I'll Bury My Dead. James Hadley Chase

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      “Yes, Mr. English. I’ve found correspondence dated up to July 31st, but nothing since then.”

      “What was he doing then for the past nine months?”

      Lois shook her head.

      “The place might just as well have been closed. Nothing came in, and nothing went out. At least, there are no copies of letters in the files.”

      English rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

      “How about his cases? Did he keep any record of those?”

      “He handled eighteen cases from April to the end of July. Twelve of them were divorce cases, three missing people cases and three husband-and-wife watching. But after the end of July there are no records of him having any other cases.”

      “What about his books?”

      “There was a set in the safe. I took copies of the details from March to July. I thought the police mightn’t like it if I took the books away. I have the copies if you would like to see them.”

      “What was his net average take?”

      “Around seventy-five a week.”

      English grimaced.

      “That’s nothing. Did the books show anything after July?”

      She shook her head.

      “Then how in the world did he manage to run a house like that on seventy-five a week?” English said blankly. “You mean to tell me that since August the business hasn’t earned a dime?”

      “He may have kept another set of books, Mr. English, but according to the one I found, nothing came in since August.”

      English shrugged.

      “Well, okay. What else did you find?”

      “There was a card index holder in one of his desk drawers. It had a few blank cards in it. I have an idea the cards that were in use have been taken away.”

      English studied her, his eyes interested.

      “What makes you say that?”

      “From the appearance of the box. The bottom of it was very dusty, and by the marks in the dust it was pretty obvious that there had been a number of cards in the box. I’m just making a guess, but it did strike me that a number of cards had been recently removed.”

      “Maybe the box belonged to the previous owner.”

      “It looked new to me, Mr. English.”

      English pushed back his chair and stood up. He began to prowl around the office, his brows wrinkling into a frown.

      “It’s damned funny, isn’t it?” he said after a long silence. “So no business at all was done in the office from August of last year to date. Is that right?”

      “Yes, unless copies of letters and dossiers covering that period have been taken away.”

      “Any sign of any paper having been burned in the office?”

      “No.”

      “Well, all right, Lois, thanks a lot. Sorry to have kept you out of bed so late. Be a good girl and go home after lunch. What’s important for me today?”

      “You have two interviews this afternoon—Miss Nankin and Mr. Burnstein. You are lunching with the senator at one-thirty. There’s the mail and a number of contracts for your signature, and Harry would like you to see the balance sheet and figures of the fight.”

      “Let’s have the mail first. Then send Harry in to me.” English glanced at his watch. “I have an hour and a half before I need worry about the senator.”

      “Yes, Mr. English.”

      She went out and returned almost immediately with the mail. She sat down at the desk with her notebook ready for his dictation.

      Working with his usual speed, English polished off the mail, glanced through a number of contracts that had been initialled by Sam Crail, signed them, then pushed the pile of papers over to Lois.

      “Let’s have Harry in now,” he said.

      Harry Vince came in with slightly dragging feet. He looked pale, and there were smudges under his eyes.

      English gave him a quick glance, then grinned.

      “Late hours don’t seem to suit you, Harry,” he said. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

      “I guess I feel like it, too,” Harry said with a wan smile. “I have the figures for you. We have a net take of two hundred and seventy-five thousand.”

      English nodded.

      “That’s not so bad. Did you put a bet on Joey, Harry?”

      Harry shook his head.

      “I guess I forgot.”

      English gave him a sharp look.

      “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want to pick up some free money? I told you you couldn’t go wrong.”

      “I meant to, Mr. English,” Harry said, flushing, “but in the rush it went out of my mind.”

      “Chuck made himself a thousand. Didn’t Lois back Joey?”

      “I don’t think she did.”

      “You two are hopeless,” English said with a resigned shrug. “Well, it’s your own funeral. I can’t do more than put the opportunity to make some money in front of you. That reminds me. Morilli will look in some time this morning. Give him three hundred out of my expense account. He’s supposed to have won it on the fight.”

      “Yes, Mr. English.”

      English stubbed out his cigar.

      “Ever thought of getting married, Harry?” he asked abruptly.

      Harry stiffened. His eyes shifted away from English.

      “Why, no. I guess I haven’t.”

      “Haven’t you even got a girl?” English asked, smiling.

      “I just haven’t had time to get around to girls yet,” Harry said in a low, flat voice.

      “Well, for God’s sake! You’re—what? Thirty-two or three?”

      “Thirty-two.”

      “You’d better buck up,” English said, and laughed. “Why, when I was half your age I had a string of girls.”

      “Yes, Mr. English.”

      “Maybe СКАЧАТЬ