went over to the cabinet and mixed a drink, he swallowed it at a gulp, put down the glass and began to pace up and down.
She sat back on her heels, strangely recovered from her apparent agitation, and watched him narrowly. It suddenly occurred to him that she was angling for money and he was impatient with himself for not having thought of that before.
‘Tell me where I can find Mallory and I’ll give you ten pounds,’ he said, taking out his wallet.
‘But I don’t know,’ she returned, her eyes riveted on the two five-pound notes he dangled before her. ‘I know so little about him. He just rings up. I don’t know where he lives.’
Corridon shrugged, losing patience. He was sick of her; of this room with its atmosphere of lust, sick of the avid way she was eyeing the money in his hand.
‘All right, if you don’t know, you don’t.’ He made to put the money back into his wallet but an almost imploring gesture from her made him pause. ‘Well? Have you changed your mind?’
‘I won’t pretend I don’t want the money. I do. I haven’t a bean until the end of the week...’
‘Well, earn it,’ he said. ‘Has Mallory ever written to you?’
She hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, when we first met; not since.’
‘No address on the letter.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘What about the postmark?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Of course you do. It’d be the first thing you’d have looked for. What was the postmark?’
‘Dunbar,’ she said sullenly.
‘Was he on holiday?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ll have to do better than this if you want the money.’
‘How do I know you’ll give it to me?’ There was a crafty expression in her eyes, and he thought she had all the hallmarks of the oldest profession. The only difference was she had no beat to patrol.
He threw a five-pound note at her.
‘Here’s one to get on with. You’ll get the other when you’ve told me what I want to know.’
She clutched the note, her eyes brightening.
‘If I didn’t need it so badly...’
‘You don’t have to make excuses,’ he interrupted, sickened. ‘Did he ever tell you he lived in Dunbar?’
She hesitated, then said reluctantly. ‘I think he has a place near there. He once spoke of buying an island and building a house on it.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘When I first met him. About five years ago. It might have been a lie, but I don’t think so. He never mentioned it again.’
‘Well, that might be something,’ Corridon thought. ‘An island off Dunbar. That shouldn’t be too difficult to find. You have no idea exactly where the place is?’
‘No.’
He brooded for a moment, asked, ‘How often does he come here?’
‘When he feels like it.’ Her face hardened. ‘Sometimes twice a week; sometimes I don’t see him for two months.’
‘And you say the last time you saw him was weeks ago? How many weeks?’
‘Six - perhaps seven, I can’t remember.’
Corridon ran his fingers through his hair. He felt he wasn’t getting anywhere, and was irritated.
‘Did he ever mention any of his friends by name?’
‘Oh, no, he never talks about himself.’
He looked doubtfully at her. He wasn’t getting much value for his ten pounds. He wasn’t even sure she was telling the truth. A house on an island of Dunbar. An unlikely story. No other information of value. Had he wasted an evening and ten pounds to be told Mallory had once had a house on an island?
‘Is there anything else you can tell me? Has he any relations?’
‘He has a sister.’
This was better. A house on an island. An aunt at Wendover, and now a sister ‘How do you know that?’
She hesitated for a fraction of a second then said glibly, ‘She phoned once, asking for him.’
Corridon felt she was lying.
‘You mean she phoned here? That’s unusual, isn’t it? Brothers don’t usually tell their sisters about their paramours.’
‘Is that what I am?’ she asked with a sneer.
‘Never mind what are,’ Corridon
She sat back on her heels, strangely recovered from her apparent agitation, and watched him narrowly. It suddenly occurred to him that she was angling for money and he was impatient with himself for not having thought of that before.
‘Tell me where I can find Mallory and I’ll give you ten pounds,’ he said, taking out his wallet.
‘But I don’t know,’ she returned, her eyes riveted on the two five-pound notes he dangled before her. ‘I know so little about him. He just rings up. I don’t know where he lives.’
Corridon shrugged, losing patience. He was sick of her; of this room with its atmosphere of lust, sick of the avid way she was eyeing the money in his hand.
‘All right, if you don’t know, you don’t.’ He made to put the money back into his wallet but an almost imploring gesture from her made him pause. ‘Well? Have you changed your mind?’
‘I won’t pretend I don’t want the money. I do. I haven’t a bean until the end of the week...’
‘Well, earn it,’ he said. ‘Has Mallory ever written to you?’
She hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, when we first met; not since.’
‘No address on the letter.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘What about the postmark?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Of course you do. It’d be the first thing you’d have looked for. What was the postmark?’
‘Dunbar,’ she said sullenly.
‘Was he on holiday?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ll have to do better than this if you want the money.’
‘How do I know you’ll give it to me?’ There was a crafty expression in her eyes, and he thought she had all the hallmarks of the oldest profession. The only difference was she had no beat to patrol.
He threw a five-pound note at her.
‘Here’s one to get on with. You’ll get the other when you’ve told me what I want to know.’
She clutched the note, her eyes brightening.
‘If I didn’t need it so badly...’
‘You don’t have to make excuses,’ he interrupted, sickened. ‘Did he ever tell you he lived in Dunbar?’
She hesitated, then said reluctantly. ‘I think he has a place near there. He once spoke of buying an island and building a house on it.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘When I first met him. About five years ago. It might have been a lie, but I don’t think so. He never mentioned it again.’
‘Well, that might be something,’ Corridon thought. ‘An island off Dunbar. That shouldn’t be too difficult to find. You have no idea exactly where the place is?’
‘No.’
He brooded for a moment, asked, ‘How often does he come here?’
‘When he feels like it.’ Her face hardened. ‘Sometimes twice a week; sometimes I don’t see him for two months.’
‘And you say the last time you saw him was weeks ago? How many weeks?’
‘Six - perhaps seven, I can’t remember.’
Corridon ran his fingers through his hair. He felt he wasn’t getting anywhere, and was irritated.
‘Did he ever mention any of his friends by name?’
‘Oh, no, he never talks about himself.’
He looked doubtfully at her. He wasn’t getting much value for his ten pounds. He wasn’t even sure she was telling the truth. A house on an island of Dunbar. An unlikely story. No other information of value. Had he wasted an evening and ten pounds to be told Mallory had once had a house on an island?
‘Is there anything else you can tell me? Has he any relations?’
‘He has a sister.’
This was better. A house on an island. An aunt at Wendover, and now a sister ‘How do you know that?’
She hesitated for a fraction of a second then said glibly, ‘She phoned once, asking for him.’
Corridon felt she was lying.
‘You mean she phoned here? That’s unusual, isn’t it? Brothers don’t usually tell their sisters about their paramours.’
‘Is that what I am?’ she asked with a sneer.
‘Never mind what are,’ Corridon
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