by John Creasey
‘How long will it take you to get another man here?’ Roger asked.
‘About fifteen, to twenty minutes, if I telephone. Or perhaps it would be better if you phoned. There’s a kiosk at the next corner.’
‘You phone,’ said Roger. ‘Say that I’ve asked for it.’ He watched the CID man go along the street, and glanced up at Harrington’s flat. The curtains were pulled aside, and Harrington was looking out. Roger fancied that he saw the girl by his side.
Roger strolled past.
He waited at a corner until the reinforcements arrived from Kingston. One man he detailed to watch Harrington, the other the girl who, the first detective told him, had arrived at about half-past three. He was reminded that it was not going to be easy in the black-out.
‘Do the best you can,’ Roger said, and walked briskly towards Kingston Hill.
Harrington was no longer looking out of the window. Roger started to whistle again, and eyed the kiosk on the corner of the next street. He felt that he needed more information about the Transoms, and particularly on how Harrington stood in relation to them. He did not believe that Harrington was ignorant of Garielle’s identity, and while it had not been incumbent on him to do so there was no apparent reason why he should not have told of his association with a member of a Dreem family on the previous night.
Roger entered the kiosk and rang up Sergeant Sloane, asking him to find out how Harrington stood with the Transoms. He was concentrating on this, and did not notice the man who approached the kiosk slowly. A man who had come from Hill Mansions Road, with a muffler well about his neck and wearing a large hat; it was too large, and had a very wide brim. A dozen people had passed the kiosk, but this man was obviously making for it.
‘Yes, ring me at Fulham,’ Roger said, and rang off.
The large hat filled his immediate vision, and the owner of it opened the kiosk door. Roger doubled his fist instinctively, and then saw an eye peering at him from beneath the brim, a bloodshot but humorous, familiar eye.
‘Hold it,’ implored Lessing.
Roger stepped on to the pavement, took Mark’s arm, and led him away.
‘Why the swaddling clothes? Aren’t you supposed to be resting in your little flat?’
‘I was tempted,’ admitted Mark. His other eye appeared. He had dispensed with bandages and was managing with sticking plaster. He had a headache, he said, but nothing else. ‘I wanted to see more of Harrington.’
‘Wrapped up like an imitation Texan,’ jeered Roger. ‘You could have been knocked into the middle of next week. Harrington doesn’t want visitors tonight.’
‘So I guessed,’ said Mark. ‘I was in a flat opposite. I bribed a little maid for a window seat. Ten shillings and my charm showed me most of what happened, although I didn’t hear the bull bellowing. He did bellow, didn’t he?’
‘Did you see the girl?’
‘I’ve already prepared a story that will make Janet set about you with more than the kitten,’ Mark said. ‘Who is she?’
‘Garielle Transom,’ said Roger.
‘I take it that Harrington is having an affaire, and objected to you muscling in?’
‘Are you really as dense as you make out?’
Mark frowned. ‘About what? I – Good God, Transom!’
‘The penny has dropped,’ said Roger sardonically. ‘Yes, that’s Harrington’s lady love, and in the words of the politicians it opens up avenues for exploration. She knows him well, she has her own key, and she was taking a housewifely interest in his supper. A matter of some interest.’
Mark said: ‘What’s the stronger, word? What are you going to do?’
‘All I can,’ said Roger. ‘It looks like a job for you, to begin with. I wish you hadn’t been cracked over the head, you’d have been fit enough for it otherwise.’
‘I’m fit,’ asserted Mark. ‘What do you know about Garielle and her family?’
Roger told him what little he knew.
By then they had reached Roger’s car which was parked close by.
‘Which way are you going?’ Roger asked.
‘Delaware Village,’ replied Mark. ‘Then to Yew House, and the Transom ménage. I’ve evolved a very convincing story,’ he added with a grin. ‘I am working for a solicitor acting on behalf of an unnamed relative of the Prendergasts. No names, professional etiquette and all that. The relative is worried because of the possibility of murder, and wonders if so-and-so could give him any information. Such as, were any of the family of P. worried before their death. The idea,’ added Mark, ‘was evolved before I knew of Garielle. I’d thought of looking up each of the Dreem directors. You don’t want to do that officially yet, do you?’
