You'd Be Surprised

by Peter Cheyney

Genres: Mystery; Hard-Boiled; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

Blood's runnin' down my face from where this guy's just bust me, my nose feels like it's split in half. Then this dame gets up an' strolls over to me - I reckon I am not lookin' quite so good. She says: 'Well for cryin' out loud.' Is this my big day or is it? She stands lookin' at me, sippin' champagne. 'So you're a big "G" man,' she says. 'Well, personally, if you hadn't got a lot comin' to you I would take a bust at you myself, you lousy, crawlin', gum-shoein' dick. Have a drop of liquor, big boy.' She pours the contents of her glass over my face. It stings like hell, but I'm tellin' you it was good liquor.

Release date: September 6, 2012

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 216

Sample

You’d be surprised!

Maybe you guys have got a good vocabulary of your own. Maybe you can find just the right cuss-word when you want it. But I’m tellin’ you that even if you was listenin’ to
Doctor Goebbels talkin’ to himself about Winston Churchill after dinin’ on an ersatz filet mignon, you would still not begin to understand some of the expressions I have been
gettin’ off on this trip.

Me—I am a neutral. I am so neutral that even if I do think that Mister Hitler is so crooked that he would make the leanin’ Tower of Pisa look like a plumb line, I would not say such
a thing to any guy who was deaf. Because I am a neutral guy, every time I see a picture of Mister Goering in a swell new uniform I make a noise which, while intended to denote deep admiration,
sounds just like tearin’ calico.

I am one big innocent sucker. I am prepared to believe that Winston Churchill sank the Athenia, that Poland invaded Potsdam, that J. Stalin is just a big sissie tryin’ to work his
way through college. I know for a fact that the Czechs declared war on themselves outa spite, an’ that Austria likes bein’ Hungary. I know all these things, because Mister Goebbels has
told me so; an’ who am I to say that he is such a one hundred per cent. liar that he would make Ananias look like a two-bit amateur tryin’ to four-flush a ten cent jackpot from a
couple of screw-eyed old lady members of the Big Fork Temperance Sewin’ Bee.

What I mean is I am a neutral.

I am also very fond of Swedes. I go for Swedes. I am very fond of the Swedish captain of this passenger an’ cargo steamer who has been turnin’ same round an’ round in order to
keep topsides up with some “U” Boat guy who has just shot a torpedo off at us so’d we shall know that he wants to be friends. I would like to have a long talk to this “U” Boat guy about neutrality—with a piece of lead pipin’!

It is so goddam dark on this boat that any time somebody strikes a match it looks like Independence Day celebrations. Nobody can see a thing an’ even if they could they wouldn’t like
it. Every time I try an’ walk around the shelter deck some dame throws her arms around my neck an’ asks me if I know where her cabin is. I inform this momma that I do not know because,
havin’ taken one quick look at her in the dinin’ saloon, I am also neutral so far as she is concerned.

Maybe you guys will agree with me when I say that it is always dames with homely faces an’ figures that look like the child’s first problem in geometry who are the ones to get
themselves lost on a dark night. Other dames who have swell shapes an’ what it takes both in feature, walk an’ have-you-got-me generally, do not get themselves lost on the slightest
provocation, an’ even if they do somebody usually finds ’em before you do.

But maybe you are wise to dames. Maybe you have known femme trouble yourself. An’ if this is so you will know that dames are always without logic an’ are always doin’
things that are not in the book of rules. I would go so far as to say that ever since the world began dames have been tryin’ to get a stranglehold on guys, beginnin’ with Eve, who would
not even lay off that poor mug Adam an’ let him get on with his fruit business. Every time he tries to concentrate on apples she is pesterin’ him to turn over a new leaf. Did that dame
put the fig in figure or did she? I’m tellin’ you she started it an’ every other baby has carried on with the good work since.

No guy who is born without his fingers crossed an’ an extra helpin’ of grey matter, ever knows where he is with a dame.

