John Creasey: Inspector West Alone

Neither Harry nor the woman moved. He pushed her chair away from a table, so that there was nothing she could pick up stealthily, while he was looking away from her; she would soon come round and might try to fox him. Then he put a pillow under Harry’s head. I “Let me have a look.”

“I’m—done for,” gasped Harry.

“Not yet—not by a long way. A doctor——”

“Don’t you—send for one.” There was pain instead of fear in Harry’s eyes. “You finish the job.” He licked his lips again.

Roger said: “Let me have a look at you.” He forced Harry’s hand away, and the blood dripped on to the carpet. The wound seemed to be on the left side, not dead centre. He unfastened Harry’s waistcoat and trousers and pulled up the sodden shirt. Blood oozed out of a wound. He folded a handkerchief into a wad and pressed it on the wound to staunch the flow. “Hold it there, Harry.” He put Harry’s hand on the pad, and then turned to the sheet. He started a tear with his knife, then ripped off strips. With one, he made a second pad, with another he began to bind Harry’s waist. It wasn’t easy to pass the bandage beneath the man.

Harry clenched his teeth now, fighting against the pain.

The bandage was in position at last, with a thick wedge over the wound.

Get Harry into hospital now, and he’d have a chance; leave him for an hour, and he’d probably die. Roger glanced at the woman. She seemed to be as he had left her, unconscious.

The safe gaped open, the tools and case stood on the floor near it. Roger went across. The edge of the metal was still warm to the touch. The safe was much larger than the opening seemed to suggest. There were rolls of paper— thick rolls. Jewel-cases, money, a dozen oddments. He pulled out several of the rolls, which were fastened with thick rubber bands. One lot of paper was stiffer than most— like photographs. He slipped the band off and saw that these were lithographed prints of the dossiers taken from the Yard.

He felt sick with hope and anxiety.

He unfastened another roll, and found sheet after sheet of paper with names and addresses and a few remarks against each. Dozens of the names were familiar; they were people with whom Rayner & Co. dealt, who supplied the short-supply goods—and the type of goods supplied was noted in the remarks column.

Another roll unfurled; more names and addresses, none of them in England—there were several sheets of paper for each country on the Continent. He’d seen some of these names before, too—when he had studied the case against Delaney. So Kennedy had been behind that. Another list of names followed, with a familiar look about them; peers of the realm and— Members of Parliament ; peers and members of all political parties. Yet another list showed stockbrokers of irreproachable reputation.

There were many more, but Roger didn’t look at them. Kennedy kept his records here, that alone mattered. The Delaney contact would give the Yard sufficient to hold him on, and there were other things that would give them the excuse he wanted. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and turned away.

Kennedy’s wile sat in her chair, her eyes wide open, staring at him. Harry’s eyes were closed.

He said: “You’ve had your run. It’s all over.”

She didn’t speak.

He went to Kennedy’s desk, glancing at the papers which littered the floor, picked up the telephone and began to dial WHI-

“Don’t do that!” Kennedy’s wife called. “Don’t do it. You’re throwing everything away.”

“Some will go as far as the gallows.” He dialled two numbers—1-2. The last time he had called Scotland Yard was to make that silly inquiry about Sloan, to give Sloan plenty to think about. Where was Sloan now?

“You can be so wealthy——”

“I’m sick of riches.” He finished dialling with another 1-2. He heard the ringing sound. He hardly knew what he felt or thought, except that he was tired—not exhilarated or excited, but tired. He could see Harry’s pale face and closed eyes and didn’t think he could see any sign of breathing. Brrrr-brrrr;brrrr-brrr . Why didn’t they answer? Brrrr-ck!

“This is Scotland Yard. Can I help you?”

Roger drew in his breath.

“Can I help you?”

“1 am speaking for Detective Inspector Sloan. He wants Squad cars at twenty-seven Mountjoy Square, at once. Also, an ambulance—a man has been shot and badly injured.”

“Is Mr. Sloan there?”

“He’s busy. Hurry.”

“Very good, sir.” The operator didn’t go away. “What is your name, sir?”

West!

“My name is Rayner, Charles Rayner. Will you please hurry?”

“Yes, sir, I’m calling the Squad Room on another line. Let me make sure I have it right, sir. Twenty-seven Mountjoy Square, and you are Mr. Charles Rayner.”

“That’s it.”

Roger put down the telephone. The woman hadn’t moved; nor had Harry. It was deathly quiet in the room. He brushed his hand over his forehead, and it came away filmed with sweat. He didn’t smile or feel like smiling— and he didn’t know why. The Squad Room always moved fast, cars and ambulance would be here in ten minutes. In ten minutes it would be all over, except the proving. He’d taken the chance, and it had come off. There were risks still; to Janet, the boys, and Sloan. How could he persuade the Squad cars to move off as soon as the police were here, so that no one would warn Kennedy, when he arrived. How——

The door opened.

Kennedy came in, with the woman in green behind him.

CHAPTER XXIV

HEMMINGWAY

KENNEDY had a gun in his hand.

He stepped into the study quietly, and looked round— and although it was Kennedy, there was something different about him. What? The woman’s automatic was in Roger’s pocket. He put his hand to his pocket, and Kennedy said: “Don’t.” The gun covered Roger, and there would be no warning when this man fired.

Kennedy’s wife said: “He’s just telephoned Scotland Yard, Ray.” She was breathless. “Hurry!”

The woman in green walked across the study, stood in front of Roger for a moment, and then struck him across the face. It was a blow as savage as the blaze in her eyes. But she didn’t speak. She put her hand into his pocket and drew out the automatic, then backed away.

What was the difference in Kennedy? He was the same man, yet not the same man!

His eyes: they weren’t orbs of silver fire, they were ordinary eyes, with nothing remarkable about them. It made a great difference to his appearance.

“What did he tell them?” he asked.

“He just asked them to come here.”

“Were there any other men with him?”

“Only that one.” Mrs. Kennedy pointed, and stood up. By her husband’s side, she looked ridiculously small.

There was a movement at the door, and Percy came in. He started, quickly recovered himself, and said: “I warned you.” Kennedy nodded. Not two minutes had passed since his arrival, but they were two precious minutes.

“What—— “ began Percy.

Kennedy said: “Collect all the papers, Percy, and take them away. Don’t go to Miss Kennedy’s flat—take them to one of the other places. First thing in the morning, tell Grace Howell to take the kids away from West’s house. I’ll deal with his wife afterwards. Tell Myers to put Sloan away, we won’t need him now—he wouldn’t be safe.”

Percy was already picking up the curled papers, and stuffing them inside his coat.

“Hurry,” said Kennedy dispassionately.

“Okay, okay,” said Percy. “No need to panic, we’ve looked after emergencies like this before.” He stuffed the last rolls of papers away, straightened up—and struck at Roger as he passed.