Corridan pursed his lips. "But one was a redhead and the other was a blonde," he said. "How do you account for that?"

"Netta explained it to me," I said. "She tells me that French dyed the girl's hair and bleached it back to its normal colour after he had removed the body to the cottage."

"Well, I'll be damned," Corridan muttered.

I nodded. "It wants a little believing," I said, "but after thinking it over, it seems to me that's what happened. If the girl wasn't Netta's sister, and I've proved beyond doubt that Netta never had a sister, then who was she and why was she murdered, and why was the murderer so anxious to prevent her being identified?"

"Have you found that out?" Corridan asked eagerly.

"I think so," I returned. "Not only have I found it out, but Littlejohns found it out, too. That's why he died."

"Who was it then?"

"Selma Jacobi, the wife of George Jacobi who was murdered by Jack Bradley," I said.

Netta sat up, glared across at me.

"It's a lie!" she screamed. "Jack didn't kill him. It was Peter French."

I shook my head. "Oh, no, it wasn't," I said gently. "Let's go back a bit." I slid off the table, began to pace up and down. Let's go back to the time when the American soldiers were being repatriated. Before then, Bradley had been content to make a big profit by selling bad hooch and fleecing the boys in any other way he could think up. But when they began to leave, his profits shrank. He had to think up some other way of making money. Apart from running gaming-tables, he also decided to go in for large-scale robbery. George Jacobi was an expert in this line. Bradley hooked up with him, and the Allenby robbery was planned. About this time Netta was married to Bradley and Jacobi married Selma. Allenby's place was near Lakeham, and Bradley killed two birds with one stone by buying the cottage at Lakeham. The robbery was organized from the cottage, and he also had a love nest for Netta and himself. Mrs. Brambee, Jacobi's sister, undertook to run the cottage for them. The robbery was successful, and the next move was to find some way to sell the loot. The stuff was too hot; neither Bradley nor Jacobi had the nerve to put it on the market. They sat on it, hoping that it would cool off. While waiting, they quarrelled over the split, and one night Bradley killed Jacobi in the Club, and dumped him in a Soho street."

"Is this guesswork or have you proof?" Corridan asked.

"It's guesswork," I admitted, "but she'll talk before long. They always do."

Corridan glanced at Netta, grunted. "Go on," he said.

"We'll leave Jacobi's death for a moment and talk about Littlejohns," I said, lighting a cigarette. "It's important because it decided me that Netta wasn't the Netta I used to know, and that I couldn't let her get away with murder. I liked Littlejohns. He had guts, and besides, he was working for me. I had told him all I knew about the case, and he had spotted something I missed. He realized that Selma Jacobi figured somewhere in the case, and that she could very well be the dead girl in Netta's flat as well as the dead girl in the cottage at Lakeham. He hadn't seen Selma, but I had seen the dead girl. He wanted to surprise me, poor little guy. He found out where Selma used to live and went there in the hope of finding a photograph of her. He had planned to present me with the photograph, and when I had identified it as the dead girl, he was going to spring his surprise. He found the photograph. A scrap of it remained in his fingers when I found him. But Netta caught him. She realized that he was on to her, and to save her skin, she killed him. That's something I can't forgive, so I trapped her into thinking I was going to get her out of the country, knowing she'd try to smuggle Allenby's loot out with her."

"That still doesn't explain how you knew she had the loot," Corridan said, frowning. "You say this Peter French killed Selma Jacobi?"

I shook my head. "No, I didn't say that. Netta told me Peter French killed Selma. But that's a lie. Peter French knows nothing about this business at all. He was a stooge, put up to lead me away from the real killer."

Netta got slowly to her feet, her face ghastly. Corridan took a step forward.

"Then who killed Selma Jacobi?" he demanded.

"The same person who killed Madge Kennitt," I said, moving across to the kitchen door. "Let me introduce you." I jerked open the door, stood aside. "Come on out," I said. "You've been in there long enough."

Detective-Inspector O'Malley and three plainclothes dicks moved into the room. They looked at me, at Corridan, at Netta.

