The Paw in the Bottle

III

Consciousness returned slowly, like the awakening from a heavy and uneasy sleep, and she found herself lying on her bed, alone. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time and she cried. She had no idea why she cried except perhaps she had been very frightened and she still had no control over her shaken nerves.

Later, when she could cry no more, she wondered who had carried her from the cupboard to her bed, and immediately thought of Hugh Benton. That his hands had touched her filled her with a shivering disgust.

‘This settles it,’ she thought. ‘I’m not staying. She’s mad and dangerous. I might have died.’

She got off the bed and walked unsteadily along the passage to Blanche’s room. She had a vague idea that Blanche would still be there and she would tell her that she was leaving at once. But Blanche had gone. The big, luxurious room seemed strangely empty without her. The blue-quilted wall once more concealed the doors of the steel-lined cupboard. There was a faint smell of lavender water and cigars in the air, and Julie shuddered. So Benton had been there.

She went to the bedside cupboard and took out a bottle of brandy and a glass. She sat limply on the bed and drank some of the brandy. The silky liquor took instant effect: the unsteady faintness went away.

‘But I’m not going to stay,’ she thought. ‘I’ll pack and get out to-night. There’s no point in waiting. It won’t matter how careful I am she’ll always outwit me. I’ll never have a moment’s peace from her. No, I’m going. I don’t care what Harry says. I’ve had enough.’

It wasn’t only Blanche. She pretended it was, but the sight of those expensive fur coats had frightened her, for all her bravado. It was too risky. The police would suspect at once that she had had something to do with the robbery. As soon as they found out (and they would find out) that she had worked for Hewart, they’d know she was the inside plant. No, she wasn’t going to have anything more to do with Blanche nor with the fur coats.

She heard a bell ringing somewhere in the flat, and for some seconds she didn’t move, then she realized it was the telephone bell and she reached out, picked up the receiver by the bed.

‘Julie?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Where are you, Harry? I was thinking about you. I must see you. I’m so glad you ‘phoned. It’s extraordinary... just when I was thinking of you.’

‘What’s up?’ His voice was sharp.

‘I must see you,’ she said hysterically. ‘I don’t care how busy you are. I must see you, Harry.’

‘All right, all right. Don’t get excited. I can see you in an hour. Can you get away?’

‘She’s gone for the week-end. Oh, Harry, it’s good to hear your voice.’ An idea dropped into her mind. ‘Come round here. There’s nobody here but me. You can see the place. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘Not over the ‘phone,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘Are you sure no one will come?’

‘Oh, no, no one will come. Mr. Wesley won’t be back until Monday night.’ She looked at the bedside clock. It was half-past four. ‘When will you be here?’

‘Six; a little after, perhaps. Say six-fifteen.’

‘And Harry, be careful when you come in. The porter’s watching the flat.’

There was a short silence on the line.

‘Maybe I’d better not come,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t want to box this up after all the trouble I’ve taken.’

‘You must come. Take the lift to the top floor and walk down. The owner of the top flat is a Mrs. Gregory. Pretend you’re calling on her.’

‘You’re getting smart,’ he said, and laughed. ‘All right, I’ll be along.’

‘It’ll be wonderful to see you again, Harry.’

‘You bet.’

But as soon as she had hung up she became uneasy, wondering what he would say when she told him she was not going to stay. Then an idea came to her that brought her off the bed and sent her running to Blanche’s wardrobe.