at me. "What makes you think that?"

"I still have my Ouija board," I said, smiling. "You'd be surprised at the surprises it gives me."

"They're not part of Jacobi's loot," he returned, fixing me with a hard look. "They came to me anonymously through the post this morning. Did you send them?"

"Me?" I repeated, blank. "My dear Corridan, as much as I like you, I think I should be able to resist sending you four diamond rings."

"You'd better cut out this fooling," Corridan said, his face growing red. "I have an idea these rings came from you."

"Quite, quite wrong. What gives you that idea?"

"It won't be difficult to trace them to you," he went on, ignoring my question. "The box and wrapping will tell me what I want to know."

"If you ask me," I said, beginning to get worried, "some lag stole those rings, had a change of heart, and sent them to you to return to their rightful owner."

"I thought so until we checked the rings," Corridan returned. "But we have no record of them being stolen. Try another yarn, and make it a better one."

"I must say you're damned unpleasant this morning," I said.

"Suppose you try. Why should I send you diamond rings? Tell me that."

"You might have stuck your nose into something that doesn't concern you, found the rings, and taken them, thinking they were part of Jacobi's loot. You had no means of checking them, so you sent them to me, knowing I'd recognize them if they belonged to Allenby. Well, they don't. I'm now going to look for the original owner, and if I find him, I'm going to persuade him to prosecute the thief. Maybe he knows who the thief is, and if he turns out to be you, my friend, I'll do my best to get you a stretch." He turned on his heel and stamped out.

I drank my whisky at a gulp, blotted my brow. And I thought Corridan didn't know his business! If Bradley talked it looked as if I was going to be in a nice jam. The first thing to do was to warn Crystal to be prepared when Corridan produced the box. Since it was her box, he might easily shake her if she wasn't forewarned. I called her number, explained what had happened.

"He's on his way right over," I said. "And he'll spring that box on you. Look out for it."

"Leave him to me, precious," Crystal said. "All my life I've wanted to be grilled by the police. I'll handle him."

"Well, don't be too sure of yourself," I warned her. "That guy's nobody's fool."

"Nor am I," she returned, "only over you. Did you enjoy yourself last night?" she added coyly.

"Enjoy is an understatement," I returned, grinning. "It was an experience that's marked me for life. I'll be back for an encore in a little while."

I hung up, lit a cigarette, brooded. I'd have to watch my step now.

Corridan was after my blood, and if he couldn't hang a murder rap on me, he might easily get me a stretch in jail.

I began to pace up and down. A gentle tap sounded on the door. I crossed the room, opened up, gaped.

Julius Cole stood in the doorway, his eyebrows raised, his head on one side.

"Hello, baby," he said, moving into the room. "I want to talk to you."

chapter twenty-one.

A waiter passed, pushing a table on wheels before him. The table was set for someone's belated breakfast: a simple meal of coffee and rolls. He eyed Julius Cole; I noted his look of snobbish contempt. He went on, disappeared around the bend in the corridor, but Julius Cole didn't disappear. He sauntered into my room, smiling his secret smile, wagging his head, very sure of himself.

"Nice to see you again, baby," he said.

I let him in because I was too surprised to exert the effort to keep him out. Somewhere in my sub-conscious mind an alarm bell was ringing, warning me that trouble was on the way.

"What do you want?" I asked, leaning against the door.

Julius Cole looked around the room, peered out of the window.

"How nice," he said, his hands in his baggy trouser pockets. The grey suit he wore was shiny at the elbows, even on the back of the coat he had managed to collect grease spots. His bottle-green shirt was frayed at the cuffs; his white tie was grubby. "I've often wanted to see the Savoy from the inside. I had no idea they did you as well as this. The view alone must be worth the money." He gave me an arch look. "What do they charge for a room like this?"

"Suppose you tell me what you want," I said. "And then I'll call Corridan. He wants to see you."

He sat on the window seat, raised his eyebrows.

"I know," he said. "But you won't call Corridan."

I wondered if it might be a sound idea to hit him in the left eye, but resisted the temptation. I sat down.

"Go ahead," I said. "Something's crawling about in the thing you call your mind. What is it?"

He took a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one.

Smoke drifted down his narrow nostrils.

"I want to borrow a little money," he said.

"I won't stop you," I returned briefly, "but you're in the wrong room. Try the desk. They might trust you. I don't."

He giggled. "I don't suppose you'd think it to look at me, baby," he said softly, "but one of my side-lines is blackmail. I'm here to blackmail you." He giggled again.

"What makes you think I'd be a good subject to blackmail?" I asked, suddenly wary.

"No one's a good subject to blackmail," he returned, pouting.

"Sometimes I wonder if the game is worth the risk." He fingered his tie with slender, grubby fingers. His finger-nails were black crescents. "It's a big risk, you know. I have to be very careful how I select my victim. Even then I have made mistakes."

"Chalk this up as your biggest mistake yet," I said grimly. "I don't believe in blackmail; never did."

He stroked his clipped hair, smiled. "But then no one ever does, baby," he pointed out. "It depends entirely on the force of circumstances. In your case, I don't see how you can help yourself."

"By ramming my foot into your fat carcass," I said, eyeing him with distaste.

He flicked ash on to the carpet, shook his head. "So many people have wanted to do that. I've always taken care to convince them it wouldn't pay."

"Tell me," I said.

"I heard what you and Corridan said to each other," he said, giggled. "I was listening outside the door. I could get you hanged. That's not bad, is it?"

"I don't think you could," l said, shaken.

