The Stars are Dark by Peter Cheyney

Author:Peter Cheyney [Cheyney, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2021-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

The Spanner in the Works

I

Foden tilted back his chair. He was feeling vaguely amused and happy. He was certain that things were coming his way; that everything was going to be as he wanted it to be. For some reason which he could not quite understand, he felt an extraordinary sense of power. The atmosphere of the Club to which Zilla Stevenson had brought him was pleasing. It was a change after the sort of place he was used to. As a club it was neither distinguished nor pleasing to the eye, but there was at least some sort of atmosphere. The music made by the small band placed in one corner of the tiny dance floor was soft and not disagreeable. Life, thought Foden, could be a great deal worse.

He said: “I suppose you know a lot of places like this?”

She looked at him and nodded her head. She said: “Yes, I do. There’s not very much to do in the evening and I get taken out a lot. I’m lucky I suppose.”

Foden said: “I heard from Horace this morning. He was coming up to London to-day. He gave me an address and telephone number. I shall be seeing him to-morrow.” He went on: “You know, it’s difficult to realize that you’re his sister.”

Zilla tossed her head. “That’s what a lot of people tell me,” she said. “And sometimes I don’t feel like his sister. Horace has been a fool all his life. He’s quite content to go on doing the same job day after day—week after week. He’s never tried to better himself. He doesn’t want to get anywhere. He’s always doing odd things—underhand things.” Her voice was hard.

“Such as what?” queried Foden.

“This business about the twenty-five pounds,” said Zilla—“sending me a wire trying to put the wind up me; making out that it was a matter of life or death. I bet it was!” She laughed sarcastically. “Probably a bookmaker’s account,” she said.

Foden grinned. He signalled to the aged waiter; ordered more drinks. He said:

“You don’t know how right you are. It was a bookmaker’s account. You evidently know Horace.”

“I know Horace all right,” said Zilla. “The trouble is he doesn’t know me. He only thinks he does. Mind you, I’m his sister, and so I’m sorry when he gets into a jam, but it’s usually his own fault.”

Foden said: “You know, Zilla, there are some people who get into jams, and there are some people who don’t—or if they do they know how to get out of them. You and I belong to the second class. We’re the sort of people who always fall on our feet because we’ve got brains. Horace isn’t. Horace is what is commonly known as a mug.”

He lit a cigarette. He said expansively: “Anyway, I don’t mind about Horace and I’m going to give him the twenty-five pounds to square things up with the bookmaker, because whatever you may think of him he’s done me a very good turn.”

She said: “Well, I’m glad he’s done somebody a good turn.

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