Free 1975 - The Joker in the Pack by James Hadley Chase Page A

She had sensed the suspicion in his voice. If he really became suspicious, he could make inquiries. The hotel manager, innocently, would tell him that she had taken the red folder from Mr. Rolfe’s desk.
    She hunched her shoulders. In spite of the hot, humid air, she felt cold. But this was no time to worry about Winborn. First, she had to deal with Jackson . . . but how?
    Suddenly, she felt exhausted. She remembered her father had often said to her, “When you have a serious problem, don’t make a quick decision . . . always sleep on it.”
    She got to her feet and walked into the bedroom.
    “Sleep alone now,” Jackson had said with a jeering grin.
    If only there was a man here, she thought: a muscular, tall and virile man who would take her and send her on a sensational trip of relief, who would wash away the memory of Jackson’s confident, jeering smile, her half-dead husband and this threat to her freedom.
    She went into the bathroom, opened the mirror cabinet, took out a bottle of sleeping pills and shook two into her palm. She tossed the pills into her mouth and swallowed them. Stripping off her clothes, she took a shower, then went into the bedroom and dropped on to the bed.
    The sounds of people enjoying themselves floated up through the open window. She could hear the roar of the passing traffic. Faintly, came the sound of the restaurant orchestra. It was playing I Follow My Secret Heart .
    Secret heart?
    Yes, her heart was secret but also lonely.
    She fought back tears. She despised self-pity. Impatient with herself, she reached out and turned off the light.
    For some minutes, she lay in the dim light of the moon coming through the slots of the sunblinds, then the two pills mercifully took hold of her and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
    It was when the effect of the pills was wearing off that she began to dream. She dreamed that she was in her father’s office in Lausanne. He was sitting behind his big desk, tall, thin, upright, his face sternly handsome while she stood before him and told him about Jackson.
    Although a brilliantly clever international lawyer, her father was given to old-fashioned clichés. In this dream he talked to her but his words didn’t register. All she could hear were the clichés: What you put in, you take out. What you lose on the swings, you gain on the roundabouts. Then leaning forward, he said distinctly, “Offense is better than defense.” She was waking as she heard his voice saying, “Always know your enemy.”
    She came awake with a start. The dream had been very real and she looked around the luxurious bedroom, not knowing where she was, then remembering. The sun was coming through the slots of the blinds. She looked at the clock on the bedside table: the time was 08.13.
    She lay still, thinking about her dream.
    Know your enemy .
    The drugged sleep had restored her energy. Her mind was clear. She lay thinking until 09.00, then she ordered coffee.
    She was in the bathroom when she heard a tap on her door.
    “Come in.”
    She slipped on a wrap and came into the living room as Hinkle wheeled in a service trolley.
    “Good morning, Hinkle,” she said. “What is new?”
    “Mr. Rolfe has passed a fair night,” Hinkle said as he poured the coffee. “Dr. Bellamy will be seeing him this morning.”
    She took the cup of coffee he handed her.
    “Could you find out two things for me, Hinkle?” she asked.
    “Certainly, madame.”
    “I want the name of the hotel detective and the name of the man who cleans this suite.”
    Hinkle lifted his eyebrows: his way of expressing astonishment, but he said impassively, “The hotel detective is Tom Henessey, madame. The cleaner is a young half-caste whom they call Dick.”
    “What a mine of information you are, Hinkle.”
    He regarded her.
    “Is there something wrong, madame?”
    “Not at all. I believe in knowing the people who look after me.” She smiled at him.
    “Yes, madame.” She could see she hadn’t convinced