I hurried to the elevator, rode down to the ground level, took a taxi to Cromwell Road.

I entered Mrs. Crockett's house, mounted the stairs to the first floor, stood for a moment listening. I heard nothing to alarm me, crossed to Madge Kennitt's door, rapped.

I called, "This is Steve, honey."

The door opened immediately. Netta stared at me, her eyes opening wide. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Julius Cole watching me. He wasn't. I stepped into the room, closed the door.

Netta was wearing a suit of almost transparent pyjamas. She looked cute, and if I hadn't so much on my mind she'd have given me a buzz. As it was I said sharply, "Put on some camouflage, kid. For interesting places a tourist map has nothing on you."

"What's the matter?" she asked, grabbing a silk wrap, putting it on. "Why have you come? Is something wrong?"

"Plenty," I said, sitting on the arm of a chair. "Things are moving. They're moving too damn fast for me, and I thought I'd better have a word with you."

She sat down on the chaise-longue. I thought of Madge Kennitt and the way she had looked, lying there with her throat cut.

"Don't sit there," I said sharply. "That's where she was found."

"Pull yourself together, Steve," Netta said, not moving. Her eves had hardened, were watchful. "You're not losing your nerve, are you?"

"Hell, no," I said. "Okay, sit there if you want to." I stared at her for a moment. "There's nothing wrong with your nerve, is there, Netta?"

She shook her head. "Not so long as you're with me. What's wrong, Steve?"

I told her how Corridan and Cole had visited me and what they had said. I told her about Bradley's phone call, too.

She listened without interrupting.

"Well, that's the set-up," I concluded. "How do you like it?"

"There's only one way out of this," she said, after a moment's thought. "We've both got to get out of the country. Even if they don't pin the murders on to you, you'll be in jail for weeks. Then what shall I do?"

"Yeah, I've thought of that," I said. "But if I run away I'm telling Corridan I'm guilty."

She jumped to her feet, ran over to me.

"Steve! Can't you see? You've got to get out while the going's good. You can write to Corridan when you get to America. You can tell him the whole story; but if you wait now, we'll never get away. French will catch up with me. You've got to save me and yourself."

I put my hand on her hip. Under the thin silk it felt nice. I remembered our more intimate days, patted her flank.

"All right," I said. "We'll get out while the going's good, and I'll give Corridan the works from a safe distance. Now, I suppose I'd better try to fix a plane."

"Let's go tonight," Netta said, gripping my arm. "Do you think we could get off tonight?"

"If we don't, we'll never get off," I returned. "Once they know I'm on the run, they'll watch every airport." I pulled her a little closer to me. "Bradley worries me. I might be able to handle Cole, but Bradley has a real grievance. Where did you get those rings from, Netta?"

"I didn't give him the rings."

"He said you did. He said he bought them off you for three hundred pounds."

She shook her head. "Of course not. I've told you what happened. I went to him, told him the truth, asked him for some money. He gave me two hundred pounds. He told you that yarn about the rings to shield me. I remember he always had a lot of jewellery in his office."

I snapped my fingers. "My God! I've been a sucker. I should have guessed he was lying. What a mug I was to have taken the rings. He can get me three months for that. It's robbery with violence."

"But he won't get you three months because you won't be here,"

Netta said. "How soon can you fix that plane?"

"Right now," I said, going over to the telephone. I dialled a number, waited. "Is that you, Bix?" I asked, when a man's voice came on the line.

The voice said, "Sure!"

"This is Steve Harmas. I'm coming to see you. This is important. When's your next trip?"

"Why, hello, Steve," he said. "Glad to hear from you again. What's the excitement?"

"I'll tell you when we meet. When's your next trip?"

"Twenty-two-thirty hours tonight," he returned. "Want to come with me."

"You bet I want to come," I said. "I'll be right over." I hung up, turned.

"Cross your fingers, kid," I said. "Maybe I'll be able to persuade him to take us. Get packed, and be ready for me at nine o'clock."

She grabbed hold of me. "You're wonderful, Steve," she cried, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Sure, I'm wonderful," I said, feeling like a heel, "but save the celebration until we're over the Atlantic."

I let her kiss me, but I didn't kiss her in return. It'd have been too much like the touch of Judas.

chapter twenty-two.

By three-twenty I had completed my arrangements for the evening, and had returned to my room at the Savoy to await Julius Cole.

Since leaving Netta, I had seen Harry Bix, explained what I wanted him to do. Intrigued by the story I had to tell, he had immediately agreed to co-operate. I had then taken a taxi to the offices of the Morning Mail, and had spent an hour with Fred Ullman. Acting on the suggestions I had made the night before, Ullman had been working like a beaver, and had collected a mass of information which had to be acted upon promptly.

Corridan was down at Lakeham, and, although I made efforts to get into touch with him, was temporarily out of the picture. I knew he'd return by evening, but by then, I had to complete my case or fail altogether. In a way I was glad he wasn't around. His absence gave me a clear field and I took every advantage of it. When he did get back, he would find I had solved the Allenby case, and he was going to get the shock of his life.

