The Paper Chase by Julian Symons

The man stared at Applegate while the latter ordered and paid for a large brandy.
    “Nasty weather,” he ventured inanely. The big man seemed not to have heard. “Here we are. Good luck.”
    “You’re a gentleman,” the woman said. “I can tell a gentleman when I see one. Have you mislaid your thank yous, Barney?”
    “Thank you,” the big man said. “Success to temperance.”
    “Success to temperance.” Unable to think of anything else to say, Applegate went back to his table. “The cost of living’s getting too high for me. He’s drinking double brandies.”
    “You certainly missed your chance. If that had been me I’d be on the way to getting his life story by now. Your technique is…”
    Applegate ceased to pay attention. The bar door had swung open to admit Jenks. With him was a young man who stood with his hands in his pockets. Jenks looked at the two standing at the bar, then murmured something to his companion and turned. But he had been seen, and the big man’s voice boomed a greeting.
    “Why, it’s Henry. The Archbishop and his new choir boy. Don’t be bashful, Henry, come on and have a drink.”
    Jenks hesitated, then advanced with his precise, slightly mincing step to the bar. “That’s very kind of you, Barney. Just a little drop of whisky for me. Arthur drinks only tonic water.”
    “And how’s my old chum Henry.” The big man showed his gold teeth and gave Jenks a thump on the back. “What’s Henry here for? Not for his health.”
    “Not for my health.” Jenks sipped whisky.
    “You’d be silly to come down here for your health. This isn’t a health resort, eh, Eileen.”
    “Barney,” Eileen Delaney said.
    “Not at all, it isn’t. No healthier than Earl’s Court used to be for Ikeymoes.”
    “I am here on a little matter of business.”
    “I know your kind of business. You don’t have to come down to Murdstone to do it.”
    Jenks said quite softly: “Oh, but I do, Barney.”
    The big man swayed a little on his feet. It occurred to Applegate that he was slightly drunk. “Not healthy to do business in Murdstone. Ask Eddie Martin.”
    There was suddenly silence in the shabby-smart bar. The barman stopped polishing a glass and looked thoughtfully at some point ahead of him. Hedda gasped and then put her handkerchief to her mouth. Eileen Delaney put down her glass on the counter with a sound somehow decisive. Jenks gave a slight, nervous snigger. Only the boy called Arthur sipped his tonic water, apparently unmoved.
    Then the silence was broken. “Eddie Martin,” the barman said. “Isn’t he the one who was staying here and –”
    Eileen Delaney said: “Let’s go, Barney.”
    Jenks looked maliciously pleased.
    “Now you must have the return drink with me, Barney. And you too, Eileen, for old times’ sake.”
    Into the assurance of the big man’s voice a whining note entered. “If I’ve said something out of line – shot my big mouth off – you know Barney never means–”
    “Have the other half, Barney.” There was the sound of a giggle in Jenks’ voice.
    The little woman gave Barney’s sleeve a tug and walked towards the door. Reluctantly he shambled after her. The boy Arthur put his foot out and Barney stumbled. The boy laughed.
    “Why, you little runt,” Barney said. Then he stopped. The boy laughed again, a light, pleasant sound. The expression on his face was eager and even exultant. Something bright shone in his hand. Barney muttered something inaudible, turned and went out of the door. A couple of minutes later Jenks and Arthur followed them, Jenks giving Applegate a fluttery wave of the hand as he reached the door.
    “Did you see what I saw in that boy’s hand?” Hedda asked. “Was it a knife?”
    “A knife or a razor.”
    Outside the hotel the old car was parked, but they did not get into it immediately, because Hedda suggested that they should go and look at the sea. In bright moonlight they watched waves coiling and uncoiling from the