"Get out, you fat louse," he looked down at the faded sprig of lilies in his buttonhole. He took it out, laid it on the table. "Something to remember me by, baby," he said, giggled. That was too much for me.

"And here's something to remember me by, Fatso," I said, hauled off and landed him a sock in his right eye.

He reeled back against the wall, his hand to his eye. For a moment he remained there, stunned, then he cringed away, moaning.

"You beast!" he whimpered. "Oh, you beastly, rotten cad!"

I made a threatening move towards him. He rushed to the door, yanked it open. Waiting for him in the passage outside was an over-sized, plainclothes dick.

Cole blundered into him, received a violent shove which sent him staggering back. The plainclothes dick smiled at him.

"Hello, dear," he said.

Cole, still holding his eye, stared at him for almost a minute, then his face crumpled and his knees sagged.

The dick advanced on him. Cole retreated.

I kicked the door shut when the dick was in the room.

"So you anticipated you were going to have trouble with me, did you?" I said grimly. "Boy! Is that an understatement."

I crossed over to the bathroom, opened the door. "Okay, O'Malley, you can come out now."

Detective-Inspector O'Malley came out, followed by another plainclothes dick who had a notebook in his hand.

"Did you get it all down?" I asked.

"Every word," O'Malley said, rubbing his hands. "The sweetest little statement I could wish for. If he doesn't get ten years, may I be hung for a liar."

The three dicks grinned at Cole. O'Malley walked up to him, touched his arm.

"I'm Detective-Inspector O'Malley of Bow Street, and these are police officers," he said, waving his hand to the two plainclothes dicks. "It's my duty to arrest you and charge you with attempted blackmail. And I have also to caution you that anything you say will be written down and may be used in evidence at your trial."

Cole's face turned green.

"You can't do this to me," he squeaked. "That's the man who must be arrested. He's a murderer." He pointed a trembling finger at me. "He killed Madge Kennitt and Henry Littlejohns. I saw him do it! You can't arrest me. I'm an honest citizen."

O'Malley grinned.

"You can tell that to the judge," he said soothingly. "You come along with me."

The two plainclothes dicks closed in on him. One of them whisked my money from Cole's pocket, handed it to O'Malley.

"We'll have to keep this," O'Malley said to me. "But you'll get it back after the trial."

"I hope so," I returned with a grin. "I'd hate to think it might go to your sports fund."

The three dicks laughed.

"Come on," O'Malley said to Cole. "We'll make you nice and snug in a cell."

Cole started back. "He's a murderer, I tell you," he shouted frantically. "Arrest him! He'll leave the country if you don't. Do you hear? He'll leave the country."

"Now don't excite yourself, dear," one of the plainclothes dicks said. "If you come quietly I'll give you a nice cup of cocoa at the station."

Cole took his hand away from his eye which was closed and swollen.

"He assaulted me," he shrilled. "I wish to charge him with assault. Arrest him!"

O'Malley looked pained. "Did you do that?" he asked me, shaking his head sadly.

"Me?" I said, shocked. "I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. He was so anxious to spend his money, he hit his poor eye against the door handle as he rushed out."

O'Malley guffawed.

"You must have been in a hurry," he said, winking at Cole.

I walked up to Cole, smiled. "So long, louse," I said. "The next time you try blackmail, don't pick on a newspaper man. See you in ten years' time."

They took Cole away. He went speechless, dazed, stupefied. At the door, O'Malley looked over his shoulder.

"See you tonight," he said.

"Sure. Corridan'll be back then," I returned. "I wouldn't miss seeing his face when I spring my little surprise for all the Scotch in London."

"Speaking as a teetotaller, nor would I," O'Malley said piously.

chapter twenty-three.

The clock in Mrs. Crockett's hall was striking the half-hour after seven as I crept up the stairs to Madge Kennitt's flat. No one saw me enter the house. It was a relief to know that Julius Cole wouldn't appear on the landing to waggle his head at me.

I listened outside Madge's door, heard nothing, tapped gently.

"It's Steve," I said.

There was a pause, then the door opened. Netta, in a red and white silk dress, let me in.

I entered the room, closed the door.

"Hello," I said.

"You're early, Steve," she said, putting her hand on my arm. "Is it all right?" Her eyes were deep set in dark sockets. She seemed anxious, nervy.

I nodded. "I think so, I said. a I've talked to Bix. He wants to see you."

"Wants to see me?" she repeated, frowning. "But, why?"

"You don't know Bix. He's a crazy guy," I returned. "He says he won't risk his job to fly some dumb-belle to the States. I told him you were the ace of pin-ups, but he thinks the women I go around with wear over-shoes and red flannel. The only way to convince him is for you to meet him. If you kid him along he'll take us. It's just his way of making things difficult. I've fixed for us to have a drink with him right away."

