12 Chinks and A Woman by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

draped with heavy black curtains. Fenner, fascinated, thought the coffin looked lonely all by itself. He read the card that stood on a small easel by the coffin.
         MAY WE
     LOOK AFTER YOUR LITTLE ONE
     IF THE LORD DOES NOT SPARE HIM?
         Fenner thought it was all in very good taste. He went over to the other window and inspected that too. Again it was draped in black curtains, and on a white pedestal stood a silver urn. A card bearing the simple inscription “Dust to Dust” impressed him.
     He stepped back and read the facia over the shop:
         B. NIGHTINGALE'S FUNERAL PARLOR.
         “Well, well,” he said, “quite a joint.”
     He walked into the shop. As he opened the door the electric buzzer started, and stopped as soon as the door shut. Inside, the shop was even more impressive. There was a short counter dividing the room exactly in half. This was draped with a white-and-purple velvet cover. Several black leather arm-chairs dotted the purple pile carpet. On the left of the room was a large glass cabinet containing miniature coffins made of every conceivable material, from gold to pine wood.
     On the right was a six-foot crucifix cleverly illuminated by concealed lights. The figure was so realistic that it quite startled Fenner. He felt that he'd wandered into a church.
     Long white, black and purple drapes hung behind the counter. There was no one in the shop. Fenner wandered over to the cabinet and examined the coffins. He thought that as a permanent home the gold one was a swell job.
     A woman came quietly from behind the curtain. She wore a tight-fitting black silk dress, white collar and cuffs. She was a blonde, and her big gashlike mouth was very red with paint. She looked at Fenner and her mouth shaped into a smile. Fenner thought she was quite something.
     She said in a low, solemn voice, “Can I help you, please?”
     Fenner scratched his chin. “Do you sell these boxes?” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the glass case.
     She blinked. “Why sure,” she said. “They're just models, you know; but was that what you wanted?”
     Fenner shook his head. “No,” he said; “I was just curious.”
     She looked at him doubtfully.
     Fenner went on. “Nightingale in?”
     “Did you want to see him particularly?”
     “That's why I asked, baby. Tell him Ross.”
     She said, “I'll see. He's very busy right now.”
     Fenner watched her go away behind the curtain. He thought her shape from behind was pretty good.
     She came back after a while and said, “Will you come up?”
     He followed her behind the curtain and up the short flight of stairs. He liked the scent she used, and halfway up the stairs he told her so. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. She had big white teeth. “What do I do now?” she said. “Should my face go red?”
     He shook his head seriously. “I just like to tell a dame when she's good,” he said.
     She pointed to a door. “He's in there,” she said. Then, after a little pause, she said, “I like you. You've got nice eyes,” and she went downstairs, patting her blonde curls with long white fingers.
     Fenner fingered his tie. “Some frill,” he thought, and turned the door handle and walked in.
     The room was obviously a workshop. Four coffins stood in a line on trestles. Nightingale was screwing a brass plate on one of them.
     Nightingale was a little dark man with thick-lensed steel-rimmed glasses. His skin was very white, and two large colorless eyes blinked weakly at Fenner from behind the cheaters.
     Fenner said, “I'm Ross.”
     Nightingale went on screwing down the plate. “Yes?” he said. “Did you want to see me?”
     “Dave Ross,” Fenner repeated, standing by the door. “I think you were