They Never Say When

by Peter Cheyney

Genres: Mystery; Hard-Boiled; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

Slim Callaghan, private detective, is drawn into a particularly dubious case - even for him. A Mrs Paula Denys says she paid a man to steal the priceless Denys Coronet from her husband's safe. Now the thief won't hand over the goods and is attempting to blackmail her. Callaghan solves the problem for his client but, too late, discovers the luscious Mrs Denys is not all she seems. Callaghan is determined to get to the bottom of it all - and opens some dangerous cans of worms in the process.

Release date: January 21, 2014

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 288

Sample

The Crescent & Star, set a quarter of a mile from the main highway, was reached by a winding leafy lane that promised adventure at each turn. The inn – an antique
Manor House – small, compact; endowed with the peculiar atmospherics which some old houses possess – stood fifty yards off the lane at the end of a narrow carriage drive. At the back of
the house, shrubs, bushes and gorse grew thickly. The gardens in front of it, untended through scarcity of labour, added a touch of mysterious wildness to a spot already amply endowed with beauty.
Great untended rhododendron bushes flanked the driveway, many of them so overgrown that a car must push its way through their thick branches.

Not many people knew of The Crescent & Star. Those who did were the more happy. For Mrs Melander, the hostess, was a lady of a certain charm, acumen and versatility. Sometimes the inn was
full, but often, as just now, it was empty except for two guests. On such occasions Mrs Melander – who, as has been suggested, was a woman of discernment – and her two daughters Suzanne
and Emilienne, provided adequate if not delightful company.

It was raining. It had rained for six hours unceasingly. Dark clouds turned the August evening prematurely into something like night. The rhododendron bushes dripped. An antiquated owl, denizen
of one of the trees in the wood near the inn, hooted dolorously as if he had made up his mind to contribute something to the sombre atmosphere which enshrouded him. Rivulets of rain ran from the
gutterspouts and splashed into the narrow stone courtyard at the side of the hotel in miniature cascades.

Windemere Nikolls came unsteadily through the French windows at the side of the house on to the verandah. He stood swaying a little, looking with glassy eyes towards the wood. Nikolls was
cockeyed. He was wondering whether he was really hearing the owl.

He was of middle height, broad-shouldered and big. He ran a little to stomach. He was one of those men whose trousers’ waistband seems always a trifle too tight. He moved lightly but
unsteadily along the verandah, round its continuation to the back, where at the centre it was bisected by ten wooden steps leading down to the lawn.

Suzanne Melander was sitting on the top step protected by the verandah awning, her shapely chin cupped in one hand. She looked at Nikolls sideways. She said:

‘Well, how is he?’

Nikolls leaned against the wooden pillar that supported the verandah awning. He yawned ponderously. He said:

‘Babe, I reckon you’re in love with that guy.’

She looked towards the wood. She said coolly: ‘Well, supposing I said I was! What then, Mr Nikolls?’

Nikolls said: ‘I wouldn’t say a thing. But it just gets me beat, that’s all. Why everybody falls for him like they do I don’t know.’

She smiled amiably. She said: ‘You mean when there are fine specimens of manhood like you about?’

Nikolls hiccoughed a little. He said: ‘Listen, what’s the matter with me? I reckon I’m a right sorta guy.’ He gazed reminiscently towards the damp woods. ‘When I
was a kid of sixteen,’ he said, ‘out in Monkton, Ontario, some old dame read my hand. She was a palmist or somethin’. She took one look an’ she said: “You know what I
can see in your hand?” I told her no – that’s what I was payin’ her for. She said: “You got women in your hand.” ’

He felt in his coat pocket; produced a packet of Lucky Strikes; extracted one; lit it. She threw him another look.

‘And had you?’ she said.

Nikolls went on: ‘I don’t like the sorta way you say that. Maybe you think I’m no Casanova, but believe me, baby, I’ve had my moments.’

‘They must have been very nice for you,’ she said.

