by John Creasey
“Couldn’t it?” growled Roger.
“She’ll turn up. She’s probably had a brainwave and gone to try to solve the mystery herself ! It’s not two hours yet, old man, you’re worrying yourself over nothing. Did Pep have anything else to say ?”
Roger pursed his lips and stared, his eyes filled with shadows. The ticking of the mantelpiece clock seemed loud, the sound of people passing in the street was very noticeable. They did not speak for fully three minutes; then Roger moved, snapping his fingers.
“What did you say?”
“Did Pep tell you anything new ?”
“No. I rang him up because Cornish had identified the taxi-driver for me and I’ve sent him to interview the fellow.” His tension appeared to relax as he smiled at Mark and added : “You’ve had a morning on the tiles, haven’t you ?”
“Do I smell of beer?” asked Mark.
“You smell as if you’ve been swimming in it!” Roger declared, and then : “What about Leech?”
Mark in turn looked so grim that Roger broke off. He had to wait for what seemed a long time before the other, speaking quietly, told him what had happened to Joe, and the smashing up of the ‘Saucy Sue’ and the character of Masher Malone.
When he finished, Roger said, slowly :
“Malone impressed you, didn’t he?”
“He made me look over my shoulder all the way here from the pub,” Mark admitted. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard of him,” said Roger. “He leads a gang but he’s never been inside. Racecourse stuff and probably some fencing. I didn’t know he was big.”
“If he isn’t, he will be,” Mark said. “He might be big- headed but he’s also got guts.”
“It’s Corny’s old Division, he’ll know what there is to know about Malone,” Roger said.
“Can’t you pull him in for today’s trouble? Malone sent his gang on to wreck the pub beyond doubt.”
“I’ll bet you the actual wreckers weren’t caught, and no one will identify them — the locals will be too scared of the Masher. He undoubtedly arranged for the murder to take place when he was in the room, so that the police couldn’t touch him for that, although they might get him for disturbing the peace. He would probably admit that the gang got out of hand and smashed up the place but” — Roger was frowning and moving to and fro on his heels — “the very fact that he was behind the wrecking would suggest that he knew nothing of intent to murder.”
“Why?”-
Roger said : “He, or his gang, had a grievance against Leech, probably because he’s squealed and put one or two of them inside. The Masher’s retort was to break Leech’s place up — an eye for an eye. But if he intended murder, would he trouble to do the wrecking?”
“Would the court accept that argument?”
“Not if we could prove anything else against Malone, but I think he’ll have made sure we can’t. What did you actually see him do?”
“Unbolt the door and strike Leech,” Mark said.
“It’s hardly a crime to strike someone who’s threatening to shoot you,” Roger said.
“Surely the Division will hold him for questioning.”
“Oh, yes, but with a good lawyer he’ll get off even if he is taken as far as the court, but I doubt whether it will be allowed to go so far. If the Division arrests and charges him and he gets off, it would be more difficult to get him on a similar charge afterwards. Even the biggest rogue can claim that he’s being persecuted and get a lot of public and judiciary sympathy!” He laughed, rather acidly. “Never become a policeman, Mark!”
After a pause, Mark asked quietly :
“Is that as far as you’ll go?”
“Except for questions.” Roger was brisk. “Why did it coincide with your arrival? Pub wrecking is a pastime that’s indulged in often enough, but usually it’s done after dark, when the pub is open. In the confusion the gang can escape and the police get tangled up with the innocent customers who’ve joined in for the fun of the thing. A morning mob is rare.”
“It surely can’t have had anything to do with me.”
“I think it almost certainly had. You probably saw no one on the way to the pub, but a hundred people saw you go in. If Malone wanted to make sure Leech didn’t squeal about him he’d have lookers-out everywhere and he’d know within five minutes that you’d arrived. You say there was a whistle and Leech knew immediately that it was a sign of Malone ?”
“Yes. But how the dickens could he have known of me?”
