the shock of being thrown out of a car at over sixty miles an hour had made no impression on
her.
“What’s the matter with you?” I demanded.
“I want my handbag, Johnny.”
“To hell with your handbag! Are yon all right?”
“Yes.” She moved unsteadily towards the smashed Bentley. “Help me find my handbag.”
“There are more important things to do than look for your bag,” I said sharply. “I’ve got to
fetch the police.”
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“The police?” She paused, turned and stared at me. “What good will they do?”
“We’ve got to get them here,” I said impatiently. “What’s the matter with you?” My head
was pounding, my nerves were flayed and I was shouting at her. “We’ve got two bodies on
our hands! We’ve got to report this …”
“I must have my bag, Johnny,” she said with an obstinacy that infuriated me. “There’s
something very valuable in it. I must find it before we worry about the police.”
“All right! All right! We’ll find it!” I said, and went over to the Bentley and wrenched
opened the door.
“Let me look,” she said, pushing me aside, and began groping about on the floor of the car.
I went around to the offside, but the door was jammed and wouldn’t open.
“I can’t see a thing!” she exclaimed. “Haven’t you a match?”
I struck a match and held the flame through the shattered window. She found the bag
wedged between the brake and clutch pedals.
“Okay, now you have it, you’d better sit down and take it easy,” I said, stepping away from
the car. “I’ll hunt up a phone.”
She came around the car to where I was standing.
“No, Johnny. We won’t bother about the police. No one must know he’s dead.”
“They’ll find him sooner or later. They’ll identify the car…” I stopped and stared at her.
“What is all this? Why shouldn’t they know he’s dead?”
“I can’t explain now; later, Johnny. Don’t look so worried. It’s all right. I’ll tell you later.”
“You’re suffering from shock,” I said sharply. “Sit down. I’m going for the police.”
She dipped her hand into the bag and brought out a .38 automatic.
“You’ll stay where you are,” she said softly, and pointed the gun at me.
II
The headlights of an approaching car lit up the sky as it climbed the long, sloping hill from
Pelotta. A moment or so later the car swept into sight; headlamps blazing. It was going fast,
and roared past us with a snarl and a rush of wind.
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Neither she nor I moved. The moonlight fell directly on the glittering barrel of the
automatic: the gun looked menacing and large in her hand.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said, and her voice was as hard and as cold as a chunk of
ice.
“Have you gone crazy?” I said, not moving. “Put it down!”
“I believe this is the most important moment in my life,” she said. “You and I are the only
two who know Paul is dead. You don’t realize yet how essential it is that no one else should
know. Now listen, Johnny, you can either come in with me or I’m going to kill you. There’s
no other way I can be certain you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
I thought she had taken leave of her senses, but that didn’t alter the fact that she meant what
she was saying. I felt a little prickle run up my spine.
“There isn’t time to tell you what it’s all about,” she went on. “But if you come in with me
you’ll make money: big money, Johnny. What’s it to be?”
“What do you want me to do?” I said, and my voice was husky as yours would have been if
you had seen those glittering eyes and the hard, ruthless line of her mouth.
“Take his clothes off and put yours on him,” she said.
“They’ve got to think it was you who died in the car.”
“Me? They know me in Pelotta. They’ll identify me.”
“No, they won’t. You’re going to put him back in the car and set fire to it.”
“I can’t do that! Now wait …”
“You’ll do it or I’ll have to get rid of you, Johnny. There’s no other alternative.”
The bang I had taken on my head when I was thrown out of the car made clear thinking
impossible. If I hadn’t been so punch-drunk I might have tried to get the gun from her. As it
was, I knew I hadn’t a chance to reach her before she fired, and she would fire, the look in her
eyes told me that.
“Get going,” she said softly. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”
“But tell me why!”
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“Later. Are you going to change clothes with him ?” There was a fixed, awful little smile
on her lips now, and her knuckle showed white as she took in the slack of the trigger. I was
one heart-beat away from being shot. I knew it, and she could see I knew it.
“Yes.”
She relaxed, and the smile went away.
“Hurry, Johnny.”
With cold sweat on my face I walked over to where he was lying and began to strip him.
Apart from his broken neck he wasn’t hurt and hadn’t bled. I changed into his clothes while
she watched me, the gun covering me. Then I got my clothes on him. It was a gruesome job,
but I did it. But when I came to put my shoes on his feet, I gave up.
“I can’t do it.”
“Throw them in the car,” she said, and her voice was as unsteady as mine. “It’s all right.
They’ll think they came off in the crash. Get him in and put him behind the steering-wheel.”
I dragged him over to the car. He was no light weight, and it was all I could do to get him
into the car. I propped him up against the driver’s door. He fell forward across the wheel.
“Loosen the carburettor pipe,” she said, “then tie your handkerchief over the leak and touch
it off with a match.”
“They could send us to jail for this,” I said, breathing heavily. “Get on with it! The tool
case is clipped inside the hood. You want a spanner … hurry!”
I loosened the carburettor pipe, burning my hand against the cylinder head as I did so. I was
working in a trance. My head kept expanding and contracting, and my legs felt as if they were
made of rubber. I did exactly what she told me to do. I tied one end of my handkerchief
around the leaking pipe.
“Now set fire to it.”
I struck a match. A moment later a long tongue of flame shot out of the car’s engine, and
spread in a hot, glaring mass to the coachwork.
I jumped back just in time.
She came running towards me.
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“Come on!” she said. “Before anyone comes.”
I went with her because there was nothing else to do.
We moved fast, and in silence, until the glare of the burning car died away in the distance,
and we came out on to the soft white sand of the beach.
“Wait, Johnny,” she said, and stopped.
I turned to look at her. She still held the gun, but it was no longer pointing at me.
“There’s not much time, but I have to talk to you,” she said. “I wish I knew more about
you. It’s fantastic we should meet like this, and be in this position together. Do you realize
that from now on you and I have got to trust each other, work with each other, and stay with
each other as if we had known each other for years? What sort of nerve have you got? Just
how ambitious are you? I wish I knew what kind of man you are.”
“And do you realize they could send us to jail for what we’ve done?” I said. “Have you
gone crazy …?”
“Don’t worry about that. They won’t find out. Do you want to get your hands on some
money? Real money, Johnny? If you have the right kind of nerve we can help ourselves to
half a million dollars: half for you and half for me.”
I stiffened. A quarter of a million dollars! That was the kind of money I had always