Corridon shook his head.
“I’d prefer to look the place over before I did the job,” he said.
Diestl made a little gesture of regret.
“That I’m afraid won’t be possible. The best I can do is to have a detailed map for you. I’m sorry.”
“Well, all right. That will have to do.”
“Everything is arranged then?” Feydak said, as he gave Corridon another martini. “You’ll forgive us rushing away like this, but we are a little late for our appointment as it is. Lorene won’t be a few minutes now. You don’t mind being left on your own?”
“I dare say I’ll survive,” Corridon said.
As the two men put on their hats and coats, Diestl said, “I don’t think Slade knows where you live.”
Corridon smiled.
“Why, no; I don’t suppose he does.” He gave his address, and Feydak scribbled it down on the back of an envelope.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll call for you tomorrow night at ten. When you get the letters we will go to Diestl’s place.”
“And I will destroy them and pay you what I owe you.” Diestl said. “Is that all right?”
“Perfectly.”
“And if you are successful, Mr. Corridon, I shall probably be able to offer you a few more jobs which will be a little more interesting and a lot more remunerative,” Diestl said, as he shook hands.
“I’m usually successful,” Corridon said dryly.
“Splendid. I hope we shall work together in the future,” Diestl returned, “to our mutual advantage.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Feydak repeated. “In the meantime please say nothing about this to anyone.”
“Including your charming sister?”
“If you please.”
There was a pause, then both of them smiled at him, waved and went out. A moment or so later the front door slammed.
II
Corridon moved over to the window and looked down into the street. He watched Diestl and Feydak walk briskly past Huey. Neither of them looked his way. Corridon continued to watch the short, thickset figure, astride the motorcycle. When Diestl and Feydak had turned the corner, Huey started up his engine and rode rapidly away in the opposite direction.
On the face of it, Corridon thought, it looked as if they were content to leave him in Lorene’s hands. He crossed the room and opened the door to look into the hall. There was a short passage to the right of the front door. At the far end of the passage another door faced him.
Raising his voice, he called, “How much longer are you going to be?”
“Is that you, Martin?”
There was a moment’s pause, then the door facing him opened. Lorene in a green silk wrap stood in the doorway, smiling at him.
“Hello,” she said, and came towards him, her hand outstretched, her eyes bright and alert. “Did Slade let you in? I had no idea you were here.”
Corridon took her hand and held it.
“I’ve been here for the best part of half an hour. They said you were having a bath.”
“So I was.”
She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it firmly.
“How strong you are. You seem very possessive tonight.”
“I am,” Corridon said and pulled her to him. His arm slid round her waist. “How are the moods?”
“Not working very well, I’m afraid,” she said, and put her free hand on his chest and pushed him back. “Please don’t play the caveman. I don’t find it amusing.”
“I warned you women are moody,” Corridon said, releasing her. “Now I suppose you are going to be difficult.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Now look, I won’t be ten minutes. Be a dear and go into the sitting-room and wait for me. I promise to hurry.”
“I dislike my own company,” Corridon returned, and walked past her into the room she had come from. “I’ll watch you dress. It’ll be much more amusing than sitting alone.” He stood just inside the room and looked around approvingly. It was a big, airy room, furnished expensively and tastefully. “My word! You know how to make yourself comfortable. This is quite luxury.” He walked over to the bed and prodded it. “Like sleeping on a cloud. No wonder you are so beautiful.”
She came into the room and pushed the door to.
“Aren’t you taking just a little too much for granted?” she said, a sharp note in her voice. “I don’t allow men in here.”
He wandered over to the dressing-table on which stood bottles of lotions, creams, perfumes, and astringents.
“You sound a little out of temper,” he said, picking up one of the bottles. “If you called on me, I would be delighted if you visited my bedroom.” He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and sniffed. “Hmm, very nice.” As he set the bottle down, he said, “That chap Diestl’s an odd card, isn’t he? Have you known him long?”
“I scarcely know him. He’s Slade’s friend,” she said shortly. “Now, please go into the other room and wait for me.”
