by John Creasey
Sitting behind his desk, as if receiving a subordinate at the Yard, Chatsworth overflowed a swivel armchair. A fringe of grizzled hair like a halo round his head emphasised the baldness of the centre. His wide smile had a ‘come-into-my-parlour’ benevolence which had been the downfall of many who had attempted to deceive. It was said at Scotland Yard that if Chatsworth was amiable he was at his most dangerous; he very nearly purred.
He half-rose from his chair, and extended a big hand. ‘Come in, Lessing, come in. It’s nice to see you again, very nice.’ His grip was powerful. ‘Sit down.’ He pushed cigarettes and a lighter across his flat-topped and shiny desk, and then relaxed, clasping his hands together like a priest about to pronounce a benign blessing on a bridegroom who had come to arrange for the banns. ‘Now, what’s worrying you?’
Mark raised his eyebrows.
‘Worrying me? Does anything, ever?’
‘All right, have it your own way. What makes you want to come worrying me?’
‘Oh, a general desire to see how you were getting on,’ said Mark airily. ‘I didn’t expect to be received in the sanctum sanctorum. I feel almost like a suspect.’ He smiled widely. ‘How are you, sir? Sleeping well? Pulse quite steady? Not working yourself to a standstill, like some people I know.’ His manner robbed the words of offensiveness. He saw Chatsworth’s blue eyes narrow, in puzzlement.
‘You know, Lessing, I do believe that you’re more eccentric than ever.’ Chatsworth’s smile was a shade more taut, something of his geniality ebbed.
‘Oh, no,’ said Mark emphatically. ‘I’m always myself. Roger West is overdoing it, you know. Or he was. And it isn’t like you to overwork anyone deliberately and with malice.’
‘I see,’ said Chatsworth. ‘And what prompted you to come and see me about Roger West? Do you imagine that he would approve of the visit?’
‘He’d jump out of his grave if he were as dead as he might be. Seriously, Sir Guy, is it necessary? I know that he’s out of action for a little while, but he isn’t likely to stay in his room a minute longer than he has to. We’ve been friends for quite a time. I don’t like seeing him cracking up, and that’s what’s happening. There’s even worse.’ He paused for effect. ‘There’s a strained atmosphere at his home, and that’s not nice to live with. You know Mrs West, don’t you?’
‘Does Mrs West know you’re here?’
‘It isn’t a subject for family discussion – the strain, I mean – but it’s there, and I don’t like it. The thing is, you wouldn’t need to overwork Roger if there wasn’t something pressing.’ He paused. ‘I don’t like to think of your men being out at all hours, or laid up with concussion, because you’re short of personnel.’
There was a change in Chatsworth’s expression. He smiled blandly as he leaned back in his chair, nodding so that his one heavy chin became three smaller ones. ‘If you want to become a policeman,’ said Chatsworth, ‘why don’t you make the usual application?’
‘Oh,’ said Mark, shaken. ‘You mean fill in forms, and that sort of thing? I suppose I could, but isn’t there an age limit? Or are you so short-staffed that you’ve had to dispense with it?’
Chatsworth widened his eyes, stared for a moment, and then chuckled. Mark had feared for a moment that he had gone further than he should; to have Chatsworth hostile would do no good.
‘Lessing,’ said Chatsworth, ‘you are no fool. But, you know, there are things I can’t do. Sometimes West has talked to you about his cases, and in his reports has even said that you have been of some help. Although I can turn a blind eye to some irregularities, there are limits, and clearly defined ones. You haven’t discussed this with West, have you?’
‘Haven’t I, though? I spent thirty seconds yesterday afternoon offering to be his Watson, but was turned down flat. Hush-hush, and all that kind of thing, he said. When I was about to press for more, he—’ Mark paused.
‘Well?’
‘He fell asleep,’ said Mark. ‘That’s what really made me decide to come here. If Roger can fall asleep in the middle of telling me that he can’t tell me anything, he’s at the end of his tether. As I was staying at the house last night, I heard the phone go, and I followed him. And I—’
‘I’ve heard all about that,’ said Chatsworth.
