John Creasey - Inspector West At Home

“Do you seriously think there is danger in daylight?” demanded Tennant.

“Oh, no,” interrupted Mark. “He’s going to all this trouble because he likes being melodramatic! Don’t be an ass. This business is serious and we haven’t got anywhere near the bottom of it yet. Lois is in danger because she has information which might cause a lot of trouble to her so-called friends.”

“I’ve said I’ll work with you, haven’t I?” Tennant was aggressive.

“That’s fine !” said Roger. “All four of you go to the Legge Hotel. I’ll join you as soon as I can.” He had been edging towards the door casually, and with no apparent motive, but now he picked up his hat from a chair and opened the door quickly. “Tell them as much of the story as they don’t know,” he added. “I’ll be seeing you !”

Janet stared at the closed door, then hurried across to it, pulled it open and stepped out. The door was pushed to gently as an arm slid about her waist. She gasped as Roger kissed her.

“You scared me!” she exclaimed.

“And I intended to,” said Roger. “That’s the kind of thing that is liable to happen in the next few days, don’t run risks. I had to slip out quickly or Mark would have wanted to come with me and I’m not happy at leaving you and Lois Randall to young Tennant on his own.”

“Roger, I’m really beginning to get frightened,” Janet said. “There are so many complications. Mark told me about this man Malone before.”

“You’ve much more to worry about than him,” said Roger. “Some time this evening I’m going to see one of the seven most beautiful women in the world, a Mrs Sylvester Car- tier. If I started to call her Antoinette you would have cause for pointed questions ! I haven’t placed the beauty yet, she may be leading me into an elaborate trap. On the other hand, she betrayed the Refugee Society and Pickerell, so I’m taking a chance with her. This is what I wanted to tell you about. And I do not want Tennant or Lois to hear you tell Mark.”

“What is it ?” asked Janet.

“I’m going to Number 11, Bonnock House,” Roger said. “I don’t know where it is, I’ll try to find out from Cornish — he’ll get the information for me. If I’m not back by ten o’clock, tell Cornish you know I was at the Mansions with Mrs Cartier. Will you do that?”

“Of course.”

“Bless you!” said Roger. He kissed her fiercely, and then hurried down the stairs. Turning at the landing and looking up he saw her standing quite still, with her eyes very bright. He felt a little choky as he reached the front door.

Before he stepped into the street he looked either way and by the time he reached the end of the street Janet was in the back of his mind.

He expected some sign of Malone’s gang, but there was none. Perhaps Malone was still brooding over the indignity. Roger was lucky in picking up a stray taxi and sat back in the corner, he concluded that Malone was more use to him free than he would be in jail.

The complications were increasing fast, yet there was a single common factor to which he clung with eagerness and which rather troubled him; there was a hint of desperation in it. He was no longer possessed by doubts about the reason for the Masher’s arrival at the ‘Saucy Sue’. Malone had heard of Mark’s visit and his gang had been summoned. There was nothing unusual about a racecourse gang haunting the East End. There was nothing surprising in Malone’s activities except that he obviously did work for Pickerell.

Roger considered that meek and faded little man.

Pickerell had arranged the payments to the Mid-Union Bank. Lois Randall was probably a pawn, important now because he had discovered her part in the affair. Pickerell himself almost certainly knew the reason for the attempt to frame Roger.

Lois had been all right until four months ago. Her trouble had started about the same time as Roger’s. He was still without a clue, but it was rapidly becoming clear that it was the result of something he had done or discovered the previous December. The fact that Pickerell employed Malone proved that it was a criminal conspiracy of some conse- quence. The fact that Malone had twice revealed himself suggested that the time for surreptitious action was past. It might mean that the culprits were getting worried — they were acting too hastily and openly, so increasing the risks.

Thanks only to Pep Morgan, the attempt to frame Roger had been no more than half successful; enough had broken open to convince even Abbott and Chatworth that their suspicions were groundless.

Pickerell’s swift volte face and the use to which he was prepared to put Lois’s evidence proved that; if Lois came again under Pickerell’s direct control she would probably be prepared to swear Roger’s reputation away. She was quite frightened enough to do so, but he regarded her fear as incidental, something to be dealt with when the main problem was solved.

Still pondering over the connecting links as Roger sat back in the taxi — he had directed the driver to Pep Morgan’s office in the Strand — he mused aloud.

“So Pickerell and Malone are working together and Joe Leech knew something which he could have betrayed. Pickerell works or worked for the Society, and Mrs Cartier either knows something of his other activities or suspects them and decided to warn me. Which implies that she must have known of the effort to frame me.”

He stopped speaking aloud when he thought of the elegant gentleman who might be Mr Cartier. For the first time for some hours he wished that all he had to do was telephone the Yard and start inquiries into the Carter manage. By now, Abbott and Cornish would probably be investigating the activities of the family, and of the Society, but Roger would get only what information Cornish could safely pass on.

The taxi pulled up outside Pep’s office.

CHAPTER 14

Tiny Martinson the Trail

ROGER PAID the driver off and, walking to the lift, thought that the other taxi-driver might be telephoning Bell Street at any time. It would be wise to send one of Pep’s men to the house, to take possession and receive messages.

The door of the general office was open.

Inside, a long-faced girl with lank, mousy hair was sitting in front of a typewriter on a tidy desk and looking up at one of Morgan’s operatives. He was a tall, lanky man whose trilby was pushed to the back of his head and who, Roger knew, considered himself a brilliant detective. His name was Sam; the girl’s was Maude. Both of them looked at Roger, the man with a grin which irritated him, and Maude ex- pressionlessly.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” she said; “if you’d been any later you’d have found the office shut up. We can’t stay open all night.”

“S’right,” said Sam.

“Can’t you ?” asked Roger. “Pep’s in hospital with a bullet in his thigh. What are you going to do? Go home and forget about it ?”

“That’s not true,” Sam exclaimed.

“Really?” asked Maude, narrowing her red-rimmed eyes.

“If Pep’s caught a packet that’s different, Handsome,” Sam said.

Roger said : “He has. He was working for me.”

“We know,” said Maude.

Roger knew that all the staff had a remarkable loyalty to the twinkling little man and was relieved that he would have no further trouble in getting them to do what he wanted. Morgan employed four regular operatives and had others who would do what he required of them — legmen who specialised in more humdrum affairs. These outside agents would be brought in to carry on with the routine work of divorce cases, and the salaried operatives would be switched over to the more urgent matter.

He made arrangements quickly.