1972 - You're Dead Without Money by James Hadley Chase Page B

not,’ Elliot said. ‘Who knows? In a little while the police may come looking for me.’ He had said this jokingly but the truth of it suddenly struck him. He realized with a sense of shock that he was no better than these three professional thieves. They stole in a small way, but he had been stealing in a big way. By walking out like this he was stealing from the bank and his creditors. The nine thousand dollars in his hip pocket was stolen. The clothes on his back and in his suitcase were stolen. Goddamn it, he thought. I’m a thief! I’m as dishonest as these three are! Then into his mind came the memory of Louis de Marney as he said, ‘ You have the opportunity of getting the stamps - how you get them is no business of ours - we will accept them from you, ask no questions and give you two hundred thousand .’
    Elliot studied the three as they sat looking at him. Maybe with their help, he could get hold of these stamps. Suppose he paid them fifty thousand? That would leave him with a hundred and fifty. With that kind of money he could really have a ball before he called it a day.
    The idea caught fire in his mind.
    ‘If you three really want fifty thousand,’ he said, ‘how about earning it?’ He came back to his chair and sat down. ‘How would you like to do a job with me?’
    Vin eyed him suspiciously.
    ‘What kind of job?’
    ‘In your line.’ Leaning forward, Elliot told them about the Russian stamps.
     

Four
     
    A s Louis de Marney was winding down the steel grille that protected the window of the gallery, he saw Elliot coming down the street from the parking lot. He nipped into Kendrick’s room to warn him.
    Kendrick, who was preparing to go home, smiled his oily smile.
    ‘I was rather expecting him. Show him in, cheri, and stick around. I might just need you.’
    As Louis returned to the gallery, Elliot opened the door and entered.
    ‘Why, Mr. Elliot! How nice!’ Louis gushed. ‘Did you want a little mot with Claude?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Elliot’s eyes were hard and his face tense. ‘He hasn’t gone yet?’
    ‘Just on the very point, but I know he’ll see you. You go right on ahead, Mr. Elliot.’
    Elliot found Kendrick pouring himself a whisky.
    ‘My dear Don! What a nice surprise! Have some of this poison with me? It’s so bad to drink alone and Louis, the stupid dear, has given it up. All he thinks about is his figure.’
    ‘Thanks.’ Elliot closed the door, walked over to a chair and sat down.
    Kendrick brought his drink, set it on a side table, then went behind his desk, folding his bulk into his chair.
    ‘What’s brought you here, cheri?’
    Elliot lit a cigarette.
    ‘Tell me about these Russian stamps you’re interested in, Claude.’
    ‘If you can get them, Donny boy, I will . . .’
    ‘I know all that, Louis made it clear. Let’s have the dope about them and don’t, for God’s sake, call me Donny boy!’
    ‘So sorry . . . a slip of the tongue.’ Kendrick smirked. ‘Well . . . these stamps. They have an amusing history. About two years ago one of the Russian top shots - no names, of course, dear Don - thought he was entitled to have his face on a postage stamp. Let’s call him Mr. J. Well, at that time Mr. J. was powerful enough to persuade the merry gang to agree and the order went ahead to print the stamps. Mr. J. had a jealous enemy who suddenly and unexpectedly produced proof that Mr. J. wasn’t, after all, a loyal comrade but a thieving capitalist. The merry gang were horrified, stopped the print run of the stamps and ordered them all to be destroyed. It was inevitable, of course, that in the process Mr. J. also got himself destroyed. The merry gang realized that by stopping the print run of the stamps, the stamps already printed would be of tremendous value in the capitalist world. Fifteen thousand stamps had been printed. They were checked and eight were found to be missing. It was assumed that one of the printers had smuggled them out of the country for they