John Creasey - Triumph For Inspector West

“Who—”began Raeburn, hoarsely.

“Thieves,” Ma Beesley interrupted quickly. “Just thieves, Paul, there’s nothing to worry about. Maud, dear, go and make some coffee, will you?”

The maid went off, closing the kitchen door behind her. Ma stood looking from one man to the other, her fat face wreathed in smiles, as if all this were a huge joke.

“Thieves, I don’t think,” she said. “Someone came after you, Paul. They were trying to get into your room. I have been wondering lately whether you oughtn’t to have a bodyguard.”

“But who was it?” demanded Raeburn, no longer a great man. “Who would want V

“That’s one of the things we’ll have to find out,” said Ma, smoothly. “We’d better stop discussing it now; someone is coming up the stairs. It’s another story for the Cry , anyway. Paul. Isn’t it a pity you can’t blame West for it?” She chuckled, then hurried towards the door, to find a porter in the doorway.

The telephone bell rang in Roger’s ears and he stirred, without at first realising what it was. He felt Janet move. The ringing persisted, and almost on the instant he became wide awake. He stretched out his hand, and lifted the receiver from the instrument by the bed.

“What is it?” began Janet, drowsily.

“You go to sleep,” said Roger. “Hallo?”

“Hold on, please,” came a man’s voice.

Roger hitched himself up more comfortably, and glanced at the window. It was still pitch dark, except for a faint glow from a street lamp. The illuminated dial of his watch showed up on the bed table. It was nearly half past three.

Then the night-duty Superintendent at the Yard spoke: “Handsome, there’s been a burglary at Raeburn’s- flat, just been reported. Thought you’d like to know. Here’s a chance to look round.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Roger said, very softly. “Do me a favour and call Turnbull, will you?”

Roger was wide awake when he got out of his car outside the block of flats in Park Lane. A policeman told him that the lift was waiting at the ground floor; he hurried inside, and found another constable on duty at the lift.

The front door of the flat was standing open, and light streamed into the passage. A porter was outside, whispering to a third policeman; the Yard DI, who was in charge, had left nothing to chance. Inside the flat, men were talking, and Roger paused in the doorway, looking into the study where Raeburn, Turnbull, Warrender and Ma Beesley were gathered. Turnbull, always a fast worker, lived only a minute’s drive from here. On the desk was a silver tray, and the whole group was drinking coffee.

Roger Went in. “Good morning,” he said, briskly.

Raeburn, standing opposite him, saw him first. There was only hostility in his eyes, but he smiled and raised a hand. “Good morning, Chief Inspector.”

Warrender’s right eye was puffy and nearly closed up, and his lips were swollen. Ma Beesley, in a blue dressing- gown, overflowed from an upright chair, her grey plaits hanging over her huge bosom, her bright little eyes turned towards him.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Roger.

Turnbull winked.

“I hope it isn’t serious,” Raeburn said. “In fact I wouldn’t have worried you, Chief Inspector, but the porter thought it necessary to send for the police. I’m sorry you’ve been brought out in the early hours.”

“It’s happened before,” Roger said, dryly. “Is anything missing?”

Ma Beesley heaved herself up. “You must have some coffee, Mr West. I’ll get another cup.” She waddled out at once, deliberately leaving the men together.

“Now, let’s have it,” said Roger.

“We’ve already told Detective Inspector Turnbull everything,” Warrender growled. “Two men broke into the fiat. I caught them red-handed, and was attacked while I was trying to detain them. Mrs Beesley got out her gun and frightened them away. Nothing is missing.”

“Quite sure?”

“They didn’t have time—”began Warrender.

“We can’t be positive,” Raeburn interpolated, coolly, “but nothing of importance is missing, you can be sure of that. The fools are probably licking their wounds now.”

“Wounds?” Roger was sharp.

“There are some spots of blood outside,” Turnbull said. “It looks as if Mrs Beesley wounded one of them. I’ve taken a quick look round, and there’s nothing to suggest that anything’s been stolen.” Pity, he seemed to add. “I’ve sent for men from Fingerprints.”

“That is quite unnecessary,” Warrender was taking this very badly.

“We won’t keep you any longer than we have to,” Roger said, “but we can’t have influential citizens attacked in their homes, can we, Mr Raeburn?”

“How true,” cooed Ma Beesley, coming in with another cup. “Isn’t it a pity I’m not a better shot?”

“Apparently. May I see your gun?”

“The other inspector has it,” said Ma Beesley.

“Have you a licence?”

“Of course I have.” Ma was laughing at him openly. “Everything was quite in order, Mr West. I think you will find that the thieves thought the safe was in Mr

Raeburn’s room, whereas it is in Mr Warrender’s. We have to expect such outrages, haven’t we? There are so many criminals about, and die police have so much to do.” She gave a wide, toothy smile. “Not that they would have found much had they searched every nook and cranny; we keep nothing of value here.”

She was saying that the police could turn the flat upside down, and find little which might help to build up a case against Raeburn.

“I see. Excuse us a moment, will you?” Roger said. He went with Turnbull into the hall, where the man from Fingerprints and another detective had started work. “Anything doing?” he asked.

“There are scratches at both doors, but I think the front door was opened with a key,” Turnbull answered. “We ought to take the lock down and have a good look at it, to make sure. It could be important.”

“If they had a key, where did they get it from?” Roger examined the lock of Raeburn’s door, then glanced into the beautifully furnished bedroom.

“Just made for two, but only one in it tonight,” Turn- bull said.

“They wore gloves,” the Fingerprint man reported, factually. “There isn’t a trace of a print.”

“A professional job, all right, and with luck it will help to make Raeburn jumpy,” Roger said. “What have you started doing outside?” he asked Turnbull.

“I’ve seen the sergeant on duty on the beat, who’s making local inquiries, and I’ve been on to the office. A copper on his beat saw a car leave about half past two; that was probably the one the burglars came in. Think they were after money?” he asked.

“Don’t much care what they were after. If we play our cards right, and show Raeburn that we’re going to go to a lot of trouble to catch the burglars, we could get Raeburn and Company on one foot. Warrender’s edgy already, and Ma’s too slimy. Has she shown you the licence for the gun?”

“It’s in order.”

“It would be,” Roger said. “Right—just worry ‘em!” He turned back to the study, where the trio looked rather as if they had been caught in some prank. “It doesn’t look as if we’re going to get any immediate results, Mr Raeburn,” he said. “I’m going to have the lock taken off the front door, to see whether it was opened by a key or a tool—”

“There is no need for that,” protested Warrender.

“We must do our job,” Roger said, flatly. “We shall put the lock back within twelve hours, I promise you. Meantime, we can put you on a temporary fastening. Mrs Beesley, would you recognise either of the men again?”

“I shouldn’t like to say.”