Believe it or not, one night I was tellin’ the story of my life to some honey-blonde in Saratoga an’ she was eatin’ it up like a cat in a creamery. Suddenly she slings me a hot
look that woulda made Casanova do a couple backfalls, an’ she says:

“Lemmy . . . You have got somethin’, honey. You slay me completely. To me you are Marc Antony. You are my dream man !”

Then she slings her arms around my neck an’ put a half-nelson on me that woulda made Hackenschmidt jealous, an’ she puts her little mouth up an . . . well, just then the telephone
starts ringin’.

When she comes back she stands there lookin’ at me like I was a piece of stale drippin’. She says sorta icy:

“You get outa here, Lemmy Caution. Get out before I take a smack at you !”

An’ when I ask her what this is all about she says:

“That telephone call was from my husband. He rang up to say what a swell time you an’ him are havin’ at the fight down at the Maybury Ring. Ain’t nothin’
sacred to you guys?”

All of which will show you people that the amount of logic that a good-lookin’ dame possesses could be stuck in your eye an’ you wouldn’t even notice it.

I give a big sigh an’ heave myself off my cabin bed, grab off a shot of Canadian rye an’ ease up on to the main deck. The wind has dropped a bit but it is black as
hell an’ we are ridin’ without lights. As I go past the Captain’s cabin I can hear him swearin’ in Swedish an’ I think it sounds just like I am feelin’.

I pull into the wireless room. The operator is a good guy named Larssen with blond hair an’ big blue baby eyes.

“How’re we makin’ out, Larssen?” I ask him.

“I donno, Meester Hickory,” he says. “The Captain he say we make Le Havre arondt nine o’clock to-night. He say we are O.K. now. No more torpetoes . . . yes?”

I do some quick thinkin’. Maybe I can still do what I want. Anyhow I’m goin’ to try because I do not believe in wastin’ time.

“O.K., buddy,” I tell him. “You send these radiograms for me an’ make it slippy.” I write ’em down for him.

To Miss Geraldine Perriner Hotel Dieudonne Paris France stop

Arriving Paris to-night from Le Havre stop Urgent you meet me twelve thirty to-night Siedler’s Club vestibule Rue Des Grecs stop Wear spray of three gardenias so I recognize you
stop Tell nobody stop Meeting at request of your father stop Hickory Transcontinental Detective Agency stop End.

To Rodney Wilks Hotel Rondeau Boulevard St. Michael Paris France stop.

Arriving Paris to-night stop I am Cyrus Hickory of the Transcontinental Agency employed by Willis T. Perriner to find Buddy stop I have radioed Geraldine to meet me twelve thirty
to-night Siedler’s Club Rue Des Grecs you be there stop So long stop Caution stop F B I Identification B47 stop End.

He says he will send these right away an’ I ease back to my cabin an’ proceed to do a little sleepin’ because I should like to tell you guys that I am not at all pleased with
this job I am on an’ when I am not pleased with anything it is my usual habit to sleep which is nice an’ restful an’ don’t cost anythin’.

When I wake up I get the idea that somebody has poisoned me in my sleep because my tongue feels like a piece of carpet, but after a bit I conclude that this must still be the
rum. I flop outa the bunk and doll up a little, put on my big coat an’ go up on deck. All around the place, standin’ by the dimmed deck lights that they are now showin’, are the
passengers, with that sorta hopeful look on their clocks that comes to guys when the journey is nearly over.

Away in a corner I find my steward standin’ by my luggage. He tells me that we will dock in fifteen minutes. I give him a tip an’ light a cigarette, then I walk over an’ look
over the rail down on to the shelter deck. Right in the corner, sittin’ sideways on a deck chair, is a dame.

I look at this dame very deeply. Because I am askin’ myself how in the name of heck I can be kickin’ around on a one-eyed boat like this for days an’ not even know that there
is a baby like this one aboard.

She is dressed in a swell travellin’ coat with a big fur collar that is caressin’ her pretty face like it was fond of her. Just above her head is a stanchion light an’ I can
see her cute little suede hat tipped over one eye, with a very tasteful coiffure doin’ its stuff over one ear. And boy, has this baby a line in ankles or has she!

