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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
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RGL e-Book Cover
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She rushed to the wardrobe, which was crammed with clothes.
Daytona Beach Morning Journal, Florida, 24 Dec 1943
"SURPRISE," murmured Celia as she touched the latchkey in her coat pocket. The contact gave her a throb of delight because it anticipated the moment when she would go out of the wind and rain, into the warmth and light of home. She was rushing into her future, all unconscious of peril—a peril against which she had been duly warned....
This warning had been following her during her 10 months' theatrical tour of America, tracking her faithfully but doomed always to be one stage behind. Even at that moment it was drawing nearer to her and approaching its journey end—when it would be too late....
The railway terminus was not calculated to raise dim spirits. It was vast, ill-lit, and minus the bustle and excitement of travel which had animated it during the day. But if the platforms were deserted, the refreshment buffet was crowded with passengers surging to the counter to be served. Celia's arm was jolted, and her coffee slopped into her saucer, but she continued to smile at the young man beside her.
"Is this strange stuff English tea?" he asked.
"That old crack," groaned Celia "Typical of your mentality. You know jolly well it is coffee."
It was customary for the young American—Don Sherwood—and Celia to insult each other consistently.
It had cost Don an effort to ask his first personal question, for he knew nothing about Celia.
"Are you married?"
"Gosh, no. I share a flat with my twin sister—Cherry. You've got to be a twin yourself to know how close you are to each other. She's my other half. When she got married, even Jas couldn't maul up things between us...."
"Have you wired her you're coming?" asked Don.
"That would spoil everything. It's a tradition in our family never to write or phone.
"Sounds risky to me. How d'you know your sister will be home?"
"I know because Jas—her husband—has a government job in London."
"If I were fond of any one, I wouldn't like to go without news of her for ten months," said the young man.
"Actually, it's never been so long before," she said. "But I know Cherry is all right because we're identical twins. There's a current of sympathy between us and if she were ill or in trouble, I should feel miserable."
"I suppose we must say good-by."
"What a relief." The words were mechanical for Celia's voice trembled as she asked a question. "Will you miss me?"
Celia's hazel eyes were soft as she looked at Don's clear cut features—his firm lips and well-shaped head—as though to preserve a memory. In his turn, he gazed fondly at her—a ginger haired girl, hatless, and wearing her first fur coat.
A coat which within the next ninety minutes would be connected with in episode of unimagined horror.
"I have a reservation at a hotel," Don told her. "My first commission will be to see Madame safely home."
AS the taxi bore them through be curtain of rain, Celia realized bat they had reached a closer stage in their friendship.
"Rents are cheap because the neighborhood is going down, but it's very respectable.... We're a big family and Daddy is one of those doctors who never get paid. At home, we were always in a crowd."
"So the twins cut loose and went on the stage?" prompted Don.
"Nearly there," she told him. "This is our road."
"You girls seem to take every chance," he scolded.
He felt her shudder.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I don't know. Something terrible seemed to rush over me."
"Well, we'll soon find out about that," said Don.
Suddenly she stopped to thrust her latchkey into his hand.
"Open the door for me," she said, "and tell me exactly what you see. I'm afraid to look."
Filled with uneasy curiosity, Don unlocked the door and pushed it ajar while Celia closed her eyes. A private house had been converted into flats and the staircase which led to the upper stories had been boarded up, with a separate entrance. Only room was left for a minute vestibule and a narrow passage on to which the rooms opened. The nearest door was set corner-wise to the lobby, whose walls were hung with grimed gilded paper. Its floor was covered with a plaited mat whose pattern was nearly rubbed off; an enormous blue jar held peacock feathers, and a tarnished brass model of a dragon reared itself on top of a sham red-lacquer antique chest.
"It's our Chinese ante-chamber.... Everything's all right. Cherry is here, for the light is on."
"You were an angel to see me home," she whispered. "Good-by, darling."
Don knew that she had forgotten him in the rapture of her homecoming, so he closed and relocked the door, mechanically slipping the key into his coat pocket.
"SURPRISE."
Celia's lips shaped the word as she peeped around the open door of the lounge, expecting to see Cherry smoking upon the divan. She looked at the tawdry black and gilt brocade suite—the purple satin curtains and he large cushions of which the girls had been so proud.
Walking on tip-toe in the hope of surprising her sister, Celia opened the door of the next room, which was hers, only to find it in darkness. The bathroom and then the kitchenette were also unlit, so there remained only the big bedroom at the end of the passage.
