Why Pick On ME?

Why Pick On ME? Read Free Page B

Book: Why Pick On ME? Read Free
Author: James Hadley Chase
Tags: James, chase, Hadley
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bed, the wall at the head of the bed, and the carpet were splashed and saturated with blood. That end of the room looked like an abattoir. Immediately above the head of the bed were a set of bloody handprints.
    “Hers,” Rawlins said grimly. “He cut her throat first so she couldn’t scream.”
    “Save the details. I don’t want to hear them,” Corridon said harshly.
    Rawlins went over to a chest of drawers. On the top of it stood Milly’s handbag. He opened it and emptied its contents on to the floor.
    He and Corridon bent over the pathetic symbols of Milly’s abruptly ended life. There was a powder compact, a cigarette-case, a wallet containing six five-pound notes, a grimy handkerchief and a number of visiting cards held together by an elastic band.
    Rawlins poked about inside the bag and then dropped it.
    “It’s not there. Here, Yates.”
    Yates, a short, broad-shouldered man with iron-grey hair and searching blue eyes came over. He eyed Corridon without interest, and then concentrated on Rawlins.
    “Seen a ring made of white stone around?” Rawlins asked. “Probably white jade.”
    “No. We’ve been over the place, but we’ve seen nothing like that.”
    “Go over it again. It’s important,” Rawlins said. “Make a job of it. I don’t think you’ll find it. I’ll be surprised if you do.” As Yates moved away to start the search, Rawlins opened the bathroom door and beckoned Corridon to follow him.
    The bathroom was small, and there was scarcely room for the two men to move. Rawlins closed the door, edged his way to the toilet, lowered the flap and sat on it.
    “Squat on the bath. I want to talk to you.”
    “Why not talk outside?” Corridon said, sitting on the edge of the bath, “Or are you being mysterious again?”
    “That’s right,” Rawlins beamed. “This is something I don’t want to broadcast. Seen Colonel Ritchie lately?”
    Corridon made no attempt to conceal his surprise. He stared at Rawlins blankly.
    “Why bring him up?”
    “Play along with me,” Rawlins pleaded. “You know I like my fun. Just answer the questions. You’ll be put in the picture before long.”
    Corridon took out a packet of Players, offered it. While he lit Rawlins’ cigarette, and then his own, he said, “No, I haven’t seen him. I haven’t seen him since I quit in 1945.”
    “Nice chap,” Rawlins said reflectively.
    Corridon didn’t say anything. He drew in a lungful of smoke and cast his mind back into the past. He had a vivid picture of Colonel Ritchie even after five and a half years. He wouldn’t have described him as nice. It wasn’t the right word. He could be charming when he liked. He was a man you could trust. He was ruthless. He had sent a number of Corridon’s friends to their deaths, and he had sorrowed for them, but he hadn’t hesitated to send them where he was fairly certain they would die.
    “Like to meet him again?” Rawlins asked, studying his big, broad fingernails in an effort to appear casual.
    “No, thank you,” Corridon said promptly. “He would want me to work for him. I’ve had all I want of that job to last me a lifetime.”
    Rawlins’ face fell.
    “Pity. He needs good men. It’s not a bad life either: plenty of excitement, free travel, and the money isn’t bad.”
    “The money’s lousy,” Corridon said curtly. “And I don’t fancy that kind of excitement. It was all right during the war: one had to do something; but not now. You might not think it, but I’m quite fond of life. But why bring Ritchie into this?”
    “I was only talking to him yesterday,” Rawlins said, and beamed. “He said he had a job for you. You’re a bit short of the ready, aren’t you?”
    Corridon lifted his shoulders helplessly.
    “Why can’t you keep your nose out of my business? And I don’t want his job. I’m going to Paris at the end of the week.”
    “Are you?” Rawlins looked surprised. “ Les girls, eh? Well, well, can’t say I blame you.”
    “Has this

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