Corridon wandered over to the bed and sat on it.
“I like being here. I was going to take you to Prunier’s tonight, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Then where are we going?”
He looked at her.
“We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to stay here.”
“Oh, no, we’re not! I know it’s my fault. I led you on the other night, but I was tight. We’re not going to do anything silly. We’ll go to Prunier’s.”
“Oddly enough,” Corridon said casually, “you were surprisingly sober the other night. I grant you led me on, but obviously you had a reason. Shall I tell you what the reason was? You wanted me to come here so Diestl and your nice little brother could persuade me to do a dirty little job for them. The bait you dangled under my nose was an evening of – love, shall we call it?”
Two bright spots of red came to her cheeks, and her eyes looked stormy.
“That’s absolutely untrue! I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Corridon grinned.
“Don’t you? Didn’t they tell you? It’s supposed to be a secret, but I’m sure Slade must have whispered in your ear. They are offering me two hundred and fifty pounds to pinch some indiscreet letters.”
“I know nothing about it! Now look, Martin, this has gone far enough. Please go. I’m not going out with you tonight.”
“I know you’re not,” Corridon said. “I’ve just said so.” He suddenly reached out and caught her wrist. “Come and sit here beside me.”
She tried to break free, but he was much too strong for her. He pulled her down on the bed beside him.
“Let me go!” she said furiously. “How dare you!”
“I’m afraid you’ve brought this on yourself,” he said mildly. “If you really object you can always scream. Someone’s bound to hear you if you make enough noise.”
“Let me go!” she cried, struggling to free herself. She tried to smack his face, but he caught her flying hand and imprisoned her two wrists in one hand.
“Now what are you going to do?” he asked. “I’m much too strong for you, and I haven’t any ethics to which you can appeal. I’m afraid you are in rather a hopeless position.”
“You’re hurting me!” she stormed. “Let me go at once!”
“Perhaps this will teach you not to make suggestive promises,” Corridon said gently. “I always insist on payment.” He pushed her back, so she lay flat across the bed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to regard yourself as a martyr to the cause.”
“You devil!” she panted, glaring up at him. “I’ll scream if you don’t let me free!”
“Scream away,” he said, smiling down at her. “I don’t mind a bit.”
Still holding her wrists, he bent over her and his mouth covered hers. For a moment or so she struggled to free herself, then he felt her relax and he released her wrists and took her in his arms.
“Scream away,” he murmured. “Before it’s too late.”
“Oh, shut up!” she said furiously, and her arms went round his neck.
III
“I’m hungry,” Corridon complained, lifting his head from the pillow and looking across the dim room. The moonlight came in through the window, making a small square of light on the white rug.
“It serves you right,” Lorene said lazily. She stretched a beautiful bare arm above her head and sighed contentedly. “You should have gone to Prunier’s as you arranged.”
“Yes,” Corridon said, and closed his eyes. “Oysters and sherry; the breast of duck, green peas and asparagus tips in butter. You’re quite right. I shouldn’t have dallied here. Pity you were difficult. If you had been compliant, I should have gone.”
She thumped his chest with her fist.
“You have the manners of a hog!” she said. “Well, I suppose I must get you something to eat or you won’t come here again.”
He turned on his side to look at her.
“Now you are being clever,” he said. “I was hoping you would say that.”
She reached for the silk wrap that lay on the floor. Watching her in the dim light of the moon, Corridon thought she was very beautiful.
“I wish this hadn’t happened,” she said, as she slipped on the wrap. “I’m afraid it is going to be very bad for me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it is.”
She went out of the room.
While she was away, Corridon turned on the bedside lamp and looked at the time. It was twenty minutes past eleven. He lit a cigarette and frowned up at the ceiling. He knew he should get into touch with Marian Howard and tell her what was being planned for tomorrow night, but he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t want to think about that now. Lorene had surrendered so completely to him that he now felt tender towards her, recognizing, with a resigned grimace, that he was about to enter one of his sentimental moods. It wouldn’t last, of course, but while it was on him, he was ready to enjoy it. He had forced himself on her for a purpose. He knew women. If she accepted him as a lover, he had an even chance of binding her to him. He had an idea he had succeeded.