"But there isn't time," she said, worried. "And it's dangerous; the police may see us. I don't like this, Steve. Why didn't you bring him here?"

"I couldn't," I said. "He had to do things. There's nothing to worry about. We're meeting him at a pub off Knightsbridge. I have a car outside. We'll talk over things with him; then he'll go on back to the airport, we'll come back here, pick up your luggage and fellow on. The plane doesn't leave until ten-thirty. There's plenty of time."

I could see she didn't like the idea, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"All right, Steve," she said. "You know best. I'll put on a hat and I'm ready."

I waited for her, wandered around the room, thought of Madge Kennitt, felt spooked.

Netta came out of the bedroom after a moment or so. Her hat looked like a saucepan lid, but it suited her.

"He'll fall for you all right," I said, regarding her. "You look swell." I slipped my arm through hers. "Come on. On your toes. We don't want Mrs. C. to jump us on our way out."

We sneaked down the stairs and into the Buick I had rented for the evening.

As we drove along the Cromwell Road, Netta said, "What's been happening, Steve? Did you give Ju the money?"

I was expecting that one, and had my lie ready.

"Yeah," I said. "he got it, the rat, and I only hope he won't double-cross us before we get out of the country." I gave her a quick look, saw she had turned pale, was tight-lipped.

"When did you give it to him?" she asked, a catch in her voice.

"Three-thirty this afternoon," I told her. "Five hundred pounds. It's a lot of money, Netta."

She didn't say anything, sat staring straight ahead, a hard look on her face.

As we pulled up outside a small pub in a back street off Knightsbridge, she said, "And Jack Bradley? Have you heard anything from him?"

"No," I said. "There was nothing I could do about him. Corridan was out of town. I couldn't get the rings without asking him first. Bradley's ultimatum expired at four o'clock. For all I know the cops are looking for me right now. If they are, they're too late. I pulled out of the Savoy this afternoon. All my stuff is in the back of the car. I'm ready to go."

We got out of the Buick.

Netta looked up and down the street. "You're sure it's safe, Steve?" she asked, hanging back. "It seems madness to me to come here where we can be seen."

"Take it easy," I said. "It's safe enough. This pub's as dead as a dodo. They'd never think of looking for us here." I hurried her across the pavement into the pub.

Harry Bix in his leather flying-blouse on which was painted a diving albatross, his squadron insignia, was propping up the counter, a Scotch and soda in his hand.

There were only two other men in the bar. They sat in a far corner, and didn't even look up as we entered.

Bix, fleshy, powerful, good-natured, straightened when he saw us.

He took one look at Netta, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

"Hel-lo!" he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "You certainly picked yourself a pippin. Pin-up girl! I'll say!"

"Netta, this is Harry Bix," I said, pushing her forward. "Shake hands with Army Air Corps No. 1 pilot. And if he doesn't always act as if he was used to wearing shoes, forgive him. He's just out of the jungle."

Netta slipped her hand into Bix's large paw, gave him a dazzling smile which rocked him back on his heels.

"Lady, what makes you go around with a heel like him?" he asked earnestly. "Didn't you know he has two wives, and eighteen children, and he's clone a ten-year stretch for criminal assault?"

Netta laughed, nodded. "That's why I like him," she said. "I'm that sort of a girl."

"For God's sake!" he said, startled. "Do you really like him or is it his dough you're after?"

"A little of each," she said, after pretending to consider his question.

"Well, I guess that calls for a drink. How's about starting a famine in whisky or would you prefer something more fancy?"

"Whisky's all right with me," she said.

Bix waved to the barmaid, ordered two double whiskies. He turned back to Netta.

"Where've you been hiding yourself all this time? I thought I knew all the juicy dames in London."

"And I thought I'd met all the lovely Americans until now," she replied.

Bix blew out his cheeks, punched me in the ribs.

"Brother, you're through. Go outside and oblige me by breaking a leg."

"She's just kidding," I said. "That girl's got an ice-cream cone where her heart's supposed to be. Why, ten minutes ago, she told me all Army Air Corps personnel were jerks, didn't you Netta?"

"But I hadn't met Harry then," Netta protested. "I take it all back."

Bix leaned close. "We're the salt of the earth, sugar," he said.

"They say so in the newspapers, and newspapers don't kid their readers."

"Not much," I said.

When the barmaid had served the whiskies and had gone to the far end of the counter, Bix said, "So you want to make a trip with me, do you?"

Netta regarded him, suddenly serious. She nodded. "Will you trust me to get you there safely?" he asked.

"I'd trust you in an aircraft, but nowhere else," she returned.

Bix roared with laughter. "Say, this baby is quite a kidder, Steve. That's a pretty hot line to hand to a guy like me. Lady, I was kidding just now. Dames don't mean a thing to me. You ask Steve; he'll tell you."

"That's right," I said. "Dames don't mean a thing to Min, but put him alone with one dame and see what happens."