'You made a mistake,' I said. 'All killers make mistakes. You ran O'Brien over with the off-side wheel and you hit the motorcycle with the on-side front wing. That told me there was something phoney about the accident. It wouldn't have been possible to have killed O'Brien accidentally the way you staged it.'
He lifted his eyebrows.
'It doesn't matter. You obligingly got rid of the mistake by having the car repaired. That was a smart move of yours, Scott, the way you switched the number plates. But it did give Ross a chance to get a photograph of you and when he showed me the photo I knew then I had you where I wanted you.' He stretched out his long legs and stared up at the ceiling, 'It's a pity you got too smart. It's a pity too that you ran into that Lane woman. It complicated things for me. I knew I would have to get rid of her sooner or later as I was sure O'Brien had told her he was blackmailing me, and she would probably guess his death hadn't been an accident. I had my men watching her all the time, and she knew it. She and Nutley were scared. They wanted to get out of town where I couldn't reach them, but they lacked funds. So when you appeared on the scene, she saw her chance of getting some money to leave town. I was told you were going to her apartment. I arrived a little late, but not late enough to hear she had double-crossed you. I was waiting outside her apartment as she came out and I killed her. I very nearly lost track of Nutley, but fortunately one of my men had been watching him and he reported to me that you and Nutley had got together at the Washington. I went along there and shot him. The night clerk had to go too. He cost me a hundred dollars to go up to Nutley's room. On my way out, I had to kill him. He would have known me again.' He rubbed his red, fleshy face and his glittering eyes stared at me.
'Killing comes easily, Scott, after you have killed your first man, but it also becomes complicated. You kill someone, then you kill someone else to cover up the first killing, and then you have to kill again to cover up the second killing.'
'I guess you must be out of your mind,' I said huskily. 'You can't hope to get away with this.'
'Of course I can. At the moment I am lying in bed with a broken leg. It's a perfect alibi. It will never occur to anyone I have had anything to do with any of this. Besides, I am going to shift the whole thing on to you. I see you have a typewriter over there. I intend to type out the beginning of a confession that will convince the police that you accidentally killed O'Brien, and Ross and Lucille attempted to blackmail you.' He put his head on one side, smiling. 'I forgot to tell you that while my men were bringing you here, I took Ross back to his bungalow and shot him through the head with the gun that killed Nutley. I'm making a clean sweep, Scott. I'm tired of Ross and I am very, very tired of Lucille.' Again he smiled. 'Getting back to your confession, Scott, they will read that the Lane woman and her agent Nutley also tried to blackmail you and you killed them. You have left enough evidence behind you to convince the police that you did kill them. They will read that you went out to Ross's bungalow and killed him and then you returned here, enticed Lucille down here and strangled her with one of your neckties.'
I suddenly felt cold and sick.
'You mean you killed her?' I said, lifting my head and staring at him.
'Of course,' Aitken said. 'The opportunity was much too good to miss. When I found her on the bed, trussed and helpless, it seemed to me the easiest thing in the world to fasten one of your gaudy neckties around her stupid little throat and get rid of her. It's a clean sweep, Scott. I have got rid of Ross and her: both nuisances. I have got rid of a blackmailer who was ruining me. Fortunately Hackett came out of the blue with his hundred thousand, so I now don't need your money. I can start again. Even if I can't keep the wheel spinning at the Little Tavern, with a hundred thousand and my talents I should be able to make a fresh start.'
'You won't get away with it,' I said, staring at him. 'Too many people know about it. Claude knows: his two thugs knows …'
The sneering little smile was in evidence again.
'Claude and his two thugs as you call them are tied in with me. If I go down, so do they, and they know it. Now it only remains for yon to become a victim of your conscience, Scott, and shoot yourself. The police won't be surprised that life has become intolerable to you after all these murders and you have ended it.'
He took from his pocket a leather glove which he slipped on his right hand, then from his hip pocket he pulled out a .45 Colt.
'This is Nutley's gun,' he went on. 'It is the gun that killed him and Ross, and now it is going to kill you.' He got to his feet. 'In a way, I'm sorry about this, Scott. I shall miss you. You are good at your job, but there is no other way out of this mess. I assure you it won't hurt. I am told that a shot in the ear kills instantly.'