"That's the guy who killed Selma Jacobi and Madge Kennitt," I said, jerking my thumb at Corridan.

chapter twenty-five.

I expect you to exercise tact and control with Harry Bix," I told Crystal as I piloted her across the Savoy lobby to where Fred Ullman and Bix were examining the latest novels on the bookstall. "He's the kind of wolf who knows all the ankles. Don't encourage him, and if you don't stray away from me you should be safe enough."

Crystal said, "Shouldn't you have brought your poke bonnet and tambourine? Who wants to be safe, anyway?"

By this time Harry Bix had seen us, and nudging Ullman, he fingered his tie, giving us a loud hello.

"Well, well," he said, advancing to meet us. "Bluebeard does it again. How you collect these juicy dames beats me. You must have a fatal attraction or something."

I sighed. "Crystal, this is Harry Bix. Don't trust him. Even the wool he'll try to pull over your eyes is half cotton. Harry, this is Miss Godwin. I'll trouble you to keep your hands in your pockets while you talk to her, and just to keep the record straight, she is my property. The gentleman with the bags under his eyes, lurking in the background, is Fred Ullman. Fred, Miss Godwin."

Ullman said how do you do, looked a little bored, but Bix elbowed him farther into the background, beamed at Crystal.

"This is the most exciting moment in my life," he said, taking her hand. "You're not really his property, are you? A dish as lovely as you wouldn't waste herself on a half-dead numskull like him, surely?"

I unfastened their hands, took Crystal firmly by her elbow.

"Paws off," I said. "This is the one blonde I intend to keep for myself. Away to your own hunting-ground." I convoyed Crystal across the lobby into the grillroom. "Come on, let's eat," I continued. "And, Fred, keep that woman-snatcher out of range."

"Why you fellows make such a fuss about women defeats me,"

Ullman said sourily. "All my life I've kept away from women, and look at me."

"You look; I've seen you," Crystal said tartly.

When we had all settled down at a corner table and had ordered a meal, Harry Bix said, "We are gathered together here tonight, not to be fed from any charitable reasons, but because Arsene Lupin here," he waved in my direction, "wishes to shoot off his mouth on the subject of his own cleverness, and has naturally to bribe us to listen."

Crystal tugged at my sleeve, asked me in a whisper why Bix called me Arsene Lupin, and wasn't Lupin French for rabbit?

I whispered back that the French for rabbit was lapin, and that Arsene Lupin was one of the world's greatest detectives.

She then wanted to know what that had to do with me.

"Shush, woman," I said, annoyed. "You're showing your ignorance."

"As a newspaper man I have to make sacrifices," Ullman said wearily. "I am prepared to eat his food and to suffer the sound of his voice so long as he'll explain in detail the story behind Corridan's arrest. That is something the great British public wish to know, and it's my painful duty to tell them."

"Not in detail," Bix pleaded. "There're so many more interesting things to do than to listen to details," and he leered suggestively at Crystal, who leered back.

I tapped him on the shoulder. "That blonde is my property," I reminded him. "If it wasn't in such an inaccessible spot I'd show you where I've branded her with my personal seal, so paws off and I'll trouble you to keep your dirty looks to yourself."

Crystal said she liked his dirty looks, and could she have a few more please?

"Can't you control these two?" Ullman demanded. "I want the story if they don't. Why you bring a blonde to a meeting like this beats me. Blondes are a menace to society."

"That's not very polite," Crystal said, a little hurt.

Ullman eyed her coldly. "The only woman I've ever been polite to was my mother," he told her.

Crystal said she was surprised to hear he ever had a mother, and did the old lady die of a broken heart?

"Quiet," I said hurriedly as Ullman began to grow hot.

Bix said would it be an idea if Crystal and he went for a walk along the hotel corridor while Ullman and I bored each other to death?

"Will you please pipe down," I growled, thumping the table.

"Well, come on," Ullman said impatiently. "You've run me ragged these last days digging up information. How did you get on to Corridan?"

"Suppose I tell you the setup from the beginning?" I suggested.

"Then even Crystal, dumb as she is, will be able to follow. Ouch!"