“Mind not working well this morning?” Roger asked. “If Malone was connected with the attempt to frame me he would know that you’ve often lent me a hand.”
Mark stared. “I can’t believe—”
The telephone rang. Roger started, and stepped swiftly forward. “There is a call for you,” said the operator. “Hold on, please.” Roger heard her speaking to the caller. “Press Button A, please — you’re through.”
“ Roger! ” cried Janet.
“Thank God you’re all right,” said Roger, sitting down heavily on the arm of a chair. Mark saw perspiration on his forehead and an inane grin on his lips. “Jan, where—”
“I’ve had the very devil of a time!” Janet said. “I’ve never been so scared. I’m at Chertsey.”
“Chertsey!”
“I left Cornish and thought I would walk across St James’s and get a bus from Victoria Street. I was in the park when two men came alongside me.” Janet spoke breathlessly.
Roger’s smile faded and his lips set in a grim line. “They told me to obey them if I wanted to be unhurt — Roger, it was fantastic! There were hundreds of people about and there was I walking between them, not daring to raise my voice. They hired a taxi, made me get in, and they climbed in after me. Then — Roger, they just didn’t speak! It was awful. Whenever I started to speak they told me to be quiet.”
“Go on,” said Roger, tautly.
“It seemed an unending journey,” Janet said. “I felt sure that I was being kidnapped. Once I thought I might jump out, at a traffic jam, but one of them gripped my arm and I couldn’t do a thing. We reached Hounslow, and they made me get out, took me to another taxi and — brought me here.”
“And then ?” Roger asked.
“ Nothing! ” exclaimed Janet.
“Nothing at all ?” Roger sounded incredulous.
“Absolutely nothing. They stopped the taxi outside one of the houses by the river — the phone number of the kiosk is Chertsey 123 but it’s not far from Staines — and told me to get out. Then they drove off! I walked along the river and came to this kiosk.”
“Well, thank God it’s no worse,” Roger said. “Get to Staines and come to Waterloo. I’ll meet you there. I’ll find the times of trains.” He turned to a writing cabinet but Mark was already at it, taking out a time-table. He turned the pages and gave the times of the trains and Roger repeated them.
“I’ll catch the three something,” Janet said. “I haven’t had any lunch and I’m starved. Don’t trouble to meet me, I’ll be all right.”
“Get a snack at the station buffet and catch the two something,” Roger said firmly. “I won’t be happy until I set eyes on you . . . Yes, I do mean it! . . . Oh, we’ll have a snack here, Mark has had an alarming morning, too . . . Yes, I will. . . Good-bye for now.”
He replaced the receiver and turned to Mark.
“Warning Number 1, or 2, or 3, choose which you like!”
“Warning?” ejaculated Mark.
“They’ve demonstrated that they can make Janet do a disappearing trick,” Roger said. “It can’t mean anything else. At least we know that they mean business !” He smiled more freely and led the way to the kitchen. “We’d better get a snack.”
It was a quarter to two and Janet’s train was not due to arrive at Waterloo until after three. Nothing happened meanwhile and Roger set out for Waterloo. He reached the station ten minutes before the train arrived and could hardly wait. When the train came in and Janet was not
among the first passengers, he peered along the platform anxiously, trying to distinguish her tall figure. He was about to push through the barrier when he caught sight of her, quite outstanding amongst the motley crowd.
They gripped hands and Roger pulled her towards him and kissed her.
“I’ve never known a journey take so long,” Janet said.
“You are all right?” Roger demanded.
“Bruised only in spirit,” Janet said, and laughed with relief. “What on earth did they do it for? To show what they can do if they make up their minds?”
“Probably,” Roger said. “But we aren’t going to let it worry us now, and I’m going to keep you on a piece of string until this is over!” He looked at her and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, my sweet!”
“No, don’t fuss me !” Janet said, sharply for her.
He walked quietly by her side, thinking that the experience had affected her more than he would have expected. Soon, she tucked her arm into his.
