John Creasey: Alibi

Artemeus opened his mouth and swallowed hard; the tablet disappeared.

“Now drink some milk.”

Artemeus drank; gulp, gulp, gulp. Phillipson drew back, putting the cup down, while Roger slid the small box back into the sick man’s pocket. The harsh breathing seemed to ease at once, but a bluish tinge at his lips grew rather worse. After a few moments, Phillipson leaned forward and rang again. Almost at once, voices sounded, and suddenly Roger recognised his own.

“Tell me the truth or I’ll shake your head off your shoulders.” The restrained fury could not be disguised.

“Go back a little further,” Phillipson ordered into the speaker.

Roger walked swiftly to the desk. Since Artemeus’s mention of Janet he had hardly thought, just reacted—first to his own anger, then to Phillipson’s calmness and control. But now he knew exactly what to do. Ignoring Phillipson’s astonished stare, ignoring the metallic twang of his and Artemeus’s recorded voices, he picked up the telephone and dialled a number.

“Scotland Yard,” an operator answered.

“Detective Sergeant Danizon,” Roger said. He saw Phillipson’s eyes widen, saw the man’s assurance wilting. “Hallo, Tom. I want you to send four men to the offices of the Allsafe Security Company in the Strand. They are to come straight up to the office of Mr. Artemeus— Benjamin Artemeus. I will be here to give them instruc-tions . . . No, don’t ring off yet! I want an immediate check on the directors of all the major private security corporations; you’d better make that senior directors as well as directors . . . Yes . . . I want to find out if there is any association between any of them and Mario Rapelli, Maisie Dunster, or Hamish Campbell, in fact with any of the people concerned in the Verdi affair. It’s very urgent,” he went on. “Get it started, and I’ll come back as soon as I can and talk to the commander to see that we get it done tonight . . . Get those four men over here from the nearest patrols.”

He rang off. Artemeus was sitting back in his chair, his breathing very much easier. Phillipson was still staring, open-mouthed. Roger poured himself out some more tea and helped himself to an eclair.

“What good do you think this will do you?” demanded Phillipson, his voice suddenly shrill. “When I tell your superiors that you used violence on Artemeus, you will be through at the Yard.”

“Possibly,” Roger said coldly. “Has it ever occurred to you to put the public good above your own?”

“Don’t be a smug hypocrite!”

“Oh, no,” Roger said. “I’m not a hypocrite. I’m hotheaded at times and at others I cut corners and get myself into trouble, but I always work for the public good. That’s my job. You’re the hypocrite here. You run a newspaper supposedly in the public interest, yet use it to try to influence the activity of the police force and to smear the character of police officers.”

Phillipson said, “You must be bluffing.”

“He—he is,” said Artemeus in a choky voice. “He—he— he’ll play if you offer him enough.” His voice was thin and wheezy, but his colour was better and he sat up in his chair. “A—a hundred thousand pounds, West—tax free. Just forget this clash of ideas, and—and join us.”

“This, as you call it, is now part of the official record,” said Roger coolly. I don’t yet know exactly what’s going on but I do know it will soon stop.” He now felt in complete control of the situation. “You would both be well advised to make a full and truthful statement.”

“A—a hundred and fifty thousand,” Artemeus gasped. “Tax free.”

“Maisie Dunster was murdered this morning,” Roger said coldly. “Ricardo Verdi was murdered last Wednesday. If you can tell me why, here’s your chance to justify your attitude. If you can’t or won’t I shall take you both to Scotland Yard for questioning and possible charge.”

“You’ve nothing to charge us with,” Phillipson protested thinly.

“Attempting to bribe a policeman in the course of his duty—”

“No one would ever believe it!”

Roger moved with devastating speed, reached the door, opened it and barked, “Miss Noble. Was the tape still recording when Mr. Artemeus came round?”

The woman was sitting at a desk with several telephones, a small push-button telephone control board, and several tape-recorders, all of these in slots at the side of her desk, all of them playing. She moved her hand as if to stop one but Roger rasped, “Don’t touch that.”

He strode forward.

“Which is the recorder for the other room?” She pointed a quivering finger towards it. “Don’t touch it,” Roger ordered. “I know you work for Mr. Artemeus, but if you obstruct me in any way you will be an accomplice to him and an accessory to everything these men have done.”

She dropped back into her chair.

Roger looked at the tape-recorder, which was marked “MrArtemeus so the woman had told the truth, he thought. Glancing back into the room through the wide open door, he saw the two men staring after him; they looked appalled. He took another step forward, thinking that the four Yard men should be here soon, that he hadn’t much further to go. He wasn’t sure of the strength of his case, wasn’t at all sure of the details, but he did know that he had become involved through none of his own causing in a struggle for the monopoly of private security forces in the country. Warned by a sixth sense, he looked back yet again, and this time saw Phillipson spring towards the open doorway, a gun in his hand. Roger did not move, except to throw a glance over his shoulder at Miss Noble, who might already be so involved that she was virtually compelled to help both Phillipson and Artemeus. Phillipson drew a pace nearer but was still further away from Roger than Artemeus, who was sitting motionless at his desk, but must be aware of the gun in his associate’s hand.

“Phillipson,” Roger said, “put that gun down.”

Phillipson advanced a step closer. He looked very pale and his eyes glittered.

“One hundred and fifty thousand pounds for your co-operation,” he said in a low rasping voice, “or I shall kill you.”

• • •

Roger did not doubt that the man meant it. In the tone of his voice, in his manner, there was all the indication needed. For the second time in a few days he was at the business end of a gun. Again, his thoughts flashed to Maisie, but they did not linger. He was face to face with disaster at a time when the whole world seemed to be tumbling about him. Two appointments, fairly straightforward appointments with two highly reputable men, and he was confronting the leaders of the campaign against him.

He still did not understand why, but felt quite sure he was right. The menace of the gun was all too convincing.

“You heard me,” Phillipson grated.

“Yes,” Roger agreed. “I heard you. One hundred and fifty thousand pounds to sell my soul, or else death by shooting.” How long would it be before the patrols got here, he wondered anxiously. He must play for time, and hope it wouldn’t run out before they arrived. “I always wanted to be rich,” he went on. “Always. And I always wanted to be the boss. Would I be the boss of Allsafe?”

“Yes!” cried Artemeus. “Yes, there would be no one else. You would be the administrative and executive chief, the commissioner and the commander C.I.D. rolled into one I And you’d get those holidays. You would have normal hours. When I told her this your wife was delighted.”

“I’m sure she was,” Roger said. Once again he felt that seething rage rise within him, but fought it down. “What do I have to do to qualify for this high position and considerable fortune?”