by John Creasey
Harrington eyed Mark stonily.
‘And why are you reading this riot act?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘For Pete’s sake!’ exclaimed Harrington, ‘I’m too tired to start following your verbal circles. No, I don’t.’
Mark said: ‘What does the name David Anderson mean to you?’
He saw Harrington start, and felt that he had scored a hit.
Then he grew less sure. The name was familiar enough, but to Mark it appeared that Harrington was far more puzzled than worried as he said with deep feeling: ‘If he comes near me inside the next twenty-four hours, I’ll fire him, and never mind what the Government says. The little twerp was due on duty last night, but didn’t turn up. A trimming machine went wrong, and I’ve spent all night putting it right. If he’d had any conscience he wouldn’t have left the thing in such a condition. A breakdown was inevitable.’ Harrington drew a deep breath, and then went on to give his further opinion of David Anderson. The man had remained in Harrington’s employ solely because of his engineering ability; and something else, which wasn’t clear.
Harrington ran out of words. Mark, standing and watching the man, felt a restraint in him. Although Harrington let himself go up to a point, there was nothing vindictive in his manner. Anderson had let him down, and not for the first time. Throughout the harangue Mark perceived in Harrington a consciousness of what could be done, and what was beyond the pale. Harrington did not actually put it into words, but he implied that Anderson owed it to his country not to slack but he slacked a great deal.
Harrington gave a sudden, almost boyish grin.
‘For some odd reason, that’s made me feel better! But that’s no reason why you should grin like a cheetah. I’m going to lock those le Fleur pieces up, you don’t look honest.’ He paused. ‘What has Anderson got to do with you, anyhow?’
‘He’s the man who attempted bodily harm on Potter,’ said Mark, sweetly.
‘What!’
Mark ran a hand tenderly over his head, and said: ‘Y’know, Harrington, you’re either a clever beggar or you’re so damned ingenuous that I can’t get you. What indeed! You heard me: Anderson tried to kill or injure Potter.’ He saw disbelief dawn in Harrington’s eyes, and something else; it might have been horror, or dread, or sheer stupefaction and it might have been that Harrington was just tired out.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Harrington said flatly.
‘The police will convince you, and I don’t mean Roger West. Anderson slipped away. Did he have a motor-cycle?’
‘Yes.’
‘He reached it. I stopped him, and someone was foolish enough to shoot him. Dead,’ added Mark. ‘It was quick for him, but will mean a lot of questions. You see, he attacked Potter at Transom’s house. Near Transom’s house McFallen was killed last night, also. The Transom ménage is coming in for a lot of inspection, and the Transom and Anderson connection with you makes it peculiar. Don’t you think so?’
Harrington backed heavily to a chair.
‘It’s the most incredible story I’ve ever heard,’ he said. ‘I’m still inclined not to believe it.’ He was not entirely convincing. He stretched out a hand. ‘Give me a cigarette, will you? ... Thanks.’ He accepted a light, and added slowly: ‘I knew nothing about this. I can’t fathom it I can’t see the connexion. Anderson was nothing to do with me outside of work; he wasn’t even a personal friend. As a matter of fact, I detested him. He was never reliable and he was always lying to get time off, or threatening to find another job if he didn’t get this indulgence or that. He was so clever at his job that he had me in a cleft stick.’
‘What was his job?’ demanded Mark.
Harrington frowned. ‘I don’t see that it’s your business and I don’t see that it matters much, anyhow. He was a machine specialist in the one part, and a rubber chemist in the other. He combined both jobs, and was just the man I needed. He –’ Harrington drew in too much smoke and coughed. ‘He’s going to take some replacing.’
‘I wish that I knew a little more,’ said Mark broodingly. ‘Are rubber chemists so rare?’
‘When they’ve got the ingenuity that he had, yes. You can ask as much as you like, but his job remains my secret.’
‘Why are you so secretive?’
‘In the first place, because I’m sworn to it. In the second, because it happens to be my business. I can’t see where the Transoms are concerned with Anderson,’ he added.
‘Do you know them well?’