“Sorry,” she said, “I feel so jumpy.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Roger asked.
They said little as he drove home, except that Janet did her best to describe the two men who had forced her into the taxi.
As they turned into Bell Street they saw a taxi waiting outside the house. Roger’s thoughts were diverted. He gripped Janet’s arm and hustled her along.
“Who do you think has called ?” demanded Janet.
“A cabby with a good memory, I hope,” said Roger. “Ah, there’s Pep ! It’s my man of last night all right!”
CHAPTER 9
An Address in Welbeck Street
THE CABBY was a gruff individual, as Roger remembered from their brief encounter in the black-out. He was also stolid and solid. He wore a dirty collar and tie but only one overcoat; he was with Pep Morgan and Mark in the lounge and glared at Roger as he entered with Janet, but he managed to smile when he saw Janet, and touched his forehead. He even removed his cap.
“Now p’raps you can tell me what it’s all about?” he said, eyeing Roger aggressively. “I dunno wot you think I am. Got to be earning me living, I have, not like some people.” He sniffed.
“Do you remember taking me to Scotland Yard last night?” Roger asked, taking out his wallet and extracting two pound notes. The cabby sniffed again, and answered more affably :
“Yes, Guv’nor. I remember.”
“And you let another man share the cab?”
“I don’t ‘ave to tell yer what you already know, Guv’nor, do I?”
“I’m talking as a private citizen,” Roger said. “How far did the other man go?”
“West End,” said the cabby.
“Do you remember where you dropped him?”
“Yers — end of Welbeck Street.”
“Did he say where he was going from there?”
“No,” said the cabby. “He just said the end of Welbeck Street would be all right for ‘im. He went down the street. I know that, ‘cos I saw him disappear into a house. I wanted to lay orf for an hour so I follered ‘im along to the nearest rank.”
Roger’s heart began to beat fast.
“Was it far along?”
“I don’t exactly know, but it wasn’t so far, Guv’nor. I couldn’t say for certain which one it was. Tell you what,” he added, his eyes on the two pounds. “There was an island in the middle of the road just erbaht where he turned into the house. I know that place like the palm of me hand. It might have been the second island or the first, but it was an island.”
“That’s a great help,” said Roger. “Take us to Welbeck Street, will you? Pep, will you come with me?”
“Why, of course,” said Morgan.
“But —” began Janet.
“Mark will look after the house,” said Roger. “He’ll also keep an eye on you. I won’t be long.” He was followed by the cabby and Pep.
“ Now what’s got into you, Handsome?” demanded Morgan. “That’s the trouble with you, I never know whether I’m coming or going.”
“Oh, we’re going,” said Roger, expansively. “And I’m full of ideas. How did you get on at the Yard last night?”
“I didn’t like it much, Handsome,” Morgan said frankly. “I never did like Abbott, and after the way he talked to me I’ll never have a good word to say for him. Sarcastic swine. But I didn’t give anything away and you put me all right your end, Mr Lessing says.”
“They also know you’re working for me,” Roger said. “Have you heard what happened to Mark this morning?”
“A bit of it,” said Morgan. “The driver was with us most of the time; he couldn’t say much. What did happen?”
Roger told him but did not add why he had suddenly become animated and left the house in such a hurry until they reached the end of Welbeck Street. The cabby explained at some length where he thought the passenger had gone. It was into one of the houses near the second island in the middle of the street.
“Thanks,” Roger said. “If you care to wait, I’ll probably want to go back to Chelsea soon.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” said the cabby.
“Would you mind telling me what you think you can do at a house where this man might have come?” demanded Morgan. “I can’t help you if I’m in the dark all the time, Handsome, can I ?”
“Pep, you missed a vision this morning,” said Roger, in high good humour. “A Daimler pulled up outside my house and out she stepped.”
“Now be sensible.”
