by John Creasey
Here it came.
Roger braced himself. Better fling himself forward, make a pretence at fighting. Death had an ugly face, and he was looking right into it, it mattered little which way it came.
Then Harry kicked Kennedy.
* * * *
Kennedy, caught unawares, staggered and turned on Harry, who kicked again. Roger swung round on the woman in green. Gun in hand, she was staring at Harry. Roger snatched at the gun. She pulled it free. They grappled, and she fell backwards.
Kennedy fired at Roger. He felt nothing.
He grabbed the woman’s gun and flung himself towards the bookcase which stood at right angles to the wall. He felt a bullet tear at his coat and heard the second bark. He thumped against the wall, on the turn. Kennedy was out of sight. Roger waited. All he could see was the desk and the woman, picking herself up. Kennedy was creeping towards him, his only chance now was to shoot on sight. Never had the seconds seemed so long.
Then the door opened; he heard it bang back against the wall.
“What’s all this?” a man asked.
Roger knew that voice: this was Peel of the Yard.
* * * *
Roger kept behind the bookcase. Other men came into the room. The woman in green said in a choking voice: “Be careful, he’s armed.”
“Who’s armed?” demanded Peel.
“The thief behind here.”
Peel came forward slowly and stealthily. “Don’t try any funny stuff,” he said. He appeared and didn’t flinch, didn’t look at the gun.
“We caught them red-handed,” said Kennedy, and there was a catch in his voice. “Two of them—he’s dangerous, be careful.”
“He won’t do any harm,” said Peel. He held out his hand. “Let me have that gun, please.” He was crisp and authoritative, and didn’t seem to have a nervous qualm at all. “You’re Charles Rayner, aren’t you?”
Kennedy said: “Yes, he is. And——”
“We’ll talk later,” said Peel. “Your gun, Rayner, and don’t try any funny stuff.”
Roger said: “Get after Myers, the Bilk Street mobsman. He’s got Sloan. He’s going after West’s wife. The maid at the Wests’ home is going to kidnap the children.”
He held out the gun.
Peel said to a sergeant: “You heard that. Better put in a call. Have Myers picked up and the Wests’ maid questioned.”
He swung round on Roger. “Where’d you get all this?”
There was a chance for Janet.
“Never mind.”
“Inspector——” began Kennedy.
Peel said: “All safe now, Mr. Hemmingway.”
Roger moved forward. The woman in green joined Kennedy’s wife. Their tension reached screaming pitch. Kennedy, with those pale, dull eyes, was rigid, frowning. He was envisaging the accusations and counter-charges; his mind was working already on a way to discredit “Rayner”. It would have been impossible, had those papers been in the room. Now-
There were three men with Peel—familiar Yard men, big, comforting, confident. Two of them came forward and looked at the safe and began to talk in undertones.
“Now I’ll hear what you have to tell me, Mr. Hemmingway.” Peel was formal, and not particularly friendly. “You say that Mrs. Hemmingway surprised the two thieves and shot one. You arrived and were about to shoot the other——”
“After he had drawn a gun on me.”
“Yes, I see. Are there any servants here?”
“On the top floor.”
“Weren’t they disturbed?”
“No. The burglar alarm had been put out of action.”
“You returned with your wife——”
“No, with my sister.” Kennedy spoke quietly, and his eyes narrowed in that familiar trick. “My wife was alone on this floor. Do you mind if I get her a drink. Inspector, she has had a nasty shock.” He moved towards the cocktail cabinet.” And may I warn you not to pay any attention to this man, Rayner? He has a remarkable repertoire of lies.” He reached the cabinet, and picked up a bottle.
“No drinks just now, please,” Peel said. He was brusque. Kennedy looked at him, as if in surprise. The tiny china doll who was his wife sat down heavily, and buried her face in her hands. The woman in green stared at Roger— only at Roger. The tension in the three of them was at its height.
“Why not?” Kennedy snapped.
“I’d rather you didn’t, sir.”
Kennedy submitted, evidence of nerves.
“Very well. As I say, Rayner will doubtless——”
“What a man says isn’t evidence, sir, at this stage—he would have to offer proof of any charge which he might prefer against you.” Why was Peel so brisk and formal? “Has Detective Inspector Sloan been gone long?”