‘All right . . . all right . . . !’ said Nikolls. ‘I get it. You’re sittin’ there lookin’ at the woods, restin’ your chin on your hands an’
thinkin’ about the big boy upstairs. I know all about it. Just because he kissed you outside the buttery last night you’re gettin’ ideas, hey? Look, if that guy had a dollar for
every woman he’d necked he could buy up Rockefeller about forty times over and not even notice the difference in his pass-book.’

Suzanne said: ‘You’re quite wrong, Mr Nikolls.’ Her expression was demure. ‘I was merely thinking that Mr Callaghan has rather a way with him. In spite of oneself one is
attracted. He has definitely a technique.’

‘Yeah,’ said Nikolls. ‘So you’ve discovered that too.’

She asked: ‘Could I have one of your cigarettes?’

Nikolls produced the packet; gave her a cigarette; lit it. He sat down on the step beside her.

She said: ‘You know the telephone’s been ringing the whole evening, don’t you? It stopped just before dinner; then it started again.’

Nikolls said: ‘Well, why don’t somebody answer it?’

She said: ‘We’ve only two maids. One of them is off duty; the other one’s in the village seeing her Ma who’s ill. There are no guests here except Mr Callaghan and
yourself at the moment, and anyhow you know who is ringing. I answered the phone three times this afternoon. It’s Miss Thompson from Mr Callaghan’s office. She says she wants
him urgently and she’s very annoyed.’

Nikolls grinned. ‘I bet she is,’ he said. ‘I can just see her. I’ve got a picture of that baby.’

She drew on her cigarette. She said: ‘I take it that Miss Thompson is Mr Callaghan’s confidential secretary?’

Nikolls said: ‘You take it right. You hit it right on the nose first time, Gorgeous.’

She said diffidently: ‘I suppose she’s one of the very efficient, prim, bespectacled type?’

Nikolls said: ‘Come again, Suzanne. She ain’t. I could write an ode to that baby. She’s got one of them figures – you know, the sort of thing you think about for no
reason at all. She’s very easy on the eyes. She’s got a graceful walk an’ a nice voice. She’s got red hair an’ green eyes an’ a whole lot of
intelligence.’

Suzanne Melander sighed. There was a touch of annoyance in the sigh. She said:

‘Quite a paragon. We girls in the country trying to run inns miss a lot of fun, I should think.’

Nikolls grinned. ‘You ought to be confidential secretaries to private detectives like Slim.’

She said: ‘It might have its points.’

Nikolls said: ‘I’d like it. Maybe it’d be good if there was a little bit of competition in the office.’

She said: ‘I see. It’s like that! Is Miss Thompson an admirer of Mr Callaghan’s – I mean outside the normal admiration which a secretary sometimes has for her
employer?’

Nikolls said: ‘If you mean is Effie struck on him, the answer is yes. She’s nuts about that mug. That’s what burns me up.’

She asked coolly: ‘Why?’

Nikolls said: ‘Look, I’m a big kind-hearted guy and I got brains. I’m one of those clever sorta detectives, see? I reason things out. I could tell you stories about that guy
that’d make your hair curl.’

She said: ‘I bet!’

She stubbed out her cigarette on the top step; threw it into a nearby rhododendron bush.

Nikolls said: ‘What’s on your mind, Gorgeous?’

She said: ‘Nothing . . . much! I was wondering. I was wondering when Mr Callaghan is going to decide to stay sober for a little while.’

Nikolls said: ‘Don’t you worry about that. He gets that way. We just finished a big case, see? We pulled it off. We won one of the biggest cheques we’ve ever made in this
business.’

She said: ‘Of course he’s very clever, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah,’ said Nikolls. ‘He’s clever enough an’ he’s got me behind him.’

She said: ‘Yes, I’d forgotten that.’

‘Well, he’s sorta lettin’ down his hair,’ said Nikolls. ‘He’s relaxin’. I don’t mind tellin’ you this was a helluva case. Anyway we cracked
it. So he thinks it’s indicated that we come down here, stick around and do a little drinkin’. He’ll get tired of it in a minute.’

Somewhere in the house the telephone bell began to jangle. It went on and on.