Celia entered it confidently, expecting to see both Cherry and James. This time she met with a double disappointment as she gazed around her at the familiar old-rose carpet, the twin beds with dusty-pink satin coverlets and the veneered walnut toilet-table with its big triple mirrors. Then she picked up from be floor a sapphire-blue velvet robe, rimmed with white fur.
She had arrived at the flat without even a dressing-bag, sure of obtaining necessities for the night from her sister.
She was still wearing the fur coat she had bought in New York—recklessly spending all her surplus salary. She took it off and opened the door of her own little room.
The light from the passage showed her an uninviting interior—a stripped bed and a clutter of clothing thrown over every surface and piece of furniture. Too careful of her new property to add it to the communal lumber, she opened one-half of the wardrobe and hung it on an empty peg.
She was entering the lounge when she was startled by a dull thud—suggestive of the fall of some heavy object It was impossible to locate it, so she stood, listening for it to be repeated.
AS she sat and smoked her spirits began to droop from combined frustrated hope and fatigue. She was further depressed when she gazed around her with eyes which seemed to be newly-scaled. The room was more than untidy.
When she crossed over to the side table, she found evidence of further deterioration. There were too many bottles stacked amid a thick litter of cigarette-stubs, while every glass was dirty.
Too tired to wash up, she searched amid the empties in the sideboard cupboard until she found a few tiny glasses of continental origin which were reserved for best occasions.
After she had sipped a small gin and lime, she felt brighter.
Then she remembered the sudden thrill of expectation which invariably heralded their reunion and she smiled.
"Yes, at this moment Cherry is feeling very happy over me."
Even as the thought flashed across her mind. Cherry sat up in her bed at the nursing home and brushed shed her red hair back from her brow.
"Nurse," she cried, "I'm distracted about my sister."
The night nurse looked at her in surprise.
"I know she is in trouble." went Cherry. "We are identical twins and very close. It's like this. She went to America before I knew at my young gentleman was on the way. Directly after, my father-law died and left us his furnished house at Purley. Of course, I wrote her telling her our new address. But now I'm wondering if she got the letter."
"If she hasn't got it, she'll go to our old flat," she said.
"If she does, the hall porter can tell her where you live now," argued the nurse.
"There's no porter. The man who bought it made us an offer for our furniture as he was letting it out in furnished flats."
"Does your sister know about the baby?" she asked.
"No," replied Cherry—her habitual smile breaking through—"I left him out of the letter. When Celia comes to Purley, Jas is going to tell her I've broken my leg and send her on here. But now I'm afraid. I kept seeing her in a terrible tainted place—all alone and in danger."
AS though the twins had been actually talking over an invisible telephone, the word 'tainted' slipped into Celia's mind. It made her feel unclean and suggested the remedy of a bath.
"Go away at once." The warning seemed to ring in her ears. "Go before it is too late."
"Nerves," she told herself as she resolutely turned on the tap, while the dingy cell filled with steam, mercifully dimming her vision. She undressed as though she were racing against time while the sense of being an intruder grew stronger.
"I pay some of the rent, so it's my own flat," she argued.
As she soaked in the hot water, the teasing feeling that she might be surprised destroyed any sense of relaxation and further stimulated her brain to unpleasant activity.
"It doesn't add up," she decided. "Cherry is too thrifty to go out and leave lights burning. Besides, she's untidy but she's not dirty. This place is filthy.
"I'll wear Cherry's robe," she thought with a pleasing memory of the warmth of its quilted satin lining.
When she reached the big pink bedroom, she went first to the toilet--table and combed out her ginger curls.
"Cherry's changed her makeup," she reflected. "Why, what's this? Has she dyed her hair?"
Although it was possible that Cherry had become a temporary brunette, an unpleasant suspicion began to shape in her mind. Hoping to disprove it, she rushed to the wardrobe which was crammed with clothes.
The first frock she saw told her the truth.
"That's not Cherry's frock. She's terrified of green. Nothing would induce her to wear it.... This isn't her flat any longer. The furniture is ours but strangers are living here.... Horrible strangers.... I must get away at once."
Half sobbing from lack of breath, she wriggled into her frock and then looked around for her precious fur coat. Rushing down the passage in a fury of impatience to escape, she burst through the door and tugged at the wardrobe... The next second she stifled a scream at the sight of a stiff white shape which had toppled sideways from the enclosed half of the clothes closet and was now propped up against her coat. It looked wedged into position, but as the door swung open wider, lack of support caused it to fall outwards.
Its chill and rigidity told her that it was a dead body and for a ghastly second she feared it might be Cherry. Her relief was almost overpowering when she exposed the henna-tinted hair of a middle-aged woman whose congested face and protruding eyes proclaimed that she had been strangled.