I massaged my shin, told Crystal to behave herself, hurried on before there were more interruptions.

"As you know, Jack Bradley, to recoup his losses, installed two roulette tables in the Club," I began. "There's no future in that kind of racket unless you have adequate protection. Bradley was smart enough to realize that, and he looked around for a likely bird in the police force who'd give him this protection."

"And he picked on Corridan?" Ullman said.

"Don't interrupt," Crystal reproved him. "My father says that people who interrupt . . ."

"Never mind your father now," I broke in hastily. "Just pipe down, honey, and let me do the talking." I looked over at Bix. "And that's my knee you're fondling under the table just in case you thought it was Crystal's."

Bix snatched his hand away, had the grace to blush. He looked at Crystal reproachfully. She giggled.

"Yes, he picked on Corridan," I went on as Ullman began to scowl again. "Corridan was, at that time, a rising star at the Yard, and was handling the club rackets. Bradley offered him a big cut of his profits if he'd tip him when a raid was likely to be made. It was easy money; Corridan fell for it. Then George Jacobi appeared on the scene . . . ."

"How much better this'd be if it was illustrated with lantern slides," Bix said regretfully. "Imagine a slide depicting the arrival of George Jacobi in a snowstorm. How gripping that'd be."

"Especially if the slide was upside-down," Crystal said, giggling over the hors d'oeuvre.

"I'll turn you upside-down and . . ." I snarled.

"Never mind these cretins," Ullman said. "Go on, for God's sake."

"Jacobi was an expert jewel thief and was planning to steal Allenby's anti-invasion nest-egg, worth fifty thousand pounds," I said, scowling at Crystal, who made faces at me. "But Jacobi knew he couldn't handle a job as big as that on his own. . . ."

"The weak sister!" Bix said in disgust. "If it'd been half that amount I'd've done it."

"So would I," Crystal chimed in. "I'd've done it for a quarter the amount."

"And he suggested Bradley should come in on it with him," I went on, ignoring the interruption. "Bradley thought it'd be an idea to get the police on his side, and he put the proposition to Corridan, offering him a third of the spoils if he acted as inside man after the robbery, steering suspicion from Jacobi."

"That was smart," Ullman said approvingly. "I suppose you got all this from Netta?"

"Yeah. She talked. Boy! How she talked. Well, Corridan was after as much money as he could get his claws on, so he agreed to play. Netta now comes on the scene. Nine months ago, she and Bradley married. Bradley couldn't get her any other way, but he kept the marriage quiet. This arrangement suited Netta as she could continue to live on her own supported by Bradley, and if Bradley ever got tired of her she would be taken care of in the divorce settlement. Bradley bought the cottage at Lakeham for his robbery headquarters and as a love nest for Netta and himself.

"The gang consisted of Bradley, Mrs. Brambee, Jacobi, Julius Cole and Corridan. The robbery was successful, but Bradley and Jacobi quarrelled over the split. Bradley killed Jacobi. Netta was present at the shooting."

"This is improving," Bix said, brightening. "Don't rush over the gory details."

"Jacobi was killed with a Luger pistol which Bradley had brought back as a souvenir of the First World War. His name was engraved on the pistol butt, and although the name had been erased, Bradley knew the police would be able to read it under ultra-violet rays. If the gun was ever found, he'd swing for the killing. Netta was by now tired of Bradley and had fallen for Corridan. She took the Luger while Bradley was dumping Jacobi's body in a Soho street, and decided to make capital out of it."

"What some women will do for money," Crystal exclaimed, shocked. "Why is it I never have a chance to show how unscrupulous I could be?"

"Netta was scared to approach Bradley direct," I went on, "so she suggested to Corridan that he should blackmail Bradley, and the two of them share the proceeds. Corridan agreed, but he wanted the gun. He was using Netta for his own profit, and he didn't trust her. Netta wouldn't let him have the gun. It was her security in case Corridan tried to gyp her."

"I'd trust you with everything of mine, precious," Crystal said, fondling my hand.