Nikolls said: ‘Don’t that mug at the local exchange ever get tired of ringin’ that telephone bell?’

She said: ‘No, they just keep on. Sometimes we’re on the other side of the house. They do it out of kindness.’

Nikolls said: ‘Look, baby, somebody ought to answer that telephone, and it’s a helluva long way away. Who’s it goin’ to be – me or you?’

She said: ‘It’s not going to be me. I’m off duty. It’s going to be you.’

Nikolls sighed. He said: ‘I’m sorry for that, and not for the reason you’re thinkin’ of either. I’ll go take that call with pleasure, but I’m disappointed. I
wanted you to go.’

She asked: ‘Why?’

Nikolls said: ‘Because I like to see you walk. You got something. You don’t walk – you sorta float along, with that little graceful sway – you know what I mean –
that some dames would give a million pounds for. I could just sit around all day an’ watch you walkin’ about. I like the way you put your feet on the ground. You wear nice shoes
an’ you got pretty ankles. Maybe I didn’t tell you, but I go for ankles in a very, very big way. They’re a sorta hobby of mine. I reckon when you walk you look like some sort of
goddess. I think you’re terrific.’

She sighed. She said: ‘Oh, well, now I suppose I’ll have to answer the telephone!’

Nikolls grinned. He lit another cigarette.

She got up; walked slowly along the balcony; turned the corner. She was a slim, graceful thing. The telephone bell stopped. She came back; sat down again. She said:

‘It would seem that Miss Thompson’s hung up. Or else the exchange have got tired of keeping the plug in.’

Nikolls said: ‘What does it matter? There’s a fate that looks after these things. Maybe if you’d answered that telephone call, all sorts of things woulda happened. But you
didn’t get there in time so we stay here and look at the rain.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It reminds me of a Russian Countess I used to know.’

She pretended to yawn. She asked: ‘Was she beautiful?’

‘Was she beautiful!’ said Nikolls. ‘That woman was indescribable.’

She said: ‘She was mad about you, wasn’t she?’

‘How did you know?’ said Nikolls.

She said: ‘During the last four days I’ve heard that story about the Russian Countess at least six times, and you’ve told me that one about the strawberry blonde from Oklahoma
eleven times. I’m beginning to feel quite familiar with your conquests, Mr Nikolls.’

He said: ‘Look, why don’t you call me Windy?’

She looked at him along her eyes. She said: ‘That is a most sensible request. I will. The name suits you, Windy, dear.’

Nikolls scratched his head. He said nothing.

Effie Thompson opened the door of her sitting-room in Knightsbridge; slammed it behind her; threw her handbag into one corner, her hat on the table. She was white with rage.
She stood in the centre of the floor, her hands were clasped behind her back.

She said: ‘Damn . . . damn . . . damn . . . !’

She walked to the mantelpiece; took a cigarette out of a box, lit it petulantly; went to the kitchen; put the kettle on. She came back to the sitting-room.

She was of middle height – attractive figure. Her clothes hung on her in the way they should. She wore a neat black coat and skirt, a cream silk shirt. Her red hair was a superb foil for
her milk-white complexion.

The telephone rang. She looked at it for a moment angrily. Then she walked across the room and jerked off the receiver. It was Wilkie, the night porter at the Berkeley Square block where
Callaghan’s offices and flat were housed.

He said: ‘Sorry to bother you, Miss Thompson, but the phone’s been going like blazes. It’s your main line that you put through to my office before you left.’

She said: ‘I see, Wilkie. It is still Mrs Denys?’

‘Yes,’ said Wilkie, ‘it’s still her. She’s pretty worried about something too. She seems to want Mr Callaghan pretty badly.’

Effie said: ‘I’ll try to get him again from here in a few minutes. When she comes through next time tell her I’m trying to reach him from my flat. If I do I’ll call her
back.’

Wilkie said: ‘All right, Miss Thompson. I’ll tell her. Oh, there’s another thing – a messenger came round from the bank just after you left. He ought to have been round
earlier but something hung him up. He’s got a note marked “Urgent.” ’

‘I see,’ she said. ‘Look, Wilkie, would you mind tearing the note open and reading it over to me?’

