Free Get a Load of This by James Hadley Chase Page B

you, sometimes I get pretty scared.”
     I began to get seriously worried. It was quite obvious to me that he was making a tremendous effort to seem casual, but every now and then I would get a glimpse of an expression in his eyes that told me he was in a very bad shape. There was no doubt that he was terrified, almost as pathetically as a child awakening from some evil nightmare.
     I asked him when he was getting married.
     “Early next month. I have two more races, and then I'm going to Key West for my honeymoon. That's really what I want to speak to you about. I want you to come along for some fishing.”
     I stared at him. “My dear fellow. Not on your honeymoon. Why, damn it—”
     He laughed. “For God's sake don't be so old-fashioned. Of course you can. Myra likes plenty of company. Quite a lot of the crowd will be there.”
     I shook my head. “No, I'm sorry, George, it's quite impossible. I've got my work to think about, and I'm just finishing a novel. No, I'm sorry.”
     When I said that, I realized that there was a lot more behind this peculiar wedding than George had told me. He suddenly seemed to lose control of himself, and I thought he was going to break down. He seized my arm in a grip that made me wince. “Don't let me down,” he said, “I've been relying on you. I don't think I could stand it if you weren't there.”
     I said, rather sharply, “What the devil is this business?”
     He shook his head. “Don't ask me. You'll know in time. Don't say you won't come. You must come.”
     I finally gave him my promise. Almost immediately he braced up and seemed anxious to get away. “I'm sorry about all this,” he said, signalling to the waiter, “but I am frightfully nervy after a race. A good night's sleep will put me right, I expect. I can't say how glad I am that you're coming. It'll be like old times, won't it?”
     He drove me back to my apartment, but refused to come in. “I'll write and give you the details as soon as I get everything fixed up. Myra will be tickled when she hears you are an author. She gets a big kick out of that sort of thing.”
     I looked at him sharply because I was almost certain that there had been a sneer in his voice, but I could detect nothing from his expression. We shook hands and parted. I went up to my apartment in a very thoughtful mood. It had been an evening full of strange and uncomfortable incidents.
     The following day I obtained a clue to the whole thing. It came about in the course of a casual conversation with Drayton, my senior director. He and I had just finished an excellent lunch, and I was on the point of leaving to buy a harness for the fishing trip with George.
     Drayton asked me where I was going to fish. I told him how I had met George, and I could see an immediate interest at the mention of his name.
     “Hemingway? He's the fellow in oil, isn't he?”
     “I really don't know. I have never asked. This Hemingway is the motor-racing fellow.”
     “Yes. I didn't know you knew him. Between you and me, I'm afraid he's going to run into a packet of trouble before long.”
     Sensing that I was on the very clue that might explain all this business I sat down again. “What sort of trouble?”
     Drayton lowered his voice. “I understand that the particular oil-fields he's invested in have dried up without warning. His firm are facing one of the biggest crashes in the history of Wall Street. No one knows about it yet. Engineers are out there making a report. It has never happened before. Everyone thought oil had been struck in a big way. It lasted until all the necessary machinery was set up and then—finish. It is incredible.”
     I stared at him. “He's getting married next month,” I said. “Poor devil. I suppose he's aware what has happened?”
     Drayton coughed. “His future