John Creasey - Inspector West At Home

“She’s our evidence,” Roger said to Morgan. “She’s close to breaking-point; Pickerell knows it. I wouldn’t like to be responsible for what will happen to her if we leave her with him for long.”

“Oh my God !” gasped Morgan.

“He knows that if I bring Yard men along and question her persistently enough the place will be closed down, the whole racket might be broken open,” Roger said. “He’ll see that she’s the weak link, and —” he broke off, not needing to explain further, and sat on the edge of the seat, tight- lipped.

They reached Welbeck Street sooner than he expected; he pulled up with a jerk outside the house where the Society had offices. He looked round with an expression which said: “Does that satisfy you?” but Roger was already getting out. He ran up the steps and disappeared up the stairs. As he neared the top landing he heard voices, including that of the girl. Breathing hard, he turned the corner and saw the old fellow who had gone in ahead of him. There was a brighter expression on the careworn face, and he smiled at Roger, not widely but with some gaiety.

The door was closing.

Roger opened it and made so much noise that the girl, who could hardly have sat down after seeing the old man off, came round the partition.

Her face dropped. He could see the signs of strain in her eyes and knew that Morgan had been right, that she was afraid. Yet something in Roger’s expression seemed to affect her and she did not cry out.

Roger spoke quietly :

“Don’t take risks, Miss Randall. Get out while the going’s good.”

She gulped. “I — I don’t understand you.”

Roger said : “You do, you’re as frightened as you can be. I heard the conversation and —”

“Did you?” asked the man named Pickerell. He was at the partition, his face still looked gentle and his eyes were half hidden by his glasses, but nothing hid the automatic in his right hand. “You are very impetuous, Mr West, aren’t you ? I think it’s time that we reached an understanding. Go into my office, Lois. Mr West, don’t do anything foolish, I am quite capable of shooting you. Just follow Miss Randall.”

CHAPTER 10

The Mistake of Mr Pickerell

DISOBEYING a desperate man with a gun was not Roger’s idea of common sense. He obeyed without looking behind him, hoping that Pep had followed close enough to have overheard.

“Stand over by the window,” ordered Pickerell.

“I hope you realise that you’re asking for trouble,” Roger said.

“Am I ? Perhaps not the first, I know how far I can go.” The thought seemed to amuse him. “And you are no longer a policeman with authority, Mr West; I have heard of your discomfiture.”

“Oh,” said Roger, softly : “You learned very quickly, didn’t you?”

“It doesn’t do to lose time,” said Pickerell. “We won’t waste any now, either. Let me sum up the situation. You think that by exerting enough pressure you can persuade Miss Randall to clear you of the suspicion of paying money into your account at the Mid-Union Bank. You think that by so doing you can regain your position at Scotland Yard and use the forces of law to attack me. Think again, Mr West!”

Roger did not speak. The girl stood by the desk, her troubled eyes narrow and looking at Roger intently. She drummed the fingers of her left hand on the corner, making the diamonds in the engagement ring scintillate.

“Think again,” repeated Pickerell. “Miss Randall was the actual messenger, but someone gave her the money. She might be persuaded to say that it was you. In fact I think I can rely on her to do