Read 1957 - The Guilty Are Afraid for Free Online Page B

to that, but I had hoped I might flush him out of his cover by bluff: it hadn’t worked.
    “You’d know more about that than I do.”
    He sat back in his chair, drummed on the desk for about four seconds, his face still dead pan, but I knew his mind was busy. Then he reached out a bony finger and pressed a button. A door to the right of the desk opened immediately and Hammerschult appeared. He appeared so quickly he had to be waiting just outside the door for the summons.
    “Hertz,” Creedy said without looking at him.
    “At once, sir,” Hammerschult said and went away.
    Creedy continued to drum on his desk. He kept his eyes lowered.
    We waited in silence for perhaps forty-five seconds, then a rap sounded on the door. It opened, and a short, thickset man came in. His right ear was bent and crushed into his head. At some time in his career someone must have hit him either with a brick or possibly a sledgehammer: no fist could have caused that amount of damage. His nose was boneless and spread over his face. His eyes were small, and had that wild light in them you might see in the eyes of an angry and vicious orangutan. Black hairs sprouted over the top of his collar. He wore a pair of fawn flannel trousers, a white sports coat and one of those razzle-dazzle, hand-painted ties. He moved up to the desk silently and swiftly. He was as light on his feet as any ballet dancer.
    Creedy pointed his chin at me.
    “Look at this man, Hertz,” he said. “I want you to remember him. It may be I will want you to take care of him. It’s unlikely, but he may be a bigger fool than he looks. Just make certain you will know him again.”
    Hertz turned and stared at me. His cruel little eyes moved over my face, his own smashed-up, ruined face was expressionless.
    “I’ll know him again, boss,” he said, his voice husky and soft.
    Creedy waved him away and he went out, closing the door silently behind him.
    There was a pause, then I said, “What is he supposed to do to me—turn me into butter?”
    Creedy took off his glasses, pulled out a white silk handkerchief and began to polish the lenses, staring at me.
    “I don’t like inquiry agents,” he said. “They seem to me to be shabby little men who have tendencies to become blackmailers. I haven’t hired your Mr. Sheppey nor would it cross my mind to do so. I would advise you to get out of this city immediately. A man in my position is often annoyed by people like you. It saves time and irritation to bring Hertz on to the scene. He is an extraordinary character. He is under the impression that he is in my debt. I can say to him this man is annoying me and he makes it his business to persuade the man to stop annoying me. I have never inquired how he does it, but I have never known him to fail. That is the position, Mr. Brandon. I don’t know your Mr. Sheppey. I didn’t hire him. I don’t wish to have anything to do with you. You may go now unless you wish to say something that might be of value.”
    I smiled at him. I had got over his searchlight gaze, the big room and the awe-inspiring atmosphere. I was more angry now than I had ever been before in my life, and that is saying a lot.
    “Yes, I have something to say,” I said, resting my hands on his desk and staring him in the face. “First, Mr. Creedy, I thought you would be smarter than you are. I didn’t know for certain that you had hired Sheppey, now I do. It so happened Sheppey wrote your name down on his blotter: that was the only clue I had to work on. I thought it was possible someone had mentioned your name to him and while he was talking to this someone he had doodled your name in the rather senseless way he had. Now I know different. When I called this afternoon, I was pretty sure you wouldn’t see me. A man with your money doesn’t grant an interview to a small-time inquiry agent unless he either wants to employ him or else he has something on his mind that is keeping him awake at nights. By giving me