Mrs. Kennedy caught her breath.
Kennedy said calmly: “Sloan ? I don’t recall the name. Oh—Rayner mentioned it just now.”
“The man who called us said that he was speaking for Sloan. Didn’t you call us?”
“It must have been a mistake. Inspector. I didn’t——”
Mistake? That was Kennedy’s biggest ever! Roger felt warmth pouring through him.
Peel said: “The name of Detective Inspector Sloan was undoubtedly mentioned, sir. Did you call the Yard?”
“No, my chauffeur——”
“I understand that the servants weren’t disturbed.”
Good work. Peel! Keep at it!
“My chauffeur drove me back here. He telephoned——”
“Would he know Mr. Sloan?”
“How the devil do I know?” Kennedy rasped. “He may —he may have mentioned Sloan in order to get you here quickly.”
“We always come quickly, sir. Where is your Chauffeur?”
“He’s not here.” Kennedy licked his lips. The woman in green sat on the arm of the china doll’s chair. Both of them stared at Peel, ignoring Roger.
“So I observe, sir,” said Peel. “That is what puzzles me —why isn’t he here? Why did you send him out?”
“I didn’t send——”
“Then why did he go out?” asked Peel.
Peel had grown into a giant. Roger moved away and sat on the edge of the desk. The two sergeants talked in whispers, but he hardly noticed them, only heard Peel and Kennedy.
Kennedy said: “I have no idea. I didn’t know that he had gone out.”
“You didn’t know that we caught him, either, did you, sir? A patrol car came here immediately on receipt of the alarm, and your chauffeur was met on the doorstep. He had a number of papers with him—papers apparently taken from the safe here. He said that you had instructed him to leave with those papers. He was quite surprised by his detention, and had no time to think up a lie for us— sir. Why did you send your chauffeur out with papers taken from the safe?”
Kennedy didn’t speak.
His wife leaned forward and hid her face in her hands.
“We’ll have to know sooner or later, sir,” said Peel, whose voice kept on the same monotonous level all the time, “Is there something you wish to hide from us?”
Kennedy said: “I think you’re exceeding your duty, Inspector.” He glanced at Roger; and he still held the gun. He raised it slightly. “I have charged these two men with——”
A sergeant, behind Kennedy, came up quietly. Before Kennedy knew what was happening, the sergeant took the gun. He swung round, fist clenched to strike, stopped himself, and glowered at Peel.
“I insist——”
“Just a moment, sir, if you please.” Peel raised his hand —and footsteps sounded outside on the landing; one or two men were coming in. Roger watched, with increasing tension, not yet sure that it was over and that he could live again. Percy came in—thrust by someone whom Roger couldn’t see at first. Percy’s face was as pale as Harry’s and his eyes glittered with fright. He felt Kennedy’s gaze on him, but couldn’t meet his employer’s eyes. He came forward, pushed again—and then Sloan came into the room. Roger cried: “Bill!”
<
br /> Sloan, one eye closed, coat dirty and torn, grinned across at him. Peel started in astonishment. A sergeant stood impassively by the door, holding the gun he’d taken from Kennedy.
“Hallo, Roger,” said Sloan easily. “I felt pretty sure who you were, earlier to-night.”
Peel choked: “Roger West——”
Kennedy took a step forward. “Yes, the renegade policeman ! The man who forced me to——”
“All statements will be taken down in due course, sir,” said Peel. But his voice was unsteady, he gaped at Roger. “A superintendent is on his way, he will take charge.” He gulped. “It can’t be,” he whispered.
“It is,” said Sloan. “What a present for Janet!” Kennedy’s face had turned a dirty grey.
CHAPTER XXV
PRESENT FOR JANET
IT was nearly three hours later before Roger talked.
Chatworth, who had arrived soon after Sloan, sat with Sloan and Peel in the drawing-room of 27 Mountjoy Square, and listened. A sergeant took the statement down in shorthand. It began unsteadily, almost incoherently, grew steadier as the minutes passed. The picture of those two sombre months gradually filled in, both for Roger and for the others.