‘You hear about everything, don’t you?’
‘Very nearly,’ said Chatsworth. ‘And I think you probably saved his life. You were very prompt.’
‘Prompt?’ Mark grinned. ‘I went at a snail’s pace, or he wouldn’t have been tossed over the parapet. Incidentally, one of the men who attacked him had a limp, and both were tall. There was also a tramp nearby, who saw them running. I have an appointment with him for noon tomorrow, and I hope he’ll be on hand when you stage the identification parade.’
‘You seem sure we’ll get the men,’ said Chatsworth.
‘Well, won’t you?’
‘Oh, eventually, of course, eventually. Now, Lessing, it’s time we stopped beating about the bush. I understand your concern and I don’t underrate you, but I can imagine no way in which you can assist us in this case. West was quite right to say nothing to you. He was simply carrying out instructions. I’m sorry, but there is no way in which I can use your services. If there were, I would.’ He paused to allow that to sink in. ‘Having so decided, I must impress upon you the need for discretion. In fact—’ he leaned forward again, looking very earnest, and repeated: ‘In fact, I hope you will give me your assurance that you will not endeavour to take a personal interest in the affair. Will you do that, Mr Lessing?’
Mr Lessing is Insistent
Some seconds passed before Mark actually uttered ‘no’.
Then it came with conviction, bald and clear. Chatsworth sat back, and after a silence which seemed longer than it was, he said: ‘You are extremely foolish. I am reluctant to do more than tell you that you are to take no further part in this matter without the express approval of a responsible officer under my control. Is that clearly understood?’
‘I think so.’
‘I trust it is. And I trust that you will take my advice,’ said Chatsworth. ‘If you don’t, I will not be responsible for the consequences, and I will certainly not guarantee your continued freedom of movement.’
Mark stared. ‘I didn’t quite get that last one.’
‘You will, if you think about it,’ said Chatsworth. ‘Good evening, Mr Lessing.’
Somewhat surprisingly, he shook hands. A few moments afterwards Mark found himself standing outside the door of the flat, which the one-armed servant closed.
Mark brushed a hand over his forehead and walked to the stairs, and down into the street. He was so preoccupied with thought of Chatsworth’s manner, and his abrupt dismissal, that he quite forgot to keep his eyes open for the two men whom he had noticed earlier. He decided to take a turn round the park, in the hope of collecting himself and really facing the seriousness of Chatsworth’s purpose. Actually the last thrust had been obvious enough, and there was hardly any need to think about it. Chatsworth had told him that if he interfered he might be detained.
‘He did give me a loophole,’ Mark mused. ‘I can act with the approval of a responsible Yard man. But of course all of them will be told not to play. Now I wonder what it’s all about.’
He had a snack supper at a little French restaurant, before walking back to Fulham. Dusk was gathering, and the plain-clothes men outside the Wests’ house loomed massive and forbidding, despite the fact that they acknowledged him with outward respect.
Indoors, Janet was reading. She put her book down when he entered. Roger was asleep; he had been awake, however, and rational, and there was every prospect of him being moved tomorrow. Chatsworth had telephoned just after Mark had left, to say that he was providing an ambulance and that Roger was not to be in a hurry to get back to work.
‘And
of course, you agreed,’ said Mark gloomily.
‘I told him I wouldn’t keep him a minute longer than was necessary,’ said Janet, with an innocent smile. ‘He’s rather a dear I suppose. Oh, and Paula wanted to know whether you were free to come, too.’
‘Have you been hatching dark deeds on the telephone with your cousin?’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ said Janet. ‘But I did tell her you were looking a little run down, and might try to come for the weekend. Please yourself. But why you think Paula is an ogre I can’t understand.’
‘She’s far too possessive for my liking. If she were single I wouldn’t go within a hundred miles of her.’
Janet put her head on one side and regarded him with some concern. He stood with an elbow resting against the mantelpiece of the lounge, and scowled down upon her.
‘You are in a sweet temper,’ she remarked. ‘Wasn’t Chatsworth very friendly?’
