1979 - A Can of Worms by James Hadley Chase Page B

upset?”
    She sat still, looking down at her clenched fists. She sat like that for several minutes while I waited. I could afford to give her plenty of time to think what to do. I knew I had her over a barrel. This wasn’t the moment to put on pressure. I wanted her to come to the right decision without a nudge from me.
    Finally, she said, “Are you sending in this report?”
    “That’s just it, Mrs. Hamel. That’s why I am in a quandary. Look at it from my angle.” I paused to give her my friendly, understanding smile. “Mr. Hamel hires me or rather, he hires the Agency I work for. It is going to cost him money. I’m just one of twenty detectives paid by the Agency, and paid badly. Although the Agency regards Mr. Hamel as their client, there is no need for me to regard him as my client. Frankly, Mrs. Hamel, I don’t approve of husbands who distrust their wives. Unfortunately for me, because I have to earn a living, I have to do what I am told by my Agency.” I paused to put on my worried, depressed expression. “So now, perhaps, you see my quandary.”
    She looked away from me.
    “I think so,” she said. “Go on.”
    “Well, that’s really it, Mrs. Hamel. I have two reports: either of them I could give Mr. Hamel. The first one will satisfy him that he has started something he should never have even contemplated.”
    I took the two reports from my wallet and handed her the first one which stated that I had followed her for four days and had found she was leading a blameless existence.
    She read it.
    “And the other one?”
    I gave it to her. It was in detail: the pirates’ island, Aldo Pofferi, and who he was. Josh Jones. The Alameda bar.
    This time I watched her. As she read, her face became whiter, and her hands were shaking when she put the report down on the table.
    “What am I to do, Mrs. Hamel?” I asked. “You must understand that I should give Mr. Hamel this second report. If I don’t, I could lose my job, and frankly, I can’t afford to lose my job. I would like to be helpful. As I’ve said, I don’t approve of husbands distrusting their wives. But there it is. . .my quandary.”
    She sat still, again staring down at her hands. I waited, but as she said nothing, I decided to help her.
    “Of course, if you hired me to look after your interests, Mrs. Hamel, I would be relieved of my quandary. I would no longer be working for Mr. Hamel. I could be working for you. I would then send in the first report without any problems . . . if I were working for you.”
    She moved, then looked up from her hands, but not at me.
    “I understand,” she said. “Would you work for me?”
    Nearly home, I told myself. Like any sale, the payoff hinged on the price. We hadn’t got that far, but we were nearing it.
    “I would be happy to, Mrs. Hamel.” I even surprised myself how sincere I sounded.
    “What would your services entail?” She was now looking steadily at me. The cold, contemptuous expression in her eyes slightly dented my ego.
    “Well, of course, Mr. Hamel would receive the first, negative report and not the second damaging report,” I said. “Then I would, if Mr. Hamel was still not satisfied, give him more negative reports until he was satisfied.”
    She waited. I waited. I had to hitch my smile into place.
    “That’s it, Mrs. Hamel,” I said finally, because the silence and the way she was looking at me began to nibble at my nerves.
    “Naturally, you would expect to be paid to work for me,” she said.
    Well, here it was: the payoff.
    “This would be a business transaction, Mrs. Hamel. Yes, I would expect to be paid. I have to live. If it ever got out that I had turned in a false report, I would be in trouble.” I hitched up the smile. “I have a licence. Frankly, that’s about all I do have. To work for you, Mrs. Hamel, would be putting my licence on the line. If I lost that, I would be out in the cold, cold world. That is, no other agency would employ me. So . . .I would be taking