Upstairs, men were going through the papers.
Kennedy and his wife and sister were held in separate rooms. Percy was on his way to Scotland Yard, Harry was already at the nearest hospital.
Roger knew a little more: that Peel and two other men had followed Sloan that night, and had seen him taken away from Lyme Street by Myers and his men. They’d followed, and rescued him; Myers and the men who had come to Lyme Street were already in custody, so was Grace Howell.
Roger talked on. . . .
He was dry, but forgot the whisky and soda by his side; tired, but talking vividly, with words welling out of him. He didn’t smile, didn’t alter the pitch of his voice, just talked—as he might have talked to a doctor, about nightmares—a two-month nightmare. Detail after detail built itself into the picture, giving it light and shadow.
He stopped, and sipped his drink.
Chatworth said after a long pause: “But why, Roger? Why?”
“You mean, why did I allow myself to be established as Rayner? Why didn’t I come to you?”
“No, no, you’ve made that obvious. You’d a chance to find who this Kennedy was, what he was doing. I think I see what drove you to that.” Chatworth was gruff. “Only way you could make sure of the proper finish was to trap him—Kennedy. Can’t imagine any other man standing up to the strain. Never mind that now. What I mean is, why did Kennedy do all this? Why?”
“We’ll know better when we have finished an examination of the papers upstairs,” Roger said.
“Inspector Chubb is going through them, he ought to have some ideas now.” Peel stood up. “Shall I go and see, sir?”
Chatworth grunted: it might have been “Yes.”
Peel went out. Chatworth drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Sloan sat back, with a fatuous grin on his bruised face. Peel was gone for a long time, but none of them moved. Chatworth couldn’t keep his eyes off Roger. He was looking at the new man, trying to see some semblance of the old. He shook his head, slowly, three or four times.
Peel came in, with glowing eyes and a sheaf of papers.
“Well?” barked Chatworth.
“Got it pretty well sewn up, sir! These lists and some other documents tell a tale! Kennedy has been at this for years, gradually building up a system of blackmail. He can put pressure on hundreds of people. Hundreds!” Peel was so excited that he rapped a table with a roll of paper. “It’s so big, it’s frightening. The key is blackmail, everywhere. He got something on these people and put the black on them—people who supplied those goods to Rayner & Go. did so because Kennedy squeezed—they had to. That was the smallest angle. He’s had his claws in Members of Parliament, peers of the realm, people of influence everywhere. He’s deep in the currency racket and other forms of smuggling. There’s a list here of his contact men—all crooks we’ve got on our records. He told them what to do, gave them a rake-off. Myers has admitted that —he got his orders from the chauffeur, Percy Briggs. There’s an elaborate organization, and we only know the beginning of it yet. Kennedy lived here as Hemmingway, and trusted only his wife, sister, and Briggs.
“He was planning wholesale blackmail and corruption. At the Board of Trade, the Treasury—any Government Departments that would be profitable. He wanted a good cover, and didn’t want to show himself much. A man named Rayner, who worked with him for some years, backed out and went to Africa, where he made a packet in diamonds. He——”
“Who’s told you this? It isn’t in those documents, is it?” Chatworth was abrupt.
Peel grinned. “No, sir, but Myers and Briggs have let a lot come out. I’ve just had a word with the Yard, sir. This man Rayner died some years ago. When Kennedy planned to corrupt West and turn him into a big cover for the whole job, he gave West Rayner’s name, passport, background—-everything. I’ve got some other details, too. Kennedy himself—that’s his real name—first thought of getting at men at the Yard, and incidentally he did get at one, sir, more of that later.” Chatworth opened his mouth, closed it again. Peel went on eagerly: “Then Kennedy had his big notion, of having a prominent Yard man to work for him. He plumped for West. He probed a bit, and discovered that Mrs. West had a cousin who lived in Surrey, and worked out the whole frame-up from there.”
“That French girl——” began Sloan.