‘By reputation, but I haven’t met the family. They wouldn’t approve of me.’ There was a twist to his grin as he stood up. ‘So I’m to expect questions from the police about Anderson, am I? Potter was attacked by him, and-it just doesn’t make sense!’
‘Couldn’t you help it to?’ asked Mark.
‘No,’ said Harrington firmly. He then looked past Mark towards the door. ‘No,’ he repeated slowly. ‘I don’t believe even Anderson would do anything like that.’
There was a faraway look in his eyes, an expression which could not be mistaken; it was fear. Not necessarily personal fear, bat probably of something which he could see and which would be disastrous, which he could not avoid. Mark imagined all that while Harrington stared past him.
Harrington said abruptly: ‘Do the police know you’ve come here?’
‘No.’
‘Not even West?’
‘Not even West I wanted to see how you took all this.’
Harrington shrugged.
‘Thanks for coming.’ He hesitated, and then went on with a twisted smile: ‘I’m egoistical enough to think you came to give me a warning, thinking one was necessary. It wasn’t, but thanks all the same. I’ve no idea why Anderson had a down on Potter. All I know about Anderson is what I’ve told you, added to the fact that he’s been pretty flush with money lately. I thought he had been backing winners; he did a lot of betting. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some rest. I’m in no condition to be interrogated by the police yet. I don’t want to fly off the handle again,’ he added slowly, ‘but West got me on the raw last night. I thought he’d been following my fiancée.’
‘You didn’t give him any encouragement to think you were going to help in any way.’
‘He’ll get over it,’ said Harrington. He stifled a yawn. ‘I’m not going to talk to you any more.’
Mark left the flat.
The call had been inconclusive, yet he could not hide a feeling that Harrington had kept a vital piece of information back, quite deliberately. The mystery of Harrington and his small factory loomed larger in Mark’s mind, but as he went slowly back to Chelsea he wondered whether he was not trying to follow too many trails.
He dwelt on Potter.
He did not doubt that Potter had persuaded the trio at Yew House not to protest to the police about his presence there. He fancied that he knew why; Potter would imagine that he thus had some kind of a lever to use against him. Mark smiled, wondering why Potter had wanted him to go to his office. He wished that the arrangement had not been cancelled, and a dozen things.
But he could not get his mind off Harrington, and Garielle Transom. They obsessed him.
He made himself some tea at his fiat, munched a biscuit. And wondered what to do next.
He walked slowly to Roger’s office, hoped there were not too many people in it, and on entering saw the head and shoulders of a girl in RAF blue above the back of a chair opposite Roger. Mark exclaimed enough to make the girl look round sharply. It was Garielle Transom.
13: Exchange of Ideas
Roger hardly knew whether to be pleased or sorry as he stood up and smiled. He had got the other D Is out of the room, succeeding with Eddie Day only when Eddie Day had been called to a Superintendent’s office.
‘Miss Transom, this is Mr Mark Lessing,’ he said. ‘Mark, I don’t think you’ve met Miss Transom.’
‘My bad luck,’ said Mark, and won a smile. He took a chair at one end of the desk, at Roger’s wave of the han
d. Roger went on: ‘Mr Lessing has been giving me some assistance in the case, Miss Transom. I hope that you don’t mind if he sits in.’
‘I didn’t come to object to anything,’ said Garielle. ‘As I’ve told you, Inspector, I came to try to explain why Mr Harrington was so upset last evening. He –’
Mark half-closed his eyes, and listened. Roger could form the necessary conclusions. Not that Garielle Transom had a lot to say; Harrington had been overworking lately and his work was of considerable importance; he was troubled because so many people had recently shown an interest in him. Also, there was a dislike, tantamount to prejudice, which Harrington felt for all the directors of Dreem her father included. She did not try to explain that prejudice, just offered it as a fact.
Mark opened his eyes.
Roger was leaning back in his chair with a wry expression on his face.
‘Miss Transom, why did you come to see me?’
Garielle’s only reaction was to sit up straighter in her chair, and say abruptly: ‘I want to know why you are interested in Mr Harrington, Inspector?’
‘Because he is a cousin of Claude Prendergast,’ said Roger. ‘I don’t need to tell you of the Prendergast misadventures.’