He passed his hands over his muscular shoulders, then swung his legs off the bed and went over to her wardrobe in the quest of something to put on. He found a man’s dressing-gown hanging amongst her things. It was a little tight across the shoulders and rather too short for him, but he decided to wear it. He returned to the bed and sat down, running his fingers through his thick hair and frowning.
“Slade would be pleased if he saw you,” Lorene said as she came in with a tray. “For goodness’ sake don’t split it. It looks horribly fragile on you.”
Corridon examined the tray. There were slices of cold chicken, thin bread and butter, peaches out of season and an impressively large cocktail shaker.
“Not bad,” he said approvingly. “But to have scored a real success you should have cooked me something.”
“Be quiet!” Lorene said, setting the tray on the bed. “You really are an impossible creature.”
“Why should this be bad for you?” he asked, helping himself to chicken. “Is there something sinister behind that remark of yours?”
“You know as well as I do,” she said, not looking at him. She unscrewed the cap of the cocktail shaker and poured two martinis. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“Tell me. This is no time to be repressed.”
“I’ve fallen in love with you,” she said. “I hate being in love. It makes everything so damned complicated. I knew it would happen if we misbehaved. Well, it has.”
“What’s wrong with falling in love with me?” Corridon asked mildly as he dipped chicken in the salt. “You should be pleased, surely?”
“You’re not the kind of man any girl should fall in love with. You know that as well as I do. It’s not in you to love anyone. The thing is one-sided, and the woman is bound to get hurt.”
Corridon didn’t like the turn of the conversation.
“Women love to exaggerate. Why should you get hurt? I’ll be very nice and kind to you.”
“I dare say,” she said, handing him a martini, “but you won’t love me, and oddly enough, there is a difference.” She shrugged impatiently. “But never mind. It’s my funeral. Does it amuse you to know I am in love with you?”
“Aren’t you being a little bitter? The trouble with women is when they have an affair they immediately jump to the conclusion it’s going to be permanent. Why can’t they accept the situation as a man does and be happy for the day instead of moping about tomorrow? Nothing is permanent. In a week’s time you’ll probably find someone much nicer than I am, and you’ll forget all about me. For goodness’ sake don’t dramatize yourself.”
“And that is what is called leaving the back door open,” she said lightly, and smiled at him. “Very well, nothing is permanent. When you are tired of me, you can retire gracefully. Let’s love for today as tomorrow never comes.”
Corridon began to skin a peach.
“I’m sorry you feel like this about it,” he said. “But you must admit you have only yourself to blame. You hung out the hook. It’s not my fault if you swallowed it yourself. If you must be bitter about it, be bitter with your brother. He’s responsible. I take it he wanted to meet me here?”
“All right,” she said, still smiling. “I admit it. But it was disgraceful of you to force yourself on me like that.”
“I’m not even going to let you get away with that,” Corridon said firmly. “If you hadn’t encouraged me, I wouldn’t have done it. Who has ever heard of an engine-driver stopping his train before a green light? Now, come, let’s be truthful about it.”
“You are most ungallant,” she said. “You don’t leave me a shred to hide behind, and I don’t care a bit.”
“That’s honest, anyway,” Corridon said, got up and wandered into the bathroom. He rinsed the peach juice off his fingers. When he returned she had removed the tray and was lying on the bed, her hands behind her head.
“Is Diestl to be trusted?” he asked, standing over her.
She made a little face.
“I don’t know. I hate him. He’s horrible, and I wish Slade didn’t work for him.”
Corridon smiled crookedly.
While in the bathroom he had found in the pocket of the dressing-gown a handkerchief that had Diestl’s initials on it. He decided regretfully his sentimental mood was being wasted.
IV
Punctually, the following evening at ten o’clock a black Buick pulled up outside Corridon’s flat. He went down to the front door.
“Everything is arranged,” Feydak said as he got out of the car. “I have the map. Shall I come in and go over it with you?”