I'll Bury My Dead. James Hadley Chase

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СКАЧАТЬ office in Chicago to promote a gyroscope compass he had invented to be used in petroleum drilling operations. He had engaged her to run the office while he had walked the streets in search of the necessary capital to manufacture the compass.

      There had been difficulties, but she had quickly learned that difficulties and disappointments only made English work harder. She discovered he had an undefeatable spirit. There had been times when she had gone without salary and he had gone without food. His optimism and determination had been infectious. She knew he must succeed. No one who worked as hard as he did could fail to succeed. But it had been a year of no rewards and constant setbacks and had forged a link between them that she had never forgotten, but at times, she wondered if he had forgotten. Finally the compass had been financed and had proved a success. English had sold his invention for two hundred thousand dollars plus a royalty on future sales that still brought him in a comfortable income.

      He had then looked around for other inventions to promote, and during the next three years he built up a reputation for himself as a man who could get money out of a stone. With his newly acquired capital, he broadened his scope, and went into the entertainment business, promoting small shows and nightclub cabarets, and then branching out to bigger and more ambitious shows.

      Money began to pour in, and he formed companies. More money poured in and he took over the lease of two theatres and a dozen night clubs. Later, when money became almost an embarrassment, he moved into the political field. It was his money that put Senator Henry Beaumont into power and was keeping him in office.

      Looking at English now, Lois realized just how far he had come and what a power he had become, though she regretted his rise to a height where she could no longer be of real use to him, when she was just one of many who served him.

      Vince came out of the inner office with Chuck Eagan, who drove English’s car and did any job that English wanted done without argument or question.

      He was a small, jockey-sized man in his late thirties. He had sandy-colored hair, a red, freckled face, stony eyes and quick, smooth movements. He was looking at his worst at the moment: a tuxedo didn’t suit him.

      “What’s cooking?” he asked out of the side of his mouth, edging up to Lois. “I was enjoying myself.”

      She shook her head at him.

      English said into the telephone mouthpiece: “I’ll be right over. Leave things as they are until I get there. I’ll be less than ten minutes.”

      Chuck stifled a groan.

      “The car?” he asked, looking at Lois.

      “At the door,” she told him.

      English hung up. As he turned the three stiffened slightly, their eyes on his, waiting for instructions. His solid sun-tanned face told them nothing, but his blue eyes were hard as he said, “Get the car, Chuck. I want to be away at once.”

      “It’s waiting, boss,” Chuck said. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” and he went out of the room.

      “Let those jackals finish the case of Scotch, and then get rid of them,” English said to Vince. “Tell them I’ve been called away.”

      “Yes, Mr. English,” Vince said and went into the inner office. As he opened the door the noise of laughter and voices came into the silent outer office with a violence that made English scowl.

      “Stick around, will you?” he said to Lois. “I may need you tonight. If you don’t hear from me within an hour, go home.”

      “Yes.” She looked searchingly at him. “Has something happened, Mr. English?”

      He looked at her, then moving over to her, he put his hand on her hip and smiled.

      “Did you ever meet my brother, Roy?”

      She showed her surprise as she shook her head.

      “You haven’t missed anything.” He gave her hip a little pat. “He’s just shot himself.”

      She caught her breath sharply.

      “Oh…I’m sorry….”

      “Save it,” he said, and moved toward the door. “He doesn’t deserve your sympathy and he wouldn’t want mine. This could be messy. Stick around for an hour. If the press get it, stall them. Tell them you don’t know where I am.”

      He took his hat and coat from a cupboard.

      “Did Harry give you some champagne?” he asked, putting the hat on his head and giving the brim an irritable jerk.

      “Yes, Mr. English.”

      “Good. Well, so long for now. I may call you.”

      He threw his coat over his arm and went out, closing the door behind him.

      II

      Chuck Eagan swung the big, glittering Cadillac into a downtown side street and reduced speed.

      Halfway down the street on the right he saw two prowl cars parked outside a tall building that was in darkness, except for two lighted windows on the sixth floor.

      He drew up behind the parked cars, cut the engine and got out as Nick English opened the rear door and untangled his long legs to the sidewalk.

      Chuck looked enquiringly at him.

      “Want me to come up, boss?”

      “May as well. Keep in the background and keep your mouth shut.”

      English walked across the sidewalk to where two patrolmen stood on either side of the entrance to the building. They both recognized him, and saluted.

      “The Lieutenant’s waiting for you, Mr. English,” one of them said. “There’s an elevator that’ll take you up. Sixth floor.”

      English nodded and walked into the dimly lit, stone-floored lobby. He moved through a smell of garbage, faulty plumbing and the acid reek of stale perspiration. Facing the entrance was an ancient elevator scarcely big enough to hold four people.

      Chuck slid back the grill and followed English into the elevator. He thumbed the automatic button, and the cage started its jerky ascent.

      English had left his overcoat in the car. He stood solidly on the balls of his feet, his hands thrust into the pockets of his tuxedo, a smouldering cigar between his teeth, his eyes brooding and cold.

      Chuck glanced at him, then glanced away.

      Eventually the elevator jerked to a standstill at the sixth floor and Chuck pulled back the grill.

      English stepped into a dimly lit passage. Almost opposite him was an open door through which a light came, throwing a square of brightness on the dirty rubber floor of the passage. Further along the passage to the left was another door, showing a light through the frosted panel. To his right, at the end of the passage, was yet another door without glass. A light showed under the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.

      Lieutenant Morilli came through the open doorway. He was a thickset man in his late forties. His lean hatchet face was pallid, and his СКАЧАТЬ