be very careful.’
Corridon grinned. While Ranleigh was speaking he was aware that Jeanne was watching him closely. Her intense scrutiny warned him to be on his guard.
‘I’ll be careful. What are these clues?’
‘We thought it would be easy to find out something about him, but he’s covered his tracks. We tried to remember anything that would lead us to him from the past conversations we’ve had with him. He rarely talked about himself, but we’ve remembered two things: an address of his aunt he gave me in case he was killed and the name of his girlfriend. His aunt lives near Wendover, Bucks. I’ve written the address down for you. Lubish went to see her. He was found on a stretch of railway line between Wendover and Great Missenden. It looks as if Mallory might have been with his aunt when Lubish called. His girlfriend’s name is Rita Allen. She works at Mastins and Roberts, the multiple stores in Regent Street. She’s on the stocking counter. Harris went after her. He was found the next day in a pond on Wimbledon Common. Probably Rita Allen lives in that district. Those are the only two leads we have. You’ll have to go on from there.’
‘And hope one or both of them will tell me where I can find him?’ Corridon said. He finished his whisky and put the glass on the table. ‘All right. I’ll see what I can do. You’ll be here I suppose, I’ll keep in touch with you.’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Ranleigh said. We may be here or we may move. It depends . . .’ He glanced at Jeanne. ‘But we know where you are.’ He added with a smile, ‘You won’t lose us. We’re difficult people to shake off.’
The smile softened the warning, but it was there.
Corridon laughed.
‘I shan’t run away.’ He got to his feet. ‘Well, I’ll make a start. This should be interesting.’ His enthusiasm struck a false note. ‘I used to be good at this sort of thing.’ He thrust his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the Mauser pistol.
Both Jeanne and Ranleigh stiffened at the sight of the gun but immediately relaxed as Corridon laid it on the table. ‘I’ll leave you the gun. He’ll want it, won’t he? I have a gun of my own.’
Neither Jeanne nor Ranleigh said anything. ‘Have you the description?’
Ranleigh took an envelope from his pocket.
‘There’s everything here,’ he said.
Corridon smiled.
‘Everything? The money?’ His finger pressed the envelope and he shook his head. ‘No, not the money. We said half down . . . didn’t we?’
Jeanne went to a cupboard, took from it a worn leather briefcase.
‘You’ll sign an IOU?’ she asked.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Corridon said, not quite sure if he had heard aright.
‘You’ll sign an IOU?’ she repeated woodenly.
‘Of course.’ He marvelled at her innocence. They had no right to be in England. Crew had said so. Their papers weren’t in order. How then did they hope to collect on an IOU?
Ranleigh gave him a sheet of notepaper and a pen.
‘And the money?’ Corridon asked blandly. ‘Shall we have it on the table? It’s not that I distrust you . . . it’s business, isn’t it?’ Jeanne put three bundles of one-pound notes on the table.
Her fingertips rested on the polished surface, close to the gun.
Corridon pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘If I were going to cheat you,’ he said to her, ‘I wouldn’t have returned the gun, would I?’
‘Count the money,’ she said curtly.
‘You want me to do this job, don’t you?’ he demanded, stung by the contempt in her eyes. ‘I didn’t ask to do it. If you want my help you must expect to pay for it.’
‘Count the money,’ she snapped, and her eyes glittered.
Shrugging, he flicked through the pound notes. His fingers were expert, rustling the notes quickly and without hesitation.
‘Right,’ he said, picked up the pen and scrawled on the sheet of paper. ‘There. Now I’ll start.’ He pushed the three bundles of notes into the brief case, tucked it under
Corridon grinned. While Ranleigh was speaking he was aware that Jeanne was watching him closely. Her intense scrutiny warned him to be on his guard.
‘I’ll be careful. What are these clues?’
‘We thought it would be easy to find out something about him, but he’s covered his tracks. We tried to remember anything that would lead us to him from the past conversations we’ve had with him. He rarely talked about himself, but we’ve remembered two things: an address of his aunt he gave me in case he was killed and the name of his girlfriend. His aunt lives near Wendover, Bucks. I’ve written the address down for you. Lubish went to see her. He was found on a stretch of railway line between Wendover and Great Missenden. It looks as if Mallory might have been with his aunt when Lubish called. His girlfriend’s name is Rita Allen. She works at Mastins and Roberts, the multiple stores in Regent Street. She’s on the stocking counter. Harris went after her. He was found the next day in a pond on Wimbledon Common. Probably Rita Allen lives in that district. Those are the only two leads we have. You’ll have to go on from there.’
‘And hope one or both of them will tell me where I can find him?’ Corridon said. He finished his whisky and put the glass on the table. ‘All right. I’ll see what I can do. You’ll be here I suppose, I’ll keep in touch with you.’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Ranleigh said. We may be here or we may move. It depends . . .’ He glanced at Jeanne. ‘But we know where you are.’ He added with a smile, ‘You won’t lose us. We’re difficult people to shake off.’
The smile softened the warning, but it was there.
Corridon laughed.
‘I shan’t run away.’ He got to his feet. ‘Well, I’ll make a start. This should be interesting.’ His enthusiasm struck a false note. ‘I used to be good at this sort of thing.’ He thrust his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the Mauser pistol.
Both Jeanne and Ranleigh stiffened at the sight of the gun but immediately relaxed as Corridon laid it on the table. ‘I’ll leave you the gun. He’ll want it, won’t he? I have a gun of my own.’
Neither Jeanne nor Ranleigh said anything. ‘Have you the description?’
Ranleigh took an envelope from his pocket.
‘There’s everything here,’ he said.
Corridon smiled.
‘Everything? The money?’ His finger pressed the envelope and he shook his head. ‘No, not the money. We said half down . . . didn’t we?’
Jeanne went to a cupboard, took from it a worn leather briefcase.
‘You’ll sign an IOU?’ she asked.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Corridon said, not quite sure if he had heard aright.
‘You’ll sign an IOU?’ she repeated woodenly.
‘Of course.’ He marvelled at her innocence. They had no right to be in England. Crew had said so. Their papers weren’t in order. How then did they hope to collect on an IOU?
Ranleigh gave him a sheet of notepaper and a pen.
‘And the money?’ Corridon asked blandly. ‘Shall we have it on the table? It’s not that I distrust you . . . it’s business, isn’t it?’ Jeanne put three bundles of one-pound notes on the table.
Her fingertips rested on the polished surface, close to the gun.
Corridon pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘If I were going to cheat you,’ he said to her, ‘I wouldn’t have returned the gun, would I?’
‘Count the money,’ she said curtly.
‘You want me to do this job, don’t you?’ he demanded, stung by the contempt in her eyes. ‘I didn’t ask to do it. If you want my help you must expect to pay for it.’
‘Count the money,’ she snapped, and her eyes glittered.
Shrugging, he flicked through the pound notes. His fingers were expert, rustling the notes quickly and without hesitation.
‘Right,’ he said, picked up the pen and scrawled on the sheet of paper. ‘There. Now I’ll start.’ He pushed the three bundles of notes into the brief case, tucked it under
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