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

swear I did.”
    “Listen to me, Jones,” she said. “Yesterday morning, I left a valuable diamond ring in the bathroom. It is missing. Now I find that yesterday you paid for this motorcycle. I am accusing you of stealing my ring, selling it and with the money, you bought this motorcycle.”
    He shut his eyes and swayed on his feet. For a moment she though he was going to faint. Looking at him she felt desire stab at her. He was such a beautiful male. A half-caste. She wouldn’t have known except for the silky black hair. She steeled herself.
    “Isn’t that what you did?”
    “No, ma’am. I swear I didn’t take your ring.”
    “You seem good at swearing. All right, then let us see how Mr. Henessey deals with you. Let us see how the police will deal with you. I can’t imagine anyone will believe you saved four thousand dollars.”
    She got up and walked to the telephone.
    “Ma’am, please. I didn’t take your ring.”
    She paused by the telephone, her hand on the receiver, looking at him.
    “But you did take something, didn’t you?”
    He seemed to shrivel in his white uniform as he nodded. I’m halfway there, she thought and released the telephone receiver.
    “What did you take?”
    In a whisper, he said, “A red folder from your suitcase, ma’am.”
    She returned to the chair and sat down.
    “And what did you do with it?”
    “I – I gave it to a man.”
    “What man?”
    He hesitated, then blurted out, “Mr. Jackson.”
    “Harry Jackson?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Why did you do that?”
    Again he hesitated, then said, “I wanted the bike. Mr. Jackson said he would give me the money if I would look around your suite for something important.”
    “How much money was he going to give you?”
    “Four thousand dollars, ma’am.”
    “So you didn’t save very much, did you . . . less than two hundred dollars.”
    “I – I don’t earn much, ma’am.”
    “Is it a fact, Jones, that Jackson employs you to spy on guests staying here?”
    He licked his lips, looked imploringly at her, then said, “This is the first time. I swear it’s the first time.”
    “Something important? Did he tell you what to look for?”
    “He said love letters, ma’am or anything important.” He was now nearly crying. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, ma’am, but I did want the bike.”
    “You read the contents of the folder?”
    “I don’t read handwriting so well. I saw it was about a will. It seemed important to me so I took it.”
    She remembered Jackson’s words: He won’t part with the letter for less than five hundred thousand. Could anything be more crazy? I tried to talk sense into him, but he won’t listen .
    “Did you take photocopy of the letter?”
    He stared at her, his eyes bewildered.
    “No, ma’am. I just gave Mr. Jackson the folder.”
    “And he gave you four thousand dollars in cash?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Didn’t you wonder why Jackson wanted something important from me? Didn’t you wonder why he should give you so much money?”
    “I wanted the bike.”
    “Don’t talk like a goddamn idiot!” Helga shouted at him. “You must have wondered!”
    He flinched.
    “I – I thought he wanted to make trouble for you, ma’am. I had never seen you. I was just thinking of the bike.”
    “Do you know what blackmail means?”
    He flinched again.
    “Yes, ma’am. It is a bad think.”
    “Didn’t it occur to you that Jackson was planning to blackmail me?”
    “He wouldn’t do that, ma’am. Mr. Jackson is a nice fellow. He really is. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
    “And yet you did think he wanted to make trouble for me. What kind of trouble if it wasn’t blackmail?”
    He wrung his hands.
    “I didn’t think, ma’am. I just wanted the bike.”
    “Jackson is now blackmailing me because of the letter you stole. He could go to jail for fourteen years . . . and so could you.”
    Jones stared at her in horror.
    “I just wanted the bike. I swear I didn’t mean . .