‘No,’ said Roger. ‘You be careful, and report after each visit.’
‘You shall have a report whenever I get one. Or if I’m told by a friend of a friend that Widdison is a terrifying old bird, McFallen a gay Scot with a bright sense of humour and a love of whisky, and Hauteby is a man of flint. He’s younger than the others, and obsessed by business. He combines the duties of secretary and general manager of Dreem, hence his position on the board. A protégé of Septimus P., I gather.’
‘Tackle him carefully,’ said Roger. ‘And in case you forget, I don’t know what’s in your mind. There’s another thing,’ Roger went on. ‘Why are these directors so interested in Potter? Two of them are, anyhow.’
‘Another thing?’ echoed Mark. ‘I thought that was the same one. Give me a lift into Kingston, will you?’ he added. ‘I’m so hard up for petrol I daren’t chase around for Harrington in the car, and had to take a taxi. If you happen to have a spare coupon –’
Roger grinned. ‘I’ll see what I can do tomorrow.’
Half an hour later Roger, having dropped Mark in Kingston to pick up his own car, drove into the garage of his house, the doors of the garage being open, and then went in the back way.
The kitten arched its back cautiously against his legs.
‘Hallo, Omen,’ said Roger. ‘You’re improving.’ He whistled, and shouted: ‘Half-past seven and I’m home.’ There was no answer, and he frowned as he went into the lounge, then mounted the stairs two at a time and searched the three bedrooms and the bathroom. He called: ‘Jan, where are you?’
The kitten began to purr against his legs.
‘This is nothing to celebrate,’ said Roger. ‘Where is she? Next door, I suppose, and I don’t want half-an-hour’s chat with the Featherbys. You couldn’t take a message for me could you? No, I thought not.’ He lit a cigarette and stared reproachfully at the closed door of the kitchen, absurdly put out that Janet was not there to meet him. He laughed suddenly, remembering the lonely hours she had spent here recently, and reminding himself that she was not due back until eight o’clock or at least did not expect him until then.
The telephone made him jump.
‘That’ll be her,’ he said, and lifted the receiver eagerly, to be greeted by a man’s deep voice, and feel astonishingly disappointed.
‘That you West?’ asked the voice, and went on: ‘It’s Simmonds, here, of AY Division. I thought I’d better ring you.’ Simmonds was a divisional superintendent.
‘The thing is,’ he went on, ‘that your wife has had an accident, West . . . no, nothing very serious, a bit of concussion. She’s at the Memorial Hospital. Oh, that’s all right, goodnight.’
Accident, thought Roger, his heart thumping. How on earth could it have happened? Where had she been? What had happened to her? He took the car out again after shutting the door on the kitten, which had begun a fugue in miaow major. Ten minutes later he was at the hospital; in twelve he was being reassured by a matron.
‘She’s perfectly all right, Mr West. It will be wise for her to stay here for the night, as we’re not in any hurry for the bed, and she’ll be better if she doesn’t get up. Slight concussion, perhaps, but little more than a severe shaking.’
Roger felt weak with relief.
He was led to the ward where some dozen patien
ts were in bed. Janet was near the door. Her face lit up when he entered.
‘I wondered if they’d let you in,’ she said after he had kissed her. ‘I kept emphasising the fact that you’re a policeman, and I expect it worked. I was such a fool! I’d meant to make some scones, but Mrs Featherby came in and I didn’t have time. I thought the shop on the corner might have some. I just walked right into the car.’
Roger said: ‘You did, did you? At the end of the street’?
‘Yes, opposite the shop. I thought I heard a miaow and looked round as I stepped off the kerb, you know how it is sometimes.’ Janet was too excited, her eyes were over-bright and she had a slight flush. ‘I saw it and jumped back. I didn’t actually get hit, that’s the absurd thing. But I banged my head on the kerb. I know what Mark felt like last night now!’
‘I wish you didn’t’, said Roger.
‘Are you home for the evening?’
‘Yes.’ As soon as he said it he wished he had said ‘no’.
‘It would happen,’ mourned Janet. ‘I was going to come home, but they persuaded me to stay here. I’m not very steady on my legs. Can you spend the evening with Mark?’