But in the meantime, I had to have the cooperation of the police.

During my previous stay in London, I had been friendly with Detective-Inspector O'Malley of Bow Street Police Station. Corridan had introduced us, and O'Malley had been delighted to show me the workings of the magistrate's court. I decided I'd enlist his aid, and called on him. When I explained the reason of r n' call, produced my evidence, he had insisted on taking me to meet Corridan's chief at Scotland Yard. It was decided that immediate action should be taken.

Now back in my room at the Savoy, I relaxed, confident that if my plans worked out the way I hoped, by nightfall the Allenby case and the murders of Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns would be solved.

I had scarcely time to run through my plans in my mind to be sure that nothing had been overlooked before a tap sounded on my door which told me Julius Cole had arrived.

I levered myself out of my chair, opened the door.

There he was, eyeing me expectantly, waggling his head. He had smartened himself up. Some of the grease stains had disappeared from his coat; he had changed the grubby white tie to a less grubby yellow one. In his buttonhole was a faded sprig of lilies of the valley.

"Hello, baby," he said. "I'm not too early, am I?"

"Come in," I said, holding open the door.

He sauntered in, looked around the room.

"You know, I like it," he said. "The more I see it, the better it looks." He eyed me hopefully. "Have you the money, baby?"

"Sure. It's right there in that desk."

He wasn't able to control his excitement, although he made an effort to do so. His face brightened, his eyes gleamed, he giggled.

"Five hundred pounds!" he exclaimed, rubbing his big, grubby hands together. "I can scarcely believe it."

"Sit down, Fatso," I said, closing the door. "You haven't got it yet, so don't get steamed up."

His smile slipped, but he jerked it up with an effort, eyed me cautiously.

"But you've made up your mind, baby?" he asked. "You're going to be sensible?"

"How do I know that after you've got the money you won't come back for more?" I asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Please don't talk like that," he said, giving me an arch look. "I assure you I don't do business that way. I like to think I'm an honest blackmailer. It may sound absurd to you, but I have my principles. I make a fair price, and I stick to it."

"I wouldn't trust you farther than I could throw you," I said. "Sit down. I want to talk to you."

He hesitated, then lowered his great flabby body into the armchair.

"I wish you wouldn't be so suspicious, baby," he complained, pouting. "My terms are straightforward. You give me five hundred pounds, I keep quiet; you leave the country. That's simple enough, isn't it? I can't do you any harm if you're not here, can I?"

"I haven't gone yet." I said, "There's nothing to stop you from double-crossing me while I'm waiting to leave, is there?"

"But I wouldn't do that," he protested. "It's not in my nature to do mean things."

"Remind me to cry over that lovely sentiment sometime," I said.

"Suppose Corridan makes things hot for you? How do I know you won't tell him it wasn't Netta but her sister who died?"

"Don't be silly, baby," he said. "If I told Corridan that, I'd get into trouble, wouldn't I?"

"It was her sister who died, wasn't it?"

He blinked. "Of course."

"How do you know? Have you ever seen her sister?"

"Of course," he repeated, picked his nose, stared at me thoughtfully.

"Why did you say it was Netta?"

"I don't think we have to go into that, baby," he said, shifting uneasily. "I had my reasons."

"How much is Peter French paying you to keep quiet?" I shot at him.

For a moment he looked startled, then he recovered himself, giggled.

"There's not much you miss," he said. "I can't tell you that. It'd be a breach of confidence."

"All right," I said, shrugging. "Let's get down to business. You're demanding five hundred pounds from me or you'll give Corridan false evidence that will incriminate me with two murders. That is the position, isn't it?"

"That's the idea," he said, smirking. "I'm afraid I couldn't put that in writing. But between you and me that's the general idea, baby."

I nodded, satisfied.

"You can have your money," I said, "and God help you, Fatso, if you try to double-cross me. I'll come after you, and I'll pound you to a jelly."

"You have my word," he said with a pathetic attempt at dignity.

"That should be enough. You're an American, of course, so you can't be expected to appreciate that an Englishman's word is his bond."

"Get off your high horse, you fat louse," I snapped, sick of him.

He waggled his head. "Don't you think we've wasted enough time already? Where's the money?"

I went to the desk, opened it, took out the packet of pound notes I had meant to give Netta. I tossed them into his lap.

"There you are," I said, watched him.

He stared down at the money, his eyes popping out of his head.

He touched them, patted them.

"Take them and get out," I said.

"Do you mind if I count them, baby?" he asked, a catch in his voice. "It's not that I don't trust you, but it's more businesslike. Besides, you might have given me too much." He giggled explosively.

"Go ahead, but be quick about it. I can't stand the sight of you much longer."

There was a long pause while he counted the notes. He was trembling with excitement, and completely absorbed in the sound the notes made as they rustled in his fingers.

Finally he straightened, nodded. There was a gleam of incredulous triumph in his eyes. "Well, baby," he said, "I didn't think you'd be so easy. I thought I was going to have a lot of trouble with yon." he stuffed the notes into his hip pocket, smiled his secret smile. He wasn't pleasant to look at.

I laughed at him.