‘Does that really answer my question?’
‘Yes. It’s our only reason. We hoped Mr Harrington could give us more information. If there is any information that you can give us we shall be equally grateful.’
‘And if there isn’t, will I please go?’ Garielle smiled but did not look wholly at ease. She fidgeted a little with a glove in her lap. The silence lengthened, neither man making any attempt to fill the gap. Finally she spoke in a crisper voice; it was easy to imagine she had reached some kind of a decision.
‘I thought you might like to know that Mr Harrington and I met quite by accident, and that we were on very friendly terms before he realized that I was Arthur Transom’s daughter. I have already tried to explain his mood last evening, but I am not sure that I know the full explanation. Will you please answer this? Do you think there is any danger for him?’
Roger shrugged.
‘I can’t say yes and I can’t say no. We have to keep all possibilities in mind, and that’s obviously one of them. If you want to know whether I have had any positive indication of danger for Mr Harrington, the answer is “no”.’ He paused, but saw no relief in her eyes. He was puzzled. ‘Have you?’
‘No,’ replied Garielle. ‘But I wish I knew why he was quite so worried. He is, you know. You must have seen that.’
‘It looked rather like it, but it’s difficult to judge on brief acquaintance. How long has he seemed worried?’
‘Six months or so.’
‘From about the time of Septimus Prendergast’s death,’ remarked Roger.
‘I suppose that coincidence is too obvious to be missed.’ Garielle was making a little ball of her glove. ‘Yes, it would be about that time, but I don’t think there’s any reason for believing that they’re connected Bill’s worry and the deaths, I mean. He’s not interested in the Dreem people. In fact he dislikes them utterly, he –’ she drew a deep breath, and added: ‘He has definite ideas about profit and profit motives, and he thinks that far too much is made out of tobacco.’
‘Do you?’ Mark murmured the question, hardly expecting an answer and glancing at Roger for forgiveness.
Garielle looked at him.
‘No more than in many forms of industry. But I’m not interested in Dreem, Mr Lessing, my differences with my family have been on very personal grounds.’ She smiled; as if to point out to Mark that he could not put leading questions without it being observed, then stopped rolling her gloves, pulling one on quickly and pushing methodically down between the fingers. ‘I must be going. I’ve taken too much of your time already. Inspector, can I rely on you to do everything possible to make sure that my fiancé is quite safe?’
‘Yes. But I wish you would give me more idea why you’re afraid that he’s not.’
‘I can’t, it’s just premonition. Don’t laugh too much at feminine intuition, will you? And thank you for being so patient.’ She was about to push her chair back when Mark drew it back for her. Together they saw her to the door. She walked like a dream.
When she had gone, Mark said: ‘There goes my idea of beauty, per se. Harrington is a luckier man than he knows. I wonder how long they’ve been engaged, or even whether in fact they are engaged.’
‘We’ll find out,’ said Roger.
‘I hope you aren’t going to have to wash a lot of dirty linen for that girl,’ Mark said, ‘How long had she been here before I turned up?’
‘You heard all that mattered,’ Roger told him. ‘What did you make of it?’
‘What could I make? She’s worried about Harrington, she isn’t sure how deeply he’s involved, she wanted to emphasise that he was on no kind of terms with her family and the Dreem mob in toto, but she went a shade too far. She tried to say that his objection to the Dreem directors is founded on an altruistic and moral motive, but of course there’s something much deeper. Also she lied, I think.’ He paused, and added: ‘Apart from the attempts to get us thinking on the wrong lines, she lied at least once.’
‘On the matter of their meeting accidentally?’
‘There are limits to coincidences.’
‘It could have been one,’ said Roger. ‘We can’t rule it out. When we know the whole story I may fit it in, but I’d like to know what really prompted her to come. She surely didn’t think I’d talk.’ He tapped a cigarette against his thumbnail, while through the open window there boomed the chiming of Big Ben. ‘It’s a quarter past one. Let’s get out for some lunch, and you can tell me where you’ve been hiding yourself.’