‘I shall,’ Roger promised her. ‘But you –’
‘I’ll be all right, and the nurse is a dear. You don’t mind me staying? I mean, if you’d rather I came home, I will.’
‘Forget it,’ smiled Roger. ‘I’m so relieved it’s no worse that I shall probably open a tin of sardines for Quisling.’
‘Who?’
‘Quisling,’ said Roger firmly. ‘His miaow did the damage, didn’t it? The Fifth column.’ He stayed for ten minutes, telling her a little about the events of the day.
Then the matron told him that he would have to leave, as the patients were being prepared for the night. As it was a comparatively mild injury, perhaps it was not worth transferring Mrs West to a private ward.
‘It certainly isn’t,’ said Janet.
‘No,’ agreed Roger.
‘Accident,’ he murmured as he entered the narrow thoroughfare in which the hospital was situated. ‘I wonder.’ He drove to the Divisional Headquarters, and was soon sitting opposite the large slow-moving Superintendent Simmonds. Simmonds had three chins and a pendulous nose.
‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘one of my men was nearby when it happened, and took the number of the car, which didn’t stop. It was an old Buick. He says that the car was parked at the corner, and the driver jumped in quickly when he saw Mrs West coming. That’s in his own words.’
‘I was all kinds of a damned fool for ever letting Janet go with me last night,’ Roger said.
He talked freely to Simmonds, a wily old policeman who had often advised him and, because they were not together at the Yard, was less affected by rank superiority. Simmonds listened attentively, occasionally rubbing the bridge of his long, wriggly nose and, when Roger had finished, said: ‘Potter’s in this up to his Adam’s apple. He’s been as deep a dozen times before, and he’s always fooled us, but he’ll miss his step one day and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be at hand to pick him up Chatworth would be tickled to death. Another wily old bird, our Chatworth! He knows you and Lessing are as thick as thieves, and he also knows that if Potter’s to be tripped up it will have to be unprofessionally. He thinks Lessing will take a chance. He wants Potter or he wouldn’t have given you the go-ahead. But Potter knows it as well as you do, and if you ask me, he’s playing for big stakes. Don’t ask me how I know, ask yourself.’
‘Could be,’ said Roger.
‘Talkative, aren’t you?’ remarked Simmonds sarcastically. ‘You see what I mean?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ Simmonds implored. ‘I’m just shooting my mouth off. I’ll tell a man or two to keep a special eye on Bell Road. You could just pass the hint to Janet that she should watch her step. Don’t want to scare her too much, but with Potter –’
Roger left, reassured on one point, worried on another. This was Potter’s work. Potter used Clay, Potter had probably arranged Fenton’s murder, Potter might be working Maisie Claude-Harrington. Certainly Potter was pulling a lot of strings and making the puppets dance.
Roger remembered the impact of the car on Fenton’s body and could picture Janet being run down. He clenched his teeth.
The kitten miaowed plaintively, but spurned a saucer of milk. Instead, it followed him into the lounge, where there was no fire, and jumped on to his knee. It curled itself and purred contentedly, while Roger developed a headache.
It was half-past ten before he reminded himself that he had not eaten since lunch time, and he was brewing a cup of tea after a snack supper, commiserating with himself while thinking that Janet must find it much lonelier than he had realized, when the front door bell rang.
Mark came in.
His entry was remarkable for its silence; there was no hint of high spirits.
‘Well, what?’ asked Roger.
‘Not nice, Roger,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s nice.’
‘Is Transom –’
‘Transom’s all right,’ said Mark, I was there when McFallen called to see him tonight. McFallen lives at Epsom, and they attend to Dreem business at their respective homes, over dinner and cigars, McFallen didn’t stay long, but left a message that put Transom’s wind right up. He didn’t say so, but it showed. Then McFallen drove away. There’s a nasty bend just past Transom’s place, and if you go off the road you go over an edge into a sand quarry about seventy yards down. A sheer drop. We heard the crash from Transom’s window. I got there first. Not at all nice,’ repeated Mark. ‘His pieces are being looked after by Lampard, who is also examining the car. McFallen drove himself, a Rolls-Royce. What’s, the betting that there won’t be another death by misadventure verdict?’