"Murder," gasped Celia.
In spite of the waves of terror which rolled over her, her brain still functioned and she held on to one clear purpose—to escape. Only a few yards divided her from the front door but—before she could reach the corridor, she shrank back into the room, just as a man entered the flat.
HE was tall, bull-necked and broad-shouldered and he wore country clothes—baggy plus-fours and a belted tweed coat He turned into the lounge, but—to her dismay—he left its door open, so that he could see any one who entered or left the apartment.
Suddenly two persons—a woman and a young man—entered the flat.
"Where the hell have you been?" growled the big man.
"Chasing Ronnie round the locals," explained the woman, speaking with what Celia termed 'coal in her throat.'
Celia was beginning to conclude that they could know nothing of their ghastly tenant, when Ronnie spoke nonchalantly. "Who's the stiff?"
"Fricker's maid," replied the big man. "Came here all browned off and grumbling about not enough pie."
The big man turned to Ronnie. "Can you shift her? Got a car?"
"Can do," said the youth obligingly. "Pinched a Fiat yesterday. I'll run it round at two precisely, pick up the lady and shove it into the river from the first wharf. Tide should be about high."
Celia's knees shook as she listened, for the name of 'Fricker' had given her the clue to the identity of the people in the next room. During the homeward voyage, she had heard a brief radio announcement of the murder of Lady Fricker—a well known society hostess, notorious for her jewels. The pick of these had been stolen and their owner strangled, presumably to get the string of pearls she wore always, to preserve their virtue.
"They can't stay cooped up for hours on end," Celia reasoned. "The woman will go into her room and the men will wander."
As though to strengthen her hope, Ronnie spoke to his companions.
"Got a date. I'll be seeing you. Two sharp. Time for a quick one."
Biting her lip, Celia heard him cross over to the table where she had left her glass.
"It's only one more dirty one," she thought. "He won't notice it." The big man didn't.
Unfortunately its small size attracted the attention of the youth.
"What's the idea of thimbles?" he grumbled. "Holding back on your pals?"
"Well." The woman's thick voice choked in her surprise. "Where did that come from?"
"Search me." The youth sniffed noisily. "Some one's used it. Who's been here?"
"Only the Frenchy. We locked up when we went out to collect you."
SUDDENLY the front door-bell rang loudly. There was an urgency in its peal which filled Celia with hope.
"Don't answer it."
"Fool," said the big man contemptuously. "One might think you had something to hide."
Peeping through the crack, Celia watched him open the front door. The next second she felt electrified with joy at the sound of Don's voice.
"May I speak to Miss Steel?"
"Sorry," said the big man. "Afraid you've come to the wrong fiat I'll ask my missus." He raised his voice. "My dear, do you know any one name of 'Steel' living in the building?"
"Yes," called the woman. "They had this flat before us. Two girls in the profession."
"Well, I guess she's moved since she gave me the address," he remarked, speaking with a stressed American accent "Like a dame. Sorry. So long."
"Don never spoke with that accent," Celia reasoned.
She realized that she was now in even graver danger when the big man returned to the lounge.
"I'm wondering about that dame he was chasing," he said. "Some one's been drinking out of that glass."
"I'll look 'round," said the woman.
"Bath's full of water and the light is on," she panted. "She's been here all right."
Stimulated by the urgency of her plight Celia's brain began to race. She knew that she must act swiftly and play 'Simple Sailor' with all the histrionic talent she possessed. But first of all it was vital for her to reach the big bedroom before the woman went on with her search. She must make them believe that she had fallen asleep and knew nothing about the murdered woman in the small room.
"If they know I've been here, I'm sunk," she told herself
TAKING a chance, she sped noiselessly down the passage to the big room and dashed to the nearest of the twin beds. After rucking up the silk spread and punching a hollow in the pillow, she dragged on the blue velvet robe over her frock, since there was no time to change. Then, with a feeling that she was going to enter a tiger's cage, she rushed into the lounge, shouting her sister's name.
"Cherry! Cherry!"
"Cheerio, people. I suppose you're pals of Cherry's. Where is the old girl? Tight as usual? I'm just back from the States and I've come straight from the railway station."
She got no response to her overture as they continued to stare at her with a cold impersonal gaze.
"My robe," the woman shouted. "Take it off, you—You've stolen my perfume, too. What are you doing in my flat?"
"Your flat?" asked Celia. "Do you mean my sister and her hubby aren't living here now? O, my godfather, it looks as if I'd made a mistake. Listen, people."