“Oh, I am being! She was beauty itself and there was money oozing from her. She came, she said, to solicit Janet’s help for the Society of European Relief. Oddly enough,” he added, offhandedly, “the offices of the Society are in Welbeck Street.”
Morgan looked at him sharply.
“So I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t find many interesting things here,” said Roger. “We’ve plenty to go on, Pep. How do you like working for an ex-policeman ?”
“Now don’t talk like that,” remonstrated Morgan. “What are you going to do now ?”
“You take the next house, I’ll take the one beyond it,” Roger said. “See if you can find the name of the Society of European Relief on one of the boards.” He smiled as Pep went up four steps leading to an open door and whistled to himself as he viewed the next-door house. It had been taken over as offices but none of the name boards mentioned the Society. To refresh his memory, he looked at Mrs Sylvester Cartier’s card : Welbeck Street was right but there was no number. Pep passed him, shaking his head. They were opposite the island and the cabby had pulled up on the other side of the road.
The next house was a blank also, but when Roger walked down the steps he saw Morgan standing on the porch next door, waving. Roger joined him quickly.
“Got it!” exclaimed Morgan. “You’ll make quite a detective when you grow up, Handsome!” He led the way into a darkened hallway and pointed to the notice board, which had the names of four different firms or institutions; on the third floor — the top — was the Society of European Relief. “But there’s no lift,” Morgan said.
“I couldn’t ask you to walk up all those stairs,” Roger said. “Stay down here and keep your eyes open.”
“Now listen —”
“You can’t have it all your own way,” Roger told him. He made for the stairs, going up the first flight two at a time but then proceeding more calmly. Pep shook a fist at him but did not attempt to follow.
The landings were darkened but windows were open and allowed some light in. On the third floor a typewriter was clattering and one door was ajar. It was marked ‘Inquiries’ and had the name of the society underneath. Roger stepped in. Behind a wooden partition he could hear a typewriter going at great speed. He pressed a bell in the counter and started at the loud, harsh ring. The typewriter stopped at the first sound, a chair was pushed back and a girl rounded the partition.
She was pretty; she wore a white blouse and a dark skirt; her hair was dark, like Janet’s, and she
was about Janet’s height. She appeared very self-possessed, and smiled pleasantly. On her right hand was a solitaire diamond ring, a beautiful thing.
“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?” Roger liked her voice.
“I think you probably can,” he said.
“In what way, please ?”
Roger smiled disarmingly. “I wonder if you would take £250 in notes to the Mid-Union Bank and put it into my account ? My name is West.”
He knew at once that he had scored a hit. The girl backed away, her eyes narrowed, and he thought she groped behind her as if for help. As he gave his name, her lips — red but not heavily made-up — parted slightly and her breathing grew agitated.
“What — what are you talking about?” she demanded.
“Don’t tell me that I have to say it again,” said Roger. “After all, you’ve done it often enough to know how easy it is, haven’t you?”
“You’re talking nonsense!”
“I wonder how long you’ll continue to think so? But I’m not an ogre.”
“If you have any business to discuss, please state what it is,” said the girl stiffly. She stood a foot away from the counter with her hand clenched by her sides; the ring glittered like fire; she was badly frightened, but she tried hard not to show it and her voice was steady. “I haven’t time to waste.”
“You know,” said Roger, “the cashier will be able to identify you.”
“I have no idea what you mean. Please go away.”
“What, so soon ?” asked Roger. “I’ve only just —”
A door behind the partition began to open; he could see the top of it. Someone moved towards the reception office and a middle-aged man appeared, his kind face looking faintly puzzled. He had grey hair and a gentle voice.
“Lois, my dear,” he said, “I thought you were going to — oh!” he broke off at sight of Roger. “I beg your pardon, I did not know you were engaged. Can we help you, sir?”
Roger beamed. “Can I give you a lift? I’m going as far as Scotland Yard.”
“I beg your pardon !”
“Do you know, I think you are both being wilfully obtuse,” Roger said, as if wonderingly, “but you’ll have to change your attitude.”