‘No.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He warned me off. This business is considered so dangerous that I am not even allowed to hover about the outer fringes. Don’t you know anything about it?’ he demanded with sudden eagerness. ‘Hasn’t Roger said anything in his sleep, or let out a hint? Damn it, he must have done!’
‘He certainly hasn’t,’ Janet assured him emphatically, ‘and it doesn’t worry me now. When we’re at Paula’s, Roger will stay put until it’s all over, and if there is more trouble coming to anybody, it won’t be to him.’ She paused. ‘Mark, don’t look so sick about it. Why don’t you come down to Paula’s for the weekend? You’ll enjoy it once you’re there.’
‘I am in no mood to enjoy anything,’ Mark said, ‘but I probably will. You’re a dangerous woman, you know. When you look like that you could melt ice. Perhaps Roger isn’t such a fool after all. What time are you leaving?’
‘At twelve o’clock, if the doctor says it’s all right when he comes again.’
‘Good,’ said Mark. ‘That’s one thing off our minds. And now, unless there’s anything you want me to do, I’ll toddle off to bed.’
‘You might bolt the front door as you go up,’ said Janet. ‘Good night.’
Mark smiled crookedly at her, and then went upstairs. He looked out of his bedroom window, and did not need to concentrate to see the burly figures of two other plain-clothes men in the alley at the end of the garden. Chatsworth was making quite sure that no one attacked Roger, or otherwise made contact with him.
‘Chatsworth makes it worse by admitting the possibility,’ Mark thought. ‘What the blazes is happening?’
As there was no immediate solution he went to bed expecting an uneasy night. Instead, he went to sleep quickly, and was not awakened until Janet entered the room, carrying a tray of tea. He struggled up in bed, inquired after the patient, and was assured that Roger had slept well.
‘I haven’t slept so soundly for weeks,’ said Janet. ‘What kind of a night did you have?’
‘Terrible.’
‘Certainly you don’t look too good.’ Janet was out of the room before Mark could think of a suitable reply.
He waited until the doctor made his visit, gave a good report, and said that Roger could be moved. Janet was travelling to Dorset with the ambulance, and she repeated the invitation for Mark to follow for the weekend. Mark said that he would telephone one way or the other, and then went to the office. He could not get in to see Roger because of the battleaxe of a nurse. He saw his Chief, who, a few days before, had told him that if he wanted a week’s leave this was as good a time as any to take it. Mark disparaged his own position at the Home Office, but had not given up all hope of getting promotion. His knowledge of languages made him invaluable. His Chief said promptly that he could take a week off, and asked what he thought of doing.
‘Burying myself in the country for a real rest,’ declared Mark.
He would not admit even to himself that he proposed to follow Janet and Roger because he thought that trouble might catch up with them. He did not think for a moment that Paula Dean’s home would be free from the attentions of the police; Roger would be guarded as carefully in the Dorset village of Hinton Magna as in Fulham.
He had two suitcases already packed, unopened since he had come to Bell Street, and he telephoned Waterloo to learn that there was a train to Dorchester, via Bournemouth, at 3.25. He was assured that it was a good train; it was due in Dorchester about eight o’clock.
At two-thirty he reached the Bell Street house, collected his cases, and, because taxis were scarce, carried them to King’s Road and boarded a bus. As he was standing on the platform, with the conductress impatient about his baggage, a wheezy voice sounded. ‘’Ere, mister. Mister!’
There was an urgent, pleading note in the familiar voice. Mark looked over his shoulder, and the conductress pressed the bell.
‘Mister!’ called the man with the wheezy voice desperately.
It was the tramp whom he had seen on the Embankment.
His clothes were not only ragged but odorous. His week-old stubble was a dirty grey, and his hands were scored and ingrained with dirt. From the depths of his clothes he drew an old, cracked pipe, which was empty. He stared at it gloomily, without saying a word.
Equally silent, Mark offered him a cigarette.
‘Ta,’ said the old one, as if surprised. And then: ‘You’re a fine one, aincha. I thought we ‘ad an’appointment.’