I was now pretty well ready to hit the ceiling. I was watching him move slowly across the room towards me, the gun hanging by his side when the front-door bell rang.
That was a moment in my life I'll never forget.
Aitken stiffened and looked towards the door. I saw his thumb push the safety catch on the gun forward.
He stood there like a stone man, listening.
'They'll know I'm in here,' I said hoarsely. 'The car's outside.'
He looked at me, his mouth curling into a snarl.
'Make a sound and you'll be the first to go,' he said.
Again the front-door bell rang, persistently and impatiently.
Aitken moved silently to the sitting-room door and cautiously peered into the hall. His back was now turned to me and to the french doors. I saw a shadow appear, and then the big, massive figure of Lieutenant West suddenly moved silently through the french doors and into the room. In his right hand he held a .38 police special.
He didn't look at me. His eyes were on Aitken's broad back.
As he lifted his gun, he suddenly barked: 'Up with them, Aitken, and drop that gun!'
I saw a shudder run through Aitken's big frame. He spun around, jerking up his gun, his face contorted with rage and fear.
West shot him.
Aitken's gun boomed, but he was already falling and the slug ploughed a groove in my parquet floor. A red stain appeared between Aitken's eyes and he pitched forward, coming down with a crash that rocked the ornaments in the room. He jerked a little as he died, but it was purely reflex. The gun slid out his limp fingers, and West moved over heavily and ponderously and picked it up.
There was the sound of running feet and three policemen, guns in hand, crowded in.
'Okay, okay, okay,' West said. I've fixed him.'
He moved over to me, shoving his gun in his hip pocket and he grinned down at me.
'I bet you were scared,' he said.
I stared up at him, and I was still so scared I couldn't say anything.
As he bent over me and began to unwind the tape around my wrists, Joe Fellowes came in hurriedly. His eyes were bulging and his face was shiny with sweat.
'Hi, Ches,' he said as I sat up, trying to rub life into my wrists. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes,' I said. 'What are you doing here, for the love of Mike?'
'It was me who called the cops,' he said, then stopped short as he caught sight of Aitken's body. His face turned a greenish grey and he stepped hurriedly back. 'Sweet grief! Is he dead?'
'Okay, you two,' West said. 'You get out of here.' He tapped me on my shoulder as I got unsteadily to my feet. 'Go and sit on the porch until I have time to talk to you. You can take it easy. I heard what he said and that puts you in the clear. Go outside and wait for me.'
'Did he kill her?' I asked.
'Yeah,' West said. 'He must have been crazy. Is that right, he operates a wheel at the Little Tavern?'
I put my hand to my coat lapel. The camera was still in place. I freed it and dropped it into his hand. 'There's a picture of the wheel in there. The I
nquirer gave the camer
a to me.'
'Looks like I've got a busy afternoon ahead of me. Go out on the porch and wait for me,' and he crossed over to the telephone.
A policeman shoved Joe and me out on to the verandah. We sat down while the policeman leaned against the door post and watched us with bored eyes.
'I saw those two thugs bring you out of the backway of the club,' Joe said. 'I'd followed you, sure you would walk into trouble. I trailed them down here, but they looked too tough for me to tackle on my own so I called the cops.'
'Thanks, Joe,' I said and lay back in the basket chair. I felt pretty bad.
Minutes crawled by, then Joe said suddenly: 'Looks as if we'll be out of a job.'
'We may not be. Someone's got to run the International. This could be our big chance, Joe,' I said, staring out at the sand and the sea.
'Yeah, I hadn't thought of that.' He moved uneasily. 'He must have been crazy. I always thought there was something wrong about him.'
'You heard what he said?'
'I was right outside the verandah door all the time. I was scared to hell he might see me. If that big dick hadn't been with me, I don't know what I should have done.'
'I felt that way myself,' I said.
After that we didn't say anything. We sat there, waiting for maybe an hour, then Lieutenant West came out on to the verandah.
'They got Claude and your two pals,' he said, his face split with a wide grin, 'and they have four wagon-loads of the blue blood of this city all going down to the lock-up. This will certainly make headlines tomorrow.' He sat down and stared at me. 'Okay, let's have it from the beginning. There are some points I didn't get. Then you'll have to come down to headquarters and we'll put it in writing. Go ahead and talk.'
So I went ahead and talked.
THE END