He said: ‘Righto, Miss Thompson, hang on.’ She heard the sound of the envelope being torn. He came on again. He said: ‘The note says this: “The Manager presents his
compliments to Mr Callaghan, and regrets to inform him that the cheque for four thousand pounds paid into the account two days ago has been returned marked ‘R.D.’ Cheque
enclosed.” ’

Effie said: ‘I see.’ She began to smile. It was a wicked little smile. She said: ‘Well, perhaps I’ll get an answer now. Good night, Wilkie.’ She hung up.

She stood looking at the instrument for a moment; then she said: ‘I ought to try to ring again but I’m not going to. I’m going to have two cups of tea, two cigarettes
and a warm bath. And then perhaps one of you will be sober enough to answer that telephone.’

She flounced out of the room.

The rain had stopped. From behind a rift in the clouds over the hills the sun came through.

Nikolls said: ‘Say, look at that rainbow. Now, that’s what I call a beauty. You know, Suzanne, I got a developed sense of beauty.’

She said: ‘What does that mean?’

He said: ‘Well, it means when I see that rainbow I think of you.’

She said: ‘Now, I’ll tell one.’ The telephone began to ring again. She said: ‘Somebody ought to answer that telephone and somebody ought to do it quickly, so I’d
better go. That’ll give you another treat, won’t it?’

Nikolls said: ‘Go on, honey. The exercise will do you good.’

She got up; tripped quickly along the verandah round into the house. She went through the French windows into the dining-room, across it into the hallway; into the office on the other side of
the hallway. She picked up the telephone. The girl at the exchange said:

‘You’ve been a long time, haven’t you, Miss Melander?’

‘Yes, we’ve been busy.’

‘Hold on,’ said the exchange. ‘London wants you.’

Effie Thompson’s voice – prim and demure – came through. ‘Is that The Crescent & Star? Is it possible now to speak to Mr Callaghan or Mr Nikolls? Or are they still
indisposed?’

Suzanne said: ‘This is Miss Melander, the proprietor’s daughter. Would that be Miss Thompson?’

Effie said: ‘Yes, it would.’

Suzanne said: ‘I’ve been hearing so much about you, and you have such a delightful voice, I can almost visualize you.’

Effie said: ‘That must be very nice for you. Should I be very curious if I asked why you’re so interested? I suppose Mr Nikolls has been talking to you?’

Suzanne said: ‘Yes, he’s an interesting man, isn’t he?’

‘Very interesting. Of course you’re not at all interested in Mr Callaghan are you? That wouldn’t be the reason for your curiosity?’

Suzanne said: ‘Well, Miss Thompson, I hope I haven’t said anything to annoy you. We all think Mr Callaghan is most charming.’

Effie said: ‘Well, it seems that you know. Do you think you can get either Mr Callaghan or Mr Nikolls to come to the telephone?’

Suzanne said: ‘I think it might almost be impossible. They’re having a holiday. They don’t seem very keen on answering telephones, especially Mr Callaghan. Mr Callaghan is
indisposed.’

Effie said: ‘You mean Mr Callaghan is drunk?’

Suzanne said diffidently: ‘Well, I think he is a trifle high.’

Effie said: ‘How is Mr Nikolls?’

‘Mr Nikolls is very well,’ said Suzanne. ‘We’ve been sitting on the back porch talking about the weather and Mr Callaghan.’

Effie said: ‘All right. That must have been very delightful for you. In the meantime I’ve been ringing The Crescent & Star from the office and my home since five o’clock
this afternoon; and nobody has taken the slightest notice. So would you please go and tell Mr Nikolls to tell Mr Callaghan, no matter what state he may be in, that the cheque for four thousand
pounds that went into the bank two days ago has been returned marked “R.D.” ’

Suzanne said: ‘Oh dear! I’ll tell Mr Nikolls at once. That’s terrible, isn’t it?’