"I'll have that down in black and white when there's a spare moment," I said, patting her. "But keep quiet and let me get on. Eat up your nice chicken, and don't spill any down your pretty dress."

"When you two have stopped drooling over each other," Ullman said in disgust, "you might get on."

"Corridan put the screws on Bradley, who paid up," I continued. "As Corridan didn't dare show his face at the Club in case he was seen, and as Netta wasn't supposed to be in this blackmailing racket, Mrs. Brambee was detailed to collect the money each week.

"Well, that was the set-up until Selma Jacobi discovered that Bradley killed her husband. Cole told her this because he wanted to get even for not receiving a cut from the money Corridan was getting from Bradley. But Cole didn't tell Selma that Corridan was hooked up with Bradley. He was scared of Corridan. Selma went to Corridan, knowing he was in charge of the Jacobi investigation, and told him what Cole had told her. Imagine Corridan's feelings. If he took action, he'd dry up his own source of income, and Bradley would squeal on him. If he didn't, then Selma would go to a higher authority at the Yard, and he'd get caught that way. His only way out was to get rid of Selma. He took her along to Netta's flat, drugged her, and between the two of them they set the stage for suicide."

By this time we had reached the coffee stage of the meal.

"For the love of Mike let's have some whisky with this," Bix implored. "Listening to you gives me a thirst."

I ordered whiskies, and a brandy for Crystal.

"Before Selma was murdered," I went on, after the drinks had arrived, "Bradley had found out that Netta and Corridan were lovers. Bradley told Netta he had given orders to Frankie to lay for her and splash her with vitriol. Whether this was Bradley's idea of getting even, or whether Frankie was really going to do it, I don't know. Netta swears he would have done it, and knowing Frankie I think it's likely. Anyway, Netta was terrified and she decided it'd be safer to drop out of sight. Selma's body offered the opportunity. Corridan agreed to help, and they dyed Selma's hair the same shade as Netta's, bribed Cole to identify her as Netta, passed the news on to Bradley that Netta had killed herself. Do you follow all that up to now?" I asked, looking around.

"Keep going," Bix sighed. "My brain's numbed, but the sound of your voice has a soothing effect on it."

"Now I turn up," I continued. "Bradley was going to the mortuary to identify the body, so was I. Corridan had to work fast. He arranged for one of his men to move the body from the mortuary to the cottage at Lakeham. This was for my benefit as I had found the envelope addressed to Anne Scott, and had jumped to the conclusion that Anne was Netta's sister. I was allowed a glimpse of the body, then it was taken to the Horsham mortuary and destroyed by fire before Bradley could see it. Got all that?"

"Complicated, but smart," Ullman said, nodding his head. "Then what?"

Bix groaned. "You're a whale for punishment," he said, sneaking my whisky and drinking it before I could stop him. "Mea"I've had about enough."

"The next bit's interesting," I promised. "It shows how clever I am."

"We'd better stay for that," Bix said to Crystal, "otherwise he'll stick us for the check."

"Bradley had given Netta five thousand pounds' worth of bonds as a wedding present," I went on. "He was anxious to get the money back. Frankie had been into the flat and had hunted for the bonds but had failed to find them. I found them, and suspecting that I had them, Frankie attacked me, but I beat him off."

"You can imagine how pleased Corridan was when I presented him not only with the bonds but also with the Luger," I continued. "He cooked up a yarn about the bonds being forgeries, and that the Luger belonged to a guy called Peter Utterly. Fred checked all this, found there was no such person as Utterly, and more important still that there was no such person as Anne Scott, although Corridan had told me her record was in Somerset House."

"I have two profound observations to make at this point," Harry Bix broke in. "The first is that Corridan seems to have made a complete monkey out of you, and the second is that Fred seems to have done all the dirty work."

I nodded, grinned. "Correct," I said. "Applause for Mr. Ullman."

Crystal was so carried away that she kissed Ullman, who blinked at her, wiped off the lipstick, said, "Well, that's quite an experience. Perhaps I've been missing things. The only woman who ever kissed me was my mother."

"You ought to be sorry for her," Crystal said. "But I do like the taste of your shaving cream."