Why Pick On ME? Read Free

you’re just going to start.”
    “Come in then,” Corridon said. “It won’t be tea; it’ll be coffee, and if you don’t like it, stay out.”
    Rawlins followed him up the steep stairs and entered the dark flute sitting-room. While Corridon added another cup and saucer and a plate to the already laid table, Rawlins moved about the room, whistling softly under his breath, his eyes missing nothing.
    “Can’t understand why you live in a hole like this,” he said. “Why don’t you get yourself something more comfortable?”
    “It suits me,” Corridon returned, pouring the coffee. “I’m not one of your home-loving types. How’s the wife?”
    “She’s fine.” Rawlins sipped the coffee and grunted. “I expect she’s wondering where I’ve got to. Not much of a life being a copper’s wife. Still, she’s used to it by now.”
    “Fine excuse for you to spend a night on the tiles,” Corridon returned, lighting a cigarette and flopping on the settee. He stirred his coffee while he eyed Rawlins thoughtfully. Rawlins hadn’t come here to pay a social call. Corridon knew that. He was curious to know why he had come at this hour.
    “I’m past the age for a night on the tiles,” Rawlins said, a little regretfully. “Where were you last night, old man?”
    Corridon flicked ash on the carpet, and rubbed it gently with the toe of his reverse calf shoe.
    “One of these days, Rawlins, you’ll try to be subtle, and I’ll probably faint with the shock. What’s happened?”
    Rawlins beamed at him.
    “You should never jump to conclusions, old boy. That’s a failing of yours. I like you, Corridon. Of course, you’re a shade over-smart, not as honest as you might be, a bit of a crook, and so on, but taken by and large…”
    “All right, all right,” Corridon said curtly. “I’m not in the mood for your jovial lumberings. What’s biting you?”
    Rawlins looked faintly embarrassed. Corridon, who knew him well, wasn’t impressed. He knew Rawlins’ expressions, and what they meant.
    “Weren’t you talking to Milly Lawes last night?” he asked, and his quick, sharp little eyes swept over Corridon’s face.
    Oh Lord! Corridon thought. I suppose she’s been pinched over that ring: the silly little mare!
    “Why, yes. I bought her a drink. What of it?”
    “Take her home?”
    “Are you trying to be funny?” Corridon demanded, his red, fleshy face hardening. “Do you think I’m the type to take a girl like Milly home as you call it?”
    “Now, don’t get excited,” Rawlins said. “You could take her home even if you didn’t stay, couldn’t you?”
    “Well, I didn’t,” Corridon said curtly. “Why are you suddenly interested in Milly?”
    Rawlins sipped at the coffee, his red face suddenly serious.
    “You’re friendly with her, aren’t you?”
    “Yes. Is she in trouble?”
    Rawlins shook his head.
    “Not now.”
    There was a long pause while Corridon stared at him.
    “What does that mean?”
    “She’s dead, old man.”
    Corridon put down the cup and saucer and stood up. He felt a little chill run up his spine.
    “Dead? What happened?”
    Rawlins grimaced.
    “She was murdered last night. Around eleven-thirty.”
    “I see.” Corridon began to move slowly around the room, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. He was shocked. Milly had been part of his background. He knew he would miss her.
    “We haven’t a lot to work on,” Rawlins went on. “One never has in these cases. I was wondering if you knew anything about it. Did she say she was meeting anyone?”
    “She left the Amethyst Club at eleven,” Corridon told him. “I left ten minutes later. I saw her talking to a man at the corner of Piccadilly and Albermarle Street. They went together towards her flat.”
    “That would be – what? Eleven-twenty?”
    Corridon nodded.
    “Don’t ask me to describe him. I wasn’t paying any attention. Damn it! I wish I had now. All I can tell you is he was slight, and wore a dark hat and