Peel said: “Yes, Briggs has talked about her, too. She was in love with Kennedy. He went to see her, in Paris, calling himself Arthur King, to find out whether she knew anything about her father, Kyle. He fascinated her. and he was always after beautiful women. Ginger Kyle knew more about Kennedy than anyone else alive, and Kennedy was just checking up and fell for her. But he didn’t bargain on her following him to England. Kennedy thought that she was really probing into his plans, and she fell in nicely with the plot to frame Mr. West. Kennedy took over Copse Cottage, and arranged for her to meet him there It was he who actually killed her and attacked West.” Peel was hoarse from talking and from excitement now. “Of course, there are a lot more details to come, but the general scheme’s pretty obvious. Percy Briggs can’t talk fast enough, he knows it’s the only way to save his neck. When Kennedy wanted a job done—murder or any job—he knew exactly whom to use. He was born in the East End, according to Briggs. The real Hemmingway— the man he’s supposed to be here—lived and died abroad. Kennedy took his place. As Hemmingway had no close friends in England, Kennedy got away with it.
“We’ve enough to charge Kennedy and the women with now—shall I take them to the Yard?”
“Do that,” said Chatworth.
* * * *
Chatworth said slowly: “I can’t take it all in, Roger. It’s too much for me.” He pulled his lips. “Never heard me say that before, and you never will again. How any man kept the truth away from his wife for that time— and knowing you and your wife——”
“And knowing what Kennedy had fixed against me,” Roger said.
“Yes, yes. Well—it’s nearly five o’clock. Er—what about your wife? You can’t spring yourself on her. She—damn it, she won’t recognize you! The boys won’t——”
“I’ll ask Mark Lessing to go and see her,” said Roger. “I’ll see Lessing right away, if that’s all right with you.”
Chatworth said: “Do what you like.” He shook his head, wonderingly. “When this breaks—oh, never mind. Never mind. Go and see Lessing.”
* * * *
Sloan drew up in his car and waved as Roger stepped out of Hemmingway’s house.
“They’re under lock and key, Roger. Briggs is still talking. Man, of ideas, this Kennedy. He had a trick of putting drops in his eyes—not bella donna, but something like it. It changed his whole appearance. Very few people would have thought them the same man, when with Kennedy, you would be so fascinated by his eyes you wouldn’t take much
notice of his features.”
“You’re telling me!” Roger said.
Sloan grinned; he was a happy man.
“He thought you were safe when he fixed that body. Remember I told you?”
Roger said: “Yes, Bill. You’ve been——”
“Forget it!”
“Never.”
* * * *
Later, Roger sat in Mark Lessing’s car, outside the Bell Street house. It was a little after six o’clock. Some traffic was on the road, and two or three people walked past the end of it. In Bell Street, there was sleepy quiet—even the boys were still asleep.
Mark was gone a long time. Cigarette after cigarette stub joined others on the kerb by the car.
Then Mark appeared, and beckoned.
He didn’t speak when Roger passed him at the gate.
Janet stood in the doorway.
The early morning light fell on Roger’s face. He approached her slowly, his heart beat furiously and breath bated.
It was more than two months since they had met, and Roger saw all the evidence of strain; and he also saw the light in her eyes. She watched him, studying every feature. Slowly, she stretched out her hands, and they were trembling. He took them; they were hot. He drew her gently towards him, and then suddenly she began to cry.
Janet sat on a pouf in front of him, head back, radiance in her eyes again. She held his hand tightly, as if she were afraid that if she let it go, she would never touch it again.
Upstairs, Scoopy called: “Richard. Richard!”
There was no answer. . “Richard!” Scoopy’s voice grew louder. “I’m awake. Wake up, I’m awake.”
Roger felt as if the fierceness of his thumping heart would suffocate him.
He said: “What will they say? I’ve thought about it a million times. They won’t know me, they——”
“They’ll know you. Just talk to them.” Janet’s voice broke. “I’ll tell them—you’ve—oh, I’ll tell them anything, it doesn’t matter, they’ve got you back, I’ve got you back! Roger, it was terrible, I just hadn’t any hope. I——”
“I daren’t——”
“Of course you daren’t. Don’t blame yourself, don’t worry.” Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t really cry as she went on chokily: “It’s not a bad face. Roger, I think I like it better, in some ways it——”