‘We did,’ said Mark humbly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thassal very well, but I was ‘angin’ around the Embankment for a coupla hours. Supposin’ it’d been a cold day, mister? Or a wet one? Where would I ‘ave bin then?’
‘On the Embankment,’ said Mark. ‘You’re a man of your word, Mr—’
‘Eh?’
‘I said I didn’t quite catch your name.’
‘Oh, everyone knows me,’ boasted the tramp with great aplomb. ‘They calls me Crummy, even the narks. Crummy Parker, that’s me.’ He looked up with an indescribably cunning gleam in his eyes, albeit with a deliberate, unmistakable humour. ‘Thought I was goin’ to lose that ten bob, mister, didn’t yer?’
‘I hadn’t given much thought to it,’ admitted Mark.
‘Well, I ain’t see. I was waiting for you at midday, and you know what you promised me.’ He was mildly truculent. ‘The thing I want to arst you, mister, is how much is it worth to know where the lame cove lives?’
‘Parker, I was born long enough ago to know what you’re after. I’m not easy money. If I pay anything for the man’s address I’ve got to have proof that he lives there.’
‘Wotjer think I am?’ demanded Parker. ‘Old enough to be yer farver, cully, and I’m tellin’ you I know when I’m on an easy pickin’. A friend of Inspector West ain’t no fool, believe me.’
The admission that he knew that Mark was acquainted with Roger was another in a chain of surprises. He was still trying to absorb it when the conductress shouted that the next stop was Victoria. Mark got up, making a decision quickly. There must be a later train to Dorchester, and if it came to the point he could travel down the next morning.
‘We’ll talk in the street,’ he said.
Parker followed him down the stairs, but did not offer to assist him to lift the two cases off the platform.
Mark felt conspicuous on the pavement opposite the Grosvenor Hotel, although he was not normally self-conscious. The feeling wasn’t wholly due to his company; he felt that he was being watched, and had an uneasy suspicion that a man who had jumped from a bus immediately behind his was now walking slowly by, and watching him from the other side of the road.
He stepped against the wall, leaving the bags by the kerb.
‘I’ve just twenty minutes to spare,’ he said. ‘My train goes at twenty-past three. Now, what’s it all about?’
‘I’ve told you
,’ declared Parker. ‘I know where the cove wiv a limp lives, mister. Do you want to know or doncher? I don’t care whether you buy or you don’t buy.’
‘How far does he live from here?’
‘Matter’ve ‘arf an hour.’
‘How did you find out?’
Parker winked, keeping the lid down for an appreciable time. ‘I got me methods.’
‘How much do you want for the information?’ Mark demanded.
‘Twenty quid!’
‘Ten,’ said Mark.
‘Twenty.’
‘Ten.’
‘Seventeen,’ said Parker, now wide-eyed.
‘Ten,’ insisted Mark firmly.
‘Strewth, you’re a hard case,’ complained Parker aggrievedly. ‘Ten quid, for a bit’ve info’ like that. Fifteen, mister. If yer don’t want it, I know where I can sell fer that, an’ that’s a fact.’
‘If you thought anyone would pay more than I will, you’d have gone to him first,’ said Mark. ‘Twelve pounds, and that’s my limit.’
‘Rob an unborn child, you would,’ declared Parker. ‘I never met an’arder case, that’s a fact. Twelve bloomin’ quid, an’ – blimey, wot’s yer middle name? Flint? Orl right, orl right, twelve quid. Arf dahn, arf later,’ he added cunningly. ‘That’s fair.’
‘One pound down, the rest when I know you’re not lying.’
‘One dahn? Now look ‘ere, mister, don’t come it.’
Parker’s expression and tone suggested a deadlock, and Mark shrugged his shoulders and turned to the kerb, looking in either direction as if for a taxi. The tramp stayed by the wall, glaring at his back, until a taxi hove in sight. Before its driver could see Mark’s half-raised arm, Parker shuffled forward. ‘Orl right, where’s the quid?’ He waited with outstretched hand for a pound note. ‘I can’t wait all day, mister. Yer’ve gotta come wiv me, no catchin’ no trains.’
