Free Red In The Morning by Dornford Yates Page B

shoulders.
    “People who are blackmailed very seldom do.”
    “I don’t agree. In any event, to submit to blackmail is madness. The price is always too high.”
    “Aren’t we running away from the point?”
    “I don’t think so. Gedge cumbers your uncle’s earth. Your uncle desires to uproot him. Well, he can do so tomorrow – he’s only to go to the police. Instead–”
    “Why don’t you go to the police?”
    “Why should I?”
    “You know what Gedge is.”
    “I know this – that some years ago he tried his best to possess some jewels that were mine.”
    “Why didn’t you go to the police?”
    “Because he had committed no crime. He was trying to rob the fellow who had robbed me.”
    “You know that Gedge is one of the very big shots.”
    “I think that is very likely. He doesn’t happen to have practised his art against me.”
    “He kidnapped Mrs Chandos. Why don’t you jug him for that?”
    “That’s surely Chandos’ affair.”
    The girl expired.
    “What the devil are you here for?” she said.
    “I am here because Gedge has declared his intention of taking my life. I always think it best to settle a thing like that. And so I have come to this region to give him his chance: and if he tries to take it, I shall kill him in self-defence.”
    “My uncle offers to assist you.”
    “To defend myself? I’m much obliged, but I think it would be a mistake to rope him in.”
    “You mean you don’t trust him.”
    “I neither trust nor distrust him. But Gedge has thrown down the glove and I’ve picked it up. Seconds out of the ring, in a show like that.”
    The girl raised her eyebrows.
    “You’d be well advised,” she said, “to accept my uncle’s help. Gedge’s eyes – when your name is mentioned…”
    “Who mentions my name?” said Mansel.
    “If you have to know, it’s seldom off somebody’s lips. Gedge’s crowd, I mean.”
    “Why do you have to do with people like them?”
    “ Force majeure , I suppose.”
    “Forgive me for pointing out that you have their confidence.”
    “Which is absurd.”
    “You knew my name. You knew where I was staying. You knew why I was there. You knew that Mrs Chandos had been kidnapped. You know that Gedge is ‘one of the very big shots.’”
    “When Brevet has had a couple, he can’t keep quiet.”
    “I see. D’you know Gedge’s nickname?”
    For a split second the girl hesitated. Then –
    “Yes, I know that. Auntie Emma.”
    As she spoke, she moved in her seat, and I saw her left hand go out to the pocket on the door of the car.
    “Have you got a sobriquet?”
    The explosion the question provoked was shocking enough. As the girl whipped out a pistol, I caught her wrist and took the weapon away. Her face distorted with passion, she turned to stare upon me. Then she swung round upon Mansel and started to fight. Mansel seized her ankles and I caught her other wrist; but it was not easy to hold her, for fury had lent her a strength few women possess. And then, all at once, she went slack.
    “I’m through,” she said. “Let me go.”
    We did as she said, and she put her head in her hands and sank her hands to her lap. So she stayed for a minute, and then she began to weep…
    Perhaps five minutes went by – a painful interval. Then the girl lifted her head and sat back in her seat.
    “Yes, I’m The Stoat,” she said. “And, as I have shown you, I’m not as nice as I look.”
    “I’m not so sure,” said Mansel.
    The girl turned and looked upon him.
    “What do you mean?” she said.
    “That the company you keep is against you.”
    “That may be true,” said the girl. A hand went up to her head. “You’re the first decent men I’ve met for nearly three years.”
    “There you are,” said Mansel. He pressed the self-starter button. “Come on: let’s be getting back.”
    In silence we gained the road, and a moment later we were stealing the way we had come.
    “I suppose you know,” said the girl, “that I’ve told you a