‘I was a victim of a chapter of accidents,’ declared Mark, as Roger picked up his hat. ‘What do you make of the latest Delaware village murder?’
‘McFallen? I haven’t heard anything fresh.’
‘No, not McFallen. The unknown gentleman.’
Roger shot him a sideways glance.’
‘I haven’t heard of any.’
Mark stopped in the middle of a stride, recovered quickly, and did not speak for some seconds. Then he commented on the oddness of the fact that Lampard had been so secretive.
They were in the hall when a sergeant came hurrying towards them, calling Roger. In his hand he held a sealed envelope, and on his face there was an expression suggesting that he had a great weight on his mind.
‘This letter came for you from Guildford, early this morning, sir. It was delivered by hand.’ He gulped the words.
Roger said: ‘How early?’
‘It arrived just about nine o’clock, sir.’
‘Then why haven’t I had it before?’
The sergeant gulped again, ‘It was filed in the wrong basket, sir, and went out to one of the Divisions. It’s just been returned. My fault, sir. I was superintending the post this morning.’
‘Oh, ail right.’ Roger turned back to the office with Mark.
It was a long and detailed report of the murder near Yew House, including a statement signed by Potter, Transom, Widdison, and Hauteby. There was a note that Mark had confirmed the general accuracy. There were photographs of the dead man, and a request for Yard assistance to get him identified.
‘That bloody sergeant!’ exclaimed Roger bitterly. ‘I but now Mark, what do you know about this?’
‘I can give you some help, and you won’t need to worry about the identity of the gent. I’ve found it. I knew last night but kept it to myself so as to try to work on Harrington myself.’
He plunged into his story, which filled in many details missing from Lampard’s report, and only once did Roger interrupt, to say: ‘Harrington didn’t feel good about Anderson?’
‘No,’ agreed Mark. ‘But I don’t know whether that’s anything to go on. Harrington was at the factory all night, remember.’
‘You were told that by someone on the telephone, but he might have arrived at th
e factory any time during the night.’
Roger pressed a bell.
Sergeant Sloane, large, self-effacing, somewhat elephantine in movement, entered promptly.
‘Sloane, try to check up whether Mr William Harrington was working in his factory last night,’ Roger said, ‘and if so what time he arrived and what time he left. The factory is –’
‘I know the address, sir, thank you,’ said Sloane.
Roger pulled the telephone near and called Guildford. Lampard was at lunch, but Inspector Wade was in his office. Roger reported what he knew about the identity of the dead man.
‘Yes, Mr West, I know. We’ve just discovered some papers that identify him. They were lying in a ditch near where he was found. I have a report ready for Mr Lampard as soon as he gets back from lunch.’
‘Good. Tell him that I am going to see Anderson’s employer.’
He rang off, tipped his hat to the back of his head, and looked sardonically at Mark.
‘So the identification papers were found in a hedge, were they? I wonder what little bird put them there? Come on, let’s feed.’
‘It’s my turn to pay,’ said Mark in subdued tones.
‘I’ll say it’s your turn!’ Roger went silent, and kept it up until they were having a glass of beer at a brasserie in Cannon Row. Then Roger said: ‘Harrington dislikes the Prendergasts, and look what happens to them. Harrington dislikes Anderson, and –’
‘I looked at what happened to him,’ admitted Mark. ‘But I don’t believe Harrington was responsible for it.’
‘I hope not,’ Roger said moodily. ‘But circumstantial evidence is piling up against him, you know. I wonder if he’s much of a shot?’
‘Globe-trotters often are,’ said Mark.
They continued to exchange views, impressions, and ideas freely.
Presently Roger said: ‘We thought that Potter looked after Abie, but did Potter look after Anderson? Was it a fake to make it look as if Potter was attacked, or was it genuine? If so, why had Anderson reason for disliking Potter to that extent?’
‘If that was a fake, I wasn’t there,’ said Mark. ‘Potter didn’t lose his head, as Transom did. He moved pretty fast, and he wasn’t waiting for the trouble. If I hadn’t cried out there would have been a nasty hole on Potter’s head, and I don’t mean maybe. I think,’ Mark added abruptly, ‘that I’ll go to see Morgan.’