She told them the story of the actual facts, hoping desperately that its truth would make it convincing, even while she tried to pose as a hard-boiled gold digger.
"Ta for the lend," she said coolly. "Well, I must be toddling. My mother told me not to stay out late."
The men neither removed their eyes from her face nor moved from their positions, leaving it to the woman to protest.
"No, sister, it's not as simple as that. We got to know more about you. What else have you helped yourself to?"
"Frisk me and find out," said Celia, grateful for the education of the screen.
"You bet your life I will. But first you've got to tell me where you've been and what you've done here."
"Let's think." Celia puckered her brow. "Well, I had a drink or two—and a smoke or two—and a bath. Only one bath. Then I went to Cherry's room and had a lay down on her bed, and did a spot of shut-eye. I woke up when I heard my Yank ask for me at the front door."
Celia spoke casually, but she remembered Ronnie's argument that her silence was proof of ignorance and she felt that she was playing her trump card. She noticed the swift interchange of the men's glances although the woman appeared unimpressed.
"I'll check up on that," she said.
Left with the two men, Celia was conscious of a difference in their manner. She was sure that she had convinced them that she had blundered in by mistake and that her glaring indifference to discovery was proof of her lack of guilty knowledge.
"Didn't you want to see your Yank again?" asked the big man.
"You bet I'm going to see him." said Celia. "This is the lowdown. I'm aiming to marry the guy and I thought the robe would give him the wrong impression."
The big man nodded to Ronnie who gave her a playful slap.
"Clear out," he said. "Make it snappy."
Celia could hardly believe in her good fortune. In another minute she would be out of the terrible flat rushing to the shelter of the police station. Rushing down the passage, the woman gripped her arm and wrenched her away from the front door.
"Your mother wouldn't like you to get wet," she said with heavy sarcasm. "Where's your coat, dearie?"
"I—I haven't one," stammered Celia.
"Where's your coat?" persisted the woman. "You told us you came straight from the station. You couldn't make a journey with no coat."
"Of course not," Celia's brain whirled as she lied clumsily. "I must have left it in the taxi."
"Why did you take it off in the taxi?" asked the youth, with a leer. "Too hot in December?"
"Don't be a sap." Celia felt as though she were left to carry on the show in a blazing theater. "I told you I was going to marry the guy. I've sold him the yarn I'm a doctor's daughter and been to High school."
"And that's exactly what you are, dear," said the woman—poisoned honey in her voice. "You've been putting on an act. You know where your coat is. You know it is hanging in the wardrobe in the next room.... So you know what else is there...."
THE silence that followed was broken only by the beating of the rain against the window. Staring at the impassive faces, Celia found it difficult to believe In her fate.
"So what?" asked the woman.
"I must make the party for two," said the youth indifferently.
Celia had an agonized recollection of the purple face and bulging eyes of the murdered maid who was to be her fellow guest at the "party:" but even as the picture—which forecast her own end—flashed through her brain, the big man's arm shot out, cracking her on the jaw....
Darkness fell. She knew that she was dead, for she felt the wire biting into her throat: and then she saw stale river water bubbling up past a glass prison.... But instead of the peace of the grave, there was pandemonium all around her—shouts, blows, curses, and once, the sound of a shot Then—as she struggled back from annihilation to reality, she became aware of a whirling confusion. Gradually, as her brain cleared, she saw a wrecked room—men in uniform—and lastly, Don. She felt his arm around her as he pressed a glass to her lips.
"Throw it back," he invited.
She obeyed, although her jaw was swelling rapidly and a tooth felt loose.
"What happened?" she mumbled.
"I pocketed your latch-key by mistake," he told her. "When I found it, I thought I ought to bring it back at once. Didn't seem too safe to mail it, apart from the waste of time. Then the chap told me you were not at the flat, but I could see your bag lying behind the dragon on the chest.... Well, I knew If I started anything, they'd only plug both of us. So I put on a dishonest-to-goodness American accent hoping to fool you, in case you were listening, and I went off to collect reinforcements. We had the key so we were able to take them by surprise and that started the party. And what a party."
As he paused, a young constable—whose blackened eyes gave him an oddly glamorous appearance—crossed to the divan.
"Are you ready to tell us what happened, miss?" he asked.
Aware that she was about to present the C.I.D. with the Fricker murder gang on a platter, Celia spoke with stressed nonchalance—chiefly to keep herself from bursting into tears.
"Don't waste time on me. Just go into the next room and see what's inside the wardrobe.... You'll be surprised."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.