Me—I have always gone for ankles. Some ancient history fan once told me that some Roman blonde named Messalina had such a swell shape that guys committed suicide about it. Well that
ain’t nothin’ because this baby’s ankles would have made the entire Gestapo jump off the end of the pier.

If I had a pair of nether limbs like this dame has got I woulda rushed over to Berlin an’ sent in my card to Adolf after which he woulda declared peace on everybody an’ given Upper
Silesia to the Esquimaux just outa sheer boyish fun.

Just as I am indulgin’ in these deep ruminations the baby decides to light a cigarette. She flashes on a lighter an’ I have to stop myself squealin’ because this honeybunch is
nobody else but Juanella Rillwater, one of the cutest an’ toughest babies that ever helped her husband—Larvey Rillwater—to blast the time-lock off a bank safe.

I step back an’ do a little thinkin’ because it strikes me as bein’ very odd that Juanella should have to be on this Swedish tub-jumper at the same time as I am. An’ if
you knew Juanella you would understand because this baby is hard to shake an’ she once got an idea in her neat little headpiece that she was stuck on Lemmy Caution.

Just at this minute the boat gives a heave. I stick my hand out on to a pile of baggage an’ underneath my fingers I feel a ukelele.

I grab it. I don’t know if I have ever told you guys that I am a very poetic sorta cuss, and that when I am not rushin’ around after some thug I am always thinkin’ very
beautiful thoughts about dames an’ other subject matter.

I grab the uke an’ strum a coupla quiet chords. I look around but there ain’t anybody near me. I hang over the rail an’ start croonin’. I give her this one:

If Mister Casanova

Had ever looked you over,

He’d say that you had somethin’

That the other dames have not.

He’d rave about your figure,

He would surely like your figure

But Casanova’s dead and I

Do not think you’re so hot. . . .

Juanella takes a peek around. Then she shrugs one shoulder. I go on:

Poets may dream of rosebuds,

An’ gamblers dream of games,

Drinkin’ guys like liquor,

But I’m just nuts on dames.

Sweet neckin’ is my hobby,

An’ lovin’ is my wish.

If curves were served in restaurants

You’d be my favourite dish.

So honeybabe remember,

If you are feelin’ blue,

When all the other dames are dead

I’ll get around to you.

Juanella gets up. She walks over an’ stands lookin’ up at me. She says:

“Say . . . Who do you think you are—Bing Crosby?”

Then she recognises me. She takes a step back as if she was surprised an’ hollers:

“Well, for crying out loud. May I be sugared an’ iced if it ain’t Lemmy Caution. Oh, Lemmy, this is the only good thing about this voyage. Me, I . . .”

“Pipe down, Juanella,” I tell her, “an’ if you don’t mind just forget that I am Lemmy Caution because right now I am somebody else. I am Mr. Cyrus T. Hickory of
the Transcontinental Detective Agency of America.”

I go down the steps an’ stand beside her.

“Yeah,” she says with a cunning little smile. “I bet you are. An’ I bet some poor crook who never done anybody any harm so’s they’d notice it is
dashin’ around tryin’ to keep all in one piece. Another thing,” she goes on, “this is the first time that I ever heard of a ‘G’ man pretendin’ he was a
private dick. It must be a tough case.”

“Maybe an’ maybe not,” I tell her. “But at the same time I would like to know what you are doin’ on this boat. First of all you know as well as I do that I got
your old man Larvey’s bank robbin’ sentence suspended last year by the Federal Court just because he gave me a hand over that poison gas case,1 an’ you an’ he are not supposed to go out of the jurisdiction of the Court, which you are now doin’. Secondly, as a member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation
I would like to know what you are proposin’ to do in France. These guys have already got one war on their hands without you buttin’ in. Thirdly, I would like to put on record the
fact that when I took a quick look at you just now the idea struck me that you are improvin’ with the years; that you are lookin’ so swell that if Larvey had guessed what I was
thinkin’ about you, he woulda socked me with a blackjack.”