"Don't be obstinate, baby," he pleaded. "I wouldn't risk coming to London, coming here, unless I was sure it'd pay dividends. It was my luck that I heard what Corridan said. He wants me and he suspects I saw what happened in Madge Kennitt's flat. Well, I wouldn't disappoint him. I'd tell him."

"You saw nothing," I said.

"I know, but he doesn't know. I'll tell him you were in love with Netta. That Madge told you Netta and Peter French murdered Anne. You didn't want Madge to tell the police, so you tried to bribe her. She wouldn't play, and you lost your head and killed her. I saw you do it."

I drummed with my fingers on the chair arm. "You didn't, Cole," I said. "And you know it."

He nodded. "Of course I didn't, but that doesn't matter. Corridan expects me to say something like that and I will if you force me to."

"They'll want to know why you didn't tell them before," I said.

"Of course, I shall get into trouble, but then I don't anticipate it'll come to that. I was also watching you when you went to Selma Jacobi's flat. I saw Littlejohns enter after you had arrived, but I didn't see him come out."

"You get around, don't you?" I said.

"I've never even seen Selma's place, but I can tell Corridan that, can't I? He wants to get someone for these murders, and he'll jump at my evidence."

I knew Corridan would.

There was a long pause, then I said, "Corridan wouldn't be so pleased to learn you made a monkey out of him when you identified Anne as Netta. He'd give you a stretch for that."

Cole smirked. "Yes, baby," he said; "I've taken that into account too. But they'd stretch your neck, so I'm not really anticipating trouble. I don't think I shall have to go to Corridan because you'll pay me to keep quiet."

I lit a cigarette, smoked for a moment, thinking.

"You see, there's Netta to be considered too," Cole said in his soft, lisping voice. "She'll get into trouble too. Corridan will bring a murder charge against her. He's a hard man." He removed a hair from his coat and put it on the window seat with exaggerated care. "You must admit I have a strong hand. But you needn't worry. I'm not asking for much. I'm always modest in my demands. What do you say to a single payment of five hundred pounds? That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"But you'll be back in a week or so for more. I know the kind of louse you are."

He shook his head. "Don't call me names, baby. It's not kind. I don't do business that way. Give me five hundred pounds, and you're free to leave the country as soon as you like. Five hundred pounds would keep me going for a long time. I'm not extravagant, baby. I have simple tastes."

"I'd like a little time to think this over," I said. "Suppose you come back this afternoon?"

"What's there to think about?" he asked, wagging his head from side to side.

"It's just that I have to get used to the idea of being blackmailed," I returned, wanting to sink my fist in his fat, flabby face. "I also want to think of a way to get out of this. Right now, I don't see a way."

Cole giggled. "There isn't one, baby," he said. "Corridan would love to get his hooks into you. Besides, what's five hundred pounds to you? It's nothing." His grey-green eyes wandered around the room. "You're used to the good things of life. You wouldn't like to spend weeks in a cell. That's what it'd mean, even if they didn't prove you guilty: Weeks in a cell."

"You're quite a salesman," I said, getting to my feet. "Come back at three-thirty this afternoon. I'll either tell you to go to hell or I'll have the dough for you."

Cole shifted his fat carcass out of my reach. "All right, baby," he said, watching me. "Have the money in pound notes." He looked once more around the room, wagged his head. "It's nice. I might even book a room here. It'd make a change after that beastly flat of mine."

"I shouldn't," I said. "Not in that suit, anyway. They're fussy here."

A faint flush stained his pasty face. "That's not kind, baby," he said.

I watched him go, the frame and build of a truck-driver, sauntering along softly, insolently, like a dancer.

When he had rounded the bend in the corridor, I returned to my room, poured out a stiff shot of whisky, sat down by the window.

Things were breaking a little too fast for me. I was being crowded. If I was going to solve this puzzle outside a cell, I'd have to move fast.

I thought for a few seconds, finished my drink, decided I'd have to see Netta. I jumped up, grabbed my hat, made for the door.

The telephone rang.

I hesitated, picked up the receiver.

"Harmas?"

I recognized Bradley's voice, wondered what he wanted.

"How are your front teeth, Bradley?" I asked. "I'm still undertaking painful extractions. If you have any left, let me know. I'll fix it for you."

I expected him to blow his top, but he didn't. He sounded almost mild.

"All right, Harmas," he said. "Never mind that stuff. We're quits now. I gave you a bad time, you gave me one. Let's forget it." I could scarcely believe my ears.

"So what," I asked.

"But I want my rings back. Harmas. They're worth two thousand pounds. Maybe you did take them for a joke. I'm not saying you stole them, but I want them back."

That was reasonable enough, I thought, but how was I going to give them back?

"Corridan's got them," I said. "You'd better ask him for them."

"I'm not interested in who's got them," he snapped. "I'm only interested in getting them back. You took them. You return them."

I wondered if Corridan would part, doubted it. I began to sweat.

"But I can't get them back without being arrested," I returned.

"Suppose you ring Corridan, tell him I took them for a joke, and ask him to return them to you. He'll try to persuade you to file a charge against me, but you needn't do that. That's the only way to get 'em back."

"If you don't deliver those rings by four o'clock this afternoon, I'll file a charge against you and I'll see it damn well sticks," Bradley snarled, hung up.

I brooded for a moment, rang Whitehall 1212. Someone told me Corridan was out of town, wouldn't be back until late. I thanked him, put the receiver on its cradle, scowled.

"Oh, the hell with it," I said.