‘You’d better have a drink,’ Roger said. He felt cold when he thought of Janet.
He poured two whiskies and soda.
‘Thanks,’ Mark said. ‘Well, I thought I’d be clever, and visit McFallen’s wife. A nice, dumpy little Scots woman. I don’t like thinking about her face when I told her that her husband was dead. Have you ever seen anyone’s heart break in front of you? My God, we’ve got to stop this.’
‘Yes,’ said Roger, dry-mouthed. ‘What about Transom?’ he asked. ‘Apart from closing up after McFallen had called, did he give you anything to bite on?’
‘He told me politely that he knew of no surviving relative of the Prendergasts, and that he was quite satisfied with the way the police had handled the necessary inquiries.’ Mark’s voice remained his own, but his manner grew faintly pompous, his words took on a rotundity which Roger was sure was an excellent mimicry of Arthur Transom. The whisky was doing him good. ‘He was, of course, quite prepared and happy to meet my claimant in person, and would be delighted to offer any assistance once he had met him.’ Mark smiled unexpectedly. ‘In other words he called me a liar, but he was worried. He had that look in the eyes. He also gave me the impression that my visit wasn’t the thing which started the worry; Mr Transom has something on his mind. McFallen shared it, and I think McFallen had taken news which was not good to Transom. The effect was instantaneous, but all I got out of it was that Transom “would be there”. Time and date of the presumed meeting wasn’t specified, and McFallen went off, as I’ve said.’
‘You didn’t think it worth while watching Transom and leaving Mrs McFallen?’
Mark glowered.
‘What is this, a lesson in ABC? I had phoned Pep Morgan earlier in the day, and he was watching Transom for me. I couldn’t have done much anyhow, without more petrol. The McFallen house was on my way home.’ He sat down in an easy chair, stretched his legs and scratched the kitten under the chin. It purred like an aero-engine. ‘Where’s Janet?’
Roger explained.
‘My God,’ Mark said. ‘That’s terrifying.’
His eyes showed consternation. He was silent when Roger finished.
‘Yes, Terrifying. It looks as if Pott
er sent me a reminder that Janet’s vulnerable, too. Always assuming that it is Potter. Someone is certainly very anxious to get me off the hunt. And you, too.’
‘He doesn’t give a damn about me.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t blame him,’ admitted Roger. ‘But where’s the evidence?’
‘In front of you. To a past master in the arranging of accidents, I was an easy victim last night. Think of the hills in that part of Surrey. I could have “fallen” down a dozen and broken my neck, and no one would have been any the wiser. I didn’t because our Potter -I say it’s Potter reckoned that I was no serious liability. In fact Potter probably decided that it was wiser to let me play around, because –’
He stopped.
‘Go on,’ said Roger.
‘Just an idea,’ said Mark. ‘Vague and improbable, anyhow. I mean, Potter knows I’m looking for something, and thought I had it at the flat, or he wouldn’t have sent Charlie. He probably thinks I’m still looking for it. He also wants it badly.’
‘A bit involved, but I follow you. I wonder if he could have suspected that this thing he wants badly - if it’s he - and if he wants something badly - was at Delaware House. There might have been no reason for the call on you except to get us thinking along the wrong lines. That’s a possibility as great as yours. We’ll keep ‘em both in mind. Now what about a concentrated effort. I’ll keep at Harrington, you keep at the Transoms, and we’ll compare notes tomorrow. All right?’
‘Yes,’ said Mark. At that moment the telephone bell rang. Mark lifted the receiver ‘Oh it’s you, Pep,’ he said. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ve been trying to get you all the evening,’ said Morgan. ‘I thought you’d like to know that there are others at Transom’s house. Widdison and Hauteby, as a matter of fact. And I’m getting cold.’
‘How long have they been there?’ Mark demanded.
‘Hauteby’s only just arrived. Are you coming out here?’
‘If I can,’ said Mark, and put a hand over the mouthpiece as he turned to Roger. ‘Petrol,’ he said imploringly. ‘Petrol. A matter of life or death. Can you spare a couple of gallons?’