She smiled an’ pushes a curl back into its proper place. Then she comes a little closer to me an’ she says sorta winnin’ :

“Tell me somethin’, Lemmy. Do you think it possible that a great big he-man who is also a Federal Agent could just forget himself for a minute an’ be sweet an’ human? Do
you think if a poor little dame like me who has had a vivid past which she regrets all the time an’ twice on Sundays was to try very hard to be good, this swell guy would give her a tumble.
What I mean is . . .”

“Look, Desdemona,” I tell her, usin’ great self-control an’ a deep knowledge of William Shakespeare, “if all the guys who have fell for that stuff of yours was
put in a row they would occupy so much space that they would meet themselves comin’ back. Any time you want squeezin’ put yourself in the mangle, sweetheart, because so far as I am
concerned I am a martyr to adenoids an’ duty, an’ never try to make a dame on a shelter deck in a squall in case the boat turns over.”

“O.K.,” she says, “I got it. I suppose there’s some other dame. Why is it,” she says sorta wistful, “that the only guys except Larvey who falls for me in a
big way are palookas that I desire anything else but? Why is it?” she says sorta dramatic. “Must it always be thus?”

She then takes a quick dive at me just as the boat heels over an’ before I know where I am this baby has got her arms around my neck an’ is kissin’ me like it was her last
night on earth.

I grab hold of her an’ put her on the deck-chair.

“Look, Juanella,” I tell her. “That stuff is very nice but it ain’t goin’ to get you any place.”

“Never mind,” she says. “I shall always have my memories. One of which will be your sweet visage all mussed up with a nice shade of lipstick.”

I am doin’ some quick thinkin’ because this Juanella is a very smart piece of dresswear, an’ I have got an idea in my head that she is putting on this big act to stop me
askin’ questions. I don’t say anything. I take out my handkerchief an’ remove the lipstick, which does not taste so hot.

Juanella looks at me an’ gives a big smile.

“Look, Lemmy,” she says, “you are a great guy for kiddin’. Are you bein’ serious about those questions?”

She stands there lookin’ at me in a way that would have melted the heart in a brass image.

“You know, Lemmy,” she goes on, “I reckon that I don’t mind anybody bein’ tough except you. I sorta go for you.”

“Like hell you do, Juanella,” I tell her. “But you come off it, baby, because I am dead serious about those questions. It looks to me like an extraordinary coincidence that
you are on the same boat as I am, and I think some explainin’ would be in order.”

She tosses her head.

“Don’t be a sap. Lemmy,” she says. “I’m on this boat for the same reason that you are, and that’s because there’s a war on. If there wasn’t I
can’t imagine the one and only Lemmy Caution—I beg your pardon, Cyrus T. Hickory—travelling on a margarine tub like this.

“Another thing I didn’t want Larvey to know where I was going. I think he had an idea that I was goin’ to scram outa New York, and when I heard this boat had vacancies for
passengers, I made up my mind quick, and scrammed.”

“So you’re havin’ some trouble with Larvey?” I tell her. “What have you been doin’, Juanella?”

“Not a thing,” she says. “But Larvey got a little bit interested in some blonde, and I thought that when he felt like comin’ back to me I wouldn’t be there to
come back to.”

I nod my head, but I do not believe Juanella one little bit, because I know that Larvey Rillwater is so stuck on her that he never looks at any other dame.

Some commotion starts around the decks because we are pullin’ inta the harbour. Personally I am very pleased with the idea of walkin’ about on some dry land.

“I suppose it would be out of order to ask what Mr. Cyrus T. Hickory is doin’ in France,” says Juanella.

“It would,” I tell her. “Tell me somethin’, Juanella, where are you goin’ to stay?”

She hesitates a minute. Then she says all brightly:

“I don’t know. I’m not quite certain. I think I’ll take a look around before I settle anything.”

