John Creasey - Inspector West At Home

“I only know that he told me he was going to make the devil of a row and the more noise I made the better it would be. Abbott did scare me and except for Mark the only light relief was when that woman took me upstairs,” Janet said. “She was a pet! She told me that she didn’t know what Abbott was up to and if he thought you were involved in shady work he must be off his head. You know her, of course ?”

Roger nodded. “She’s Winnie Marchant.” The loyalty of the policewoman cheered him up. “Come on,” he said, “I’m going to wring the truth out of Mark.”

Mark was leaning against the gas-stove, whistling gently, imitating the noise of the kettle, which was singing.

“Here it comes !” he said.

“Never mind making tea,” Roger said. “Janet will do that. What brought you here ?”

“Oh, my natural prescience,” said Mark, airily. “I heard a little bird tell a story about Abbott and Tiny Martin being on Handsome’s heels and I thought I would come and introduce a little light relief. Was I good?” He seemed hopeful. “If there’s any damage to that A string, I’ll have it put right at my expense.”

Janet took the teapot from him.

“Talk, Mark,” Roger ordered.

“I can’t tell you any more, except that the little bird was Pep Morgan.”

“Pep !” exclaimed Janet, swinging on her heels.

“Morgan?” echoed Roger. “Where does he come in?”

“The senior partner of Morgan and Morgan, Private Inquiry Agents telephoned me about half an hour before I arrived and told me to hurry over here,” Mark said. “He added I was to kick up the dickens of a shindy if I found Abbott on the premises. Had it been anyone else but Pep I would have told him to take his practical jokes elsewhere, but Pep wouldn’t play the fool. When I asked him why he told me to listen carefully if I wanted to save Handsome from Dartmoor. What else could I do but obey, Roger?”

Roger said slowly : “He must have had an idea of what Abbott was coming for and knew that if anything were found it would mean a long stretch.” He smoothed the back of his head and watched the steam hissing from the kettle, while Janet stood unheeding. Only when the lid began to jump about did she look away from Roger and make the tea.

“Let’s go into the lounge,” suggested Mark.

They went in, and when they were sitting around, Roger said :

“Pep was upstairs, presumably.”

“It seems likely,” admitted Mark.

“He wanted you to create a din while he got in upstairs and he —” Roger paused, boggling at the actual words.

“Took something away!” exploded Janet.

“We’re talking on supposition,” Mark said. “But if Pep learned that something incriminating was to be planted on you, obviously someone was to do it. There’s your problem — who and why ?”

“Yes.” Roger finished his tea in silence, then leaned back and studied the ceiling. The others did not interrupt his train of thought but Mark pretended to find some interest in a magazine. Suddenly Roger jumped to his feet, and stepped to the telephone in the corner of the room. After a short wait he said :

“Is Sir Guy Chatworth in, please?”

Janet stayed by the door, tensely. He was asked his name and then to hold on; he waited for a long time before Chat- worth’s servant — he had called the A.C. at his private flat, in Victoria — said that he was sorry but Sir Guy was not in and would not be in all the evening.

“So he won’t talk to his favourite officer?” Mark said.

“It’s fantastic!” exclaimed Janet. “I thought Chatworth was a friend. Roger, they can’t believe that you’ve done anything to deserve this. I mean — if they do they’re not worth a damn.”

“Indignant female expresses herself forcefully,” murmured Mark. “This is a conspiracy of silence. They wouldn’t have acted this way and certainly wouldn’t have put Abbott on the job if they hadn’t meant to make it as hot as they could, so they must have a good reason. It’s no use blinking at facts, is it ?”

“No,” conceded Roger, glumly, and that ended the conversation for some minutes.

“I suppose I should start getting supper,” said Janet, jumping up. “I won’t be long.”

She came back half an hour later with ham, cheese, bread, butter and a bowl of fruit. They finished supper and began the waiting game again.

They heard the gate open suddenly. Roger reached the front door before anyone knocked.

“Pep!” he exclaimed.

As soon as the door was closed again Roger switched on the light and looked at the smiling face of Morgan. A shiny man from his thin grey hair to his polished shoes — bright enough to see his face in, Morgan boasted proudly. In a good light, he scintillated. His cheeks shone like a new apple, his bright eyes gleamed, his astonishingly white teeth behind a full mouth seemed to sparkle. He was a chunky man, well- dressed but running to fat about die waist.

“ Hal- lo, Handsome!” He patted Roger’s elbow. “This is a fine old how-d’ye-do, isn’t it?”

“Come in, Pep.” Roger led him into the lounge, where he shook hands ceremoniously with Janet and smiled at Mark.

“You did your stuff very well, Mr Lessing ! I was upstairs, and believe me I thought you would have the police on you for disturbing the peace.” He looked back at Roger and his smile grew strained. “Handsome, you won’t take me wrong, I know, but I’m staking my reputation on you.”

Janet and Mark seemed to fade into the background. Roger smiled, grimly, and asked :

“How’s that, Pep?”

“It’s a remarkable business, it really is. You’ve guessed I came here when Abbott was on the spot, and removed a little trifle from upstairs?”

“We guessed,” said Roger heavily.

“The little trifle was one thousand pounds,” said Morgan, softly. “One thousand of the very best in five-pound notes, that is what I found upstairs underneath your wardrobe, Handsome. Look!” Pep took out his wallet and extracted two clean five-pound Bank of England notes. “I’ve brought two of them. I thought I’d better not bring them all in case Martin saw me come in and wanted to know what I was doing — he might have insisted on searching me.” Morgan was nervous, but perky with it. “I don’t know who’s got their knife into you, Handsome, but someone wants to put you on the spot.”

Roger stared at him.

“You must feel pretty bad about it,” said Morgan, “and so do I, Handsome. When I heard what was coming to you I came to the conclusion that it was a fix, and I couldn’t let you down. Lucky thing you’ve got some friends at the Yard.”

Roger said slowly : “What do you mean?”

“It was like this,” said Morgan, moving to the table and sitting on the corner. “No names, no pack drill, but I was chatting with one of the women at the Yard and she started to talk about you. Some o’ the ladies get a proper crush on him, Mrs West!” Morgan shot a sly glance at Janet. “She didn’t exactly tell me, but she did say she’d got a nasty job on this afternoon, and she rambled on a bit — talked about having been told there would be some dough in the bedroom of a Yard man some time after lunch and it would be curtains for him if it was found. She didn’t say you were the man concerned, but she’d been talking about you and she gave me a wink — kind of telling me to put two and two together. So I rang up Mr Lessing and came along here and did my stuff.”

After a long pause, Roger said :

“And you found a thousand pounds in notes?”

“Two hundred five-quid notes as sure as my name is Pep Morgan,” declared Morgan. “I don’t mind admitting I was pretty scared; if they’d found that dough on me they might have asked a lot of awkward questions. So I tied it up and registered it to Post Restante, Lower Strand, addressed to a Mr North. I thought that sounded better than “Smith”,” added Morgan, anxiously. “It’s a bit close to West. I hope I didn’t slip up there.”