Free 1951 - But a Short Time to Live by James Hadley Chase Page B

doubtful. There's nothing else I can offer you."
    "The cod sounds all right," Harry said doubtfully. "That'll do fine. I'm so sorry to be such a nuisance."
    "Don't you worry," Mrs. Westerham said. "You rest and get well. You might "ave been killed. That's what Mr. Mooney said."
    The morning seemed endless, and when, just before noon, Harry heard the front door bell ring, he wondered hopefully, if Mooney or Doris had come to see him. He wanted company, and perhaps a little sympathy, but company before anything,
    Someone was coming up the stairs. A tap sounded on the door, and he called "Come in," half-expecting Mrs. Westerham.
    The door opened and Clair entered: Clair, radiant in a smartly cut coat, hatless, her hair caught back with green ribbon, looking very young and bright, and ladened with parcels.
    "Hallo," she said, and shut the door with her foot.
    Harry felt himself turn red, then white, then red again; too surprised to utter a word.
    "How's the head?" Clair asked. She dumped her parcels on the bamboo table, and seeing how confused he was, walked across the room to take a quick look at herself in the fly-blown mirror to give him time to recover. Then she turned and smiled at him.
    "Well, say something," she said. "Don't gape at me as if I were a ghost. You'll make me think I shouldn't have come."
    "You startled me out of my wits," Harry said, his pulse leaping and jumping. "What on earth are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?"
    She came over to the bed, and stood close to him, looking down at him.
    "Aren't you pleased to see me?"
    "Oh yes," Harry said. "Of course I am. Only you're the last person I expected to see — and I was thinking about you too. It is wonderful of you to have come."
    "How are you?"
    "I'm all right," Harry said, conscious that his pyjamas were old and faded, and the room looked horribly drab. "I've a bit of a headache, of course. How did you know?"
    "It's in the paper. As soon as I saw it I thought I'd come and see you. I rang up the studio, and Mr. Mooney gave me your address. He asked me if I was your girlfriend, and said he had heard a lot about me."
    "He's an awful liar," Harry said hastily. "You mustn't believe a word he says."
    "Well, I told him I was your girl. I didn't think he'd give me your address otherwise. Do you mind?"
    "Mind?" Harry said. "No, I don't mind. I don't mind a bit."
    "And I told the old lady who let me in I was your sister. I didn't think she would let me come up unless I said that," Clair said, and giggled.
    "I bet she didn't believe you," Harry said, grinning. "You know this is marvellous. What made you come?"
    She took off her coat and dropped it on a chair.
    "Oh, I hadn't anything better to do, and I thought you might like something to eat. You didn't sound as if you got much when last we met. I told the old lady I was going to give you lunch. She seemed quite relieved. I've even brought you a bottle of whisky if you feel like a drink."
    "But, look, Clair — I suppose I may call you Clair?"
    She smiled.
    "You may. But look — what?"
    Harry struggled to sit up.
    "This is crazy. Why, we only met the other night. . ."
    "You mean you don't want me?" she asked, and her eyes hardened. "Do you want me to go?"
    "Of course I don't. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. But I'm — well, I'm just bowled over. Can't you see? That a girl like you should bother to come here . . . it's fantastic."
    "Is it? Then let's not talk about it. I'm here. Stop looking like a startled ghost and tell me about your head. Does it hurt very much?"
    "A bit, but it's all the better for seeing you."
    She sat on the bed and began to open her parcels.
    "Who did it, Harry?"
    "I don't know. I wish I did. He was after a roll of film I had taken," and he told her about his idea of night photography, of his success and how the tow-headed man had attacked him.
    "Nothing else was stolen except the film. The police think I must have taken someone's picture who didn't want it taken."
    "You —