Effie said: ‘I’ll hold on. And it isn’t so terrible, Miss Melander. You needn’t worry about your bill anyway. In any event I expect Mr Callaghan would find
some means of paying it.’ Her voice was caustic.

Suzanne gurgled happily. She said: ‘What a charming idea, Miss Thompson. I’m so sorry if you feel neglected. Will you hold on?’

Nikolls was at the bottom of the verandah steps throwing stones at a large frog in the lily pond. He said to her as she came down the steps:

‘You know that frog is sorta like me – nothin’ disturbs the fat slob. I got him a direct hit right on the snitch a minute ago, but he just sorta grinned at me.’

She said: ‘That’s Miss Thompson of your office on the telephone. She sounds awfully terse. I think she’s annoyed about something. She asked me to tell you that the cheque for
four thousand pounds which was paid into the bank two days ago has been returned marked “R.D.” ’

Nikolls threw his cigarette end into the water. He said: ‘Jeez! Can you beat that one? Stick around, Suzanne, an’ consider the weather till I get back. This is gonna be
good.’

He went up the steps to the house.

Suzanne sat down on the bottom step and began to throw little stones at the frog. He had an odd lugubrious expression, she thought – not unlike Nikolls.

She began to think about Nikolls . . . and Callaghan. She thought they were fun. Especially Mr Callaghan. She liked Mr Callaghan, she thought Mr Callaghan had something. When he kissed you he
did it in a remote and impersonal sort of manner – almost as if he were thinking of something else at the time. Perhaps he was! She felt mildly shocked. She made a mental note to ask him
about this.

But it was fun having them at The Crescent & Star. It made the place feel sort of adventurous . . . and rather mysterious. Mr Nikolls . . . Windy . . . told the most impossible stories about
his amazing adventures. And Mr Callaghan said very little. But a lot went on in his head. Definitely a great deal. Suzanne sighed a little. She wished that she were Miss Thompson and worked for
Callaghan Investigations. She thought life might be amusing. She sighed a little more.

Inside the house Nikolls walked slowly to the deserted hotel office. He picked up the telephone.

He said: ‘Hello, Delightful. What’s cookin’ around there?’

Effie Thompson said: ‘Mr Nikolls? Thank you for coming to the telephone so quickly. It was kind of you.’ Her voice was like ice.

Nikolls said, with a grin: ‘I’d do anything for you, babe. It’s just too bad about that cheque, hey?’

‘Have you told Mr Callaghan?’ she asked.

‘Nope,’ said Nikolls. ‘The boy’s what they call unapproachable right now. He’s just comin’ outa one of the finest hangovers on record. I reckon that when I
tell him about that cheque bouncin’ he’s gonna blow up.’

She said: ‘You might tell Mr Callaghan that I’m supposed to finish at six o’clock at the office. When you went away you were supposed to be back in four days. That was three
weeks ago. Most evenings I’ve left at about nine . . .’

Nikolls said: ‘Babe, you’re wonderful. It’s marvellous what a dame will do when she’s struck on her boss, ain’t it? I knew a sugar once in Arkansas –
’

‘I don’t want to hear about her,’ said Effie, ‘I’m not stuck on my boss – as you call it. And I wish you wouldn’t call me “babe”. I
don’t like it.’

Nikolls sighed. He said: ‘O.K. . . . babe.’

A strangled note came over the line. Nikolls grinned happily. She said:

‘When Mr Callaghan is sufficiently sober to listen, you might tell him that a Mrs Denys has been trying to get him all the afternoon and evening. She wants to consult him. She says
it’s terribly important.’

‘Yeah?’ said Nikolls. He considered for a moment. ‘Maybe we’re gonna need some business after that rubber cheque.’ he said. ‘D’you know anything about
this Denys baby?’

‘I know nothing except that she wants to see Mr Callaghan and that she says money is no object. She says she’s prepared to make any appointment to suit his convenience. I
think she’s a little scared about something.’

‘You don’t say,’ said Nikolls. ‘What does she sound like?’

‘If you’re talking about her voice, I would say it was . . .