“Well, you’ll have to take a quick look,” I tell her, “because if you’re takin’ the train for Paris to-night it won’t get you there before twelve
o’clock, an’ midnight is not a good time to go lookin’ around. But you probably know that.”

She nods her head.

“I shall stay at Le Havre to-night,” she says, “an’ go on to-morrow.”

“O.K., Juanella,” I tell her. “But let me give you a tip off, baby. You know you haven’t got any right to go outa the jurisdiction of the Federal Court.”

“Oh, no?” she says. “An’ how do you know I haven’t got permission?”

This is a nasty one, because I don’t know. So I skip it.

“All right, Juanella,” I tell her. “You be a good girl and keep your feet dry.”

She smiles an’ pulls her fur collar close about her face.

“O.K., big boy,” she says. “There’s just one little thing. When I fix up where I’m goin’ to stay in Paris I’ll drop a note to you at the American
Express. Maybe you’d like to come around an’ drink a cocktail one evening.”

“You don’t say,” I crack back at her, “an’ what’s Larvey goin’ to say about that?”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I ain’t goin’ to tell him,” she says, “so unless he’s turned himself inta a thought reader, why worry about that. A girl has gotta have some
relaxation.”

She gives my arm a squeeze, an’ I go back to where the steward has put my baggage.

Between you an’ me and the door-post, I do not like this business about Juanella. Maybe it is just coincidence, but way back of my head is the fact that both Larvey and this sweet momma of
his have been seen around with some very nice guys in New York who have been flirtin’ around on the edge of the kidnappin’ racket for a considerable time, an’ I do not believe
that stuff she pulled on me as to why she is on this boat.

By now we have tied up. They have got the gangways out, an’ people are beginning to trickle ashore. I get an idea. I grab off one suitcase, find the steward an’ give him ten dollars
to get the rest of my stuff through the customs and get it put on the train. Then I ease around to Larssen’s radio cabin. He is not there, but his assistant is sittin’ down
smokin’ a pipe that smells like Scotch haddocks.

“Look,” I ask him, “you might tell me something. There is a lady aboard this boat by the name of Juanella Rillwater. I suppose you wouldn’t know if she sent any
radiograms off during this trip or whether she received any?”

He says he wouldn’t know, but he says that he’s got an idea that his boss Larssen—took a radio for somebody just a little while ago, an’ he’s got an idea that the
name was Rillwater. I slip this guy twenty bucks, an’ say that I would very much like to have a look at the copy. He looks through the file an’ says that the copy is not there, that he
reckons that Larssen has stuck it in his pocket, which is a habit of his, an’ will put it on the file later. He says Larssen will be back pretty soon an’ why don’t I come back
an’ ask him.

I say O.K. an’ scrams because I have an idea that I would like to see what Juanella is up to. I go down the gangway on to the landin’ pier which is crowded with a lotta people,
an’ I take a look around, but I can see nothin’ of Juanella. I stick around for a few minutes lookin’ for this dame. Then I go back. I go on to Larssen’s cabin. He is there.
I ask him about the radiogram an’ he brings it outa his pocket.

When I look at it I give a big grin. Was I right about Juanella or was I? The radiogram says:

To Mrs. Juanella Rillwater aboard s.s. Fels Ronstrom stop Cyrus T. Hickory Transcontinental Agency is arriving Paris twelve o’clock stop Contact Hickory I am
curious stop Good luck stop The Boy Friend stop End

So there you are! An’ it looks like somebody has seen my radiogram to Geraldine Perriner an’ then told Juanella to sorta keep an eye on me. I thought that baby was up to
somethin’.

An’ it is also obvious to me that whoever sent this radio does not know that I know Juanella an’ that she knows me. So they don’t know that Lemmy Caution is aboard. They just
think I am Hickory. But Juanella havin’ already taken a look at me keeps outa my way. It was a lucky thing maybe that I spotted her.

It is twelve-fifteen when I come out of my hotel an’ start walkin’ towards Rue des Grecs. I have wired Gerald. . .