BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY ERNEST DUDLEY

      The Amazing Martin Brett: Classic Crime Stories

      Department of Spooks: Stories of Suspense and Mystery

      Dr. Morelle Investigates: Two Classic Crime Tales

      Dr. Morelle Meets Murder: Classic Crime Stories

      More Cases of a Private Eye: Classic Crime Stories

      New Cases for Dr. Morelle: Classic Crime Stories

      The Private Eye: Classic Crime Stories

      The Return of Sherlock Holmes: A Classic Crime Tale

      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1948 by Ernest Dudley

      Copyright © 2013 by Susan Dudley-Allen

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      To the Memory of Jane

      THE REDHEAD MURDER

      Babs Wilson had never had much of a break. Until she met Ken Morris. Not that he was much to look at, with his sparse black hair topping a sallow complexioned face and thin, stooping shoulders.

      It was the stoop that added years to his age, though he was a good deal older than Babs for a start. Still, Ken had what it takes—money. It was a necessary item to Babs’s way of living, and if it meant taking Ken along with it, Babs could do that too.

      “I like Ken,” she would protest to critical friends, smoothing back her long straight hair that flamed like fire. “And anyway, I’ve had to scrimp along on my own for long enough. I’m sick to hell of living in a one-eyed backroom in the Fulham Road.”

      So, for a year, she had what she wanted.

      She exchanged the backroom for a modern flat of her own and the Fulham Road for Mayfair. She had clothes to match the flat and jewellery to match the clothes, and Ken Morris was easy to manage.

      She didn’t quite know when Ken first ceased to be so easy.

      The change took place gradually, and she hardly noticed when he began taking her to less expensive restaurants. Then one day, he told her she would have to move to a less expensive neighbourhood.

      Babs sat up then.

      “But why, Ken?”’ she asked sulkily, wondering whether it would be worth while mussing up her make-up by trying to produce a tear or two. “Isn’t business good anymore?”

      She had never had a very clear idea of what Ken’s business was. So long as the cash came rolling in, it was enough and she was not curious. Now, apparently, the cash wasn’t rolling. She began wondering about his suite of luxurious offices, ostensibly there for the comfort of his clients wishing for advice on the interior decoration of their homes.

      “It’s Lucas,” he said morosely.

      Babs remembered.

      A few months ago he had taken a partner, and the firm had become Morris and Lucas. She had only met Lucas once, and then he had been bouncy and very ready to allow Ken to buy the drinks.

      She asked:

      “What’s the matter with him?”

      He fidgeted and looked uncomfortable.

      “He’s difficult,” he said evasively.

      Babs hunched a slim shoulder and her flecked green eyes grew cold.

      “Then get rid of him.”

      Ken said miserably:

      “I can’t. You don’t understand, Babs.”

      Babs didn’t. She didn’t understand what had come over Ken at all. In his quiet, shifty way he had up till then always been so successful. But she was going to find out. She visited Lucas the following morning at a time when she knew Ken wouldn’t be there. Lucas wasn’t so shy about telling her one or two things in connection with the luxurious suite of offices that Ken had not thought necessary to impart to her.

      “You mean,” Babs said incredulously, “all this is a cover-up for receiving stolen goods?”

      Lucas smiled unpleasantly.

      “Just that.”

      “And Ken doesn’t know a thing about interior decorating?”

      Lucas shrugged.

      “Not very much, my dear.”

      Babs was quiet for a bit, and she didn’t register a thing.

      But Lucas, watching her, knew that she was doing some pretty rapid thinking. At last she said shrewdly:

      “What do you get out of this?”

      Lucas was still smiling as he spread out his hands.

      “Half the profits, naturally.”

      “And?”

      “I don’t understand you. Ken and I are very good friends—”

      Babs thought back. It was ever since Lucas had become a partner that her profits had ceased to be so profitable.

      “You’re blackmailing him,” she said flatly. Little devils of fury were dancing in her eyes.

      Lucas cocked his head on one side. He said softly:

      “You’re very astute, my dear.”

      She went on quickly:

      “I could go to the police about you both, or—”

      “Or blackmail us both?” Lucas laughed loudly. “You wouldn’t be such a fool.” He leaned forward in genuine amusement. “I get half the profits—on the interior decorating. That’s perfectly legal. If the police got on to some unpleasant facts about Ken—well, I wouldn’t know anything about that side of his life, would I? I should, of course, be very shocked.”

      “You swine,” she said between her teeth.

      Suddenly she relaxed. Her brain was working quickly. If Lucas had put one over on Ken, Lucas would be the one with the money. She smiled suddenly.

      “And,” Lucas said urbanely, watching her out of his creased-up little eyes, “I’m not quite so susceptible as Ken, my dear.”

      She knew what he meant, but she wasn’t going to give up so easily. Lucas might feel differently after she’d got to work on him. If he didn’t, she’d think of something else. But one thing she did know, and that was that she wasn’t going to lose what she’d got. Not after all those long years of waiting and doing without.

      “I know,” she agreed submissively. “You’re clever. But I must talk to Ken. Will you meet me tonight?”

      Lucas went on smiling.

      “I don’t mind buying you a drink, if Ken doesn’t,” he told her. “But it won’t do you any good.”

      She said: “I’d like a longer talk with you, that’s all. I have to go now.”

      * * * * * * *

      Although it was early, the Mirrobar was crowded. Craig steered Simone expertly to the bar and ordered two whiskies.

      “You’ll feel better when you get outside that,” he told her. “Here’s to crime.”

      They had dropped in for a drink before he took her on to dinner at a little place he knew. She had a yearning for somewhere quiet and cosy.

      Craig took a swift look round the bar. There was no one he wanted to know and he was just about to return his entire attention to Simone, when his glance was arrested by a girl sitting at a table in the corner. She was talking to a man who had his back to Craig.

      Simone broke off saying something and her eyes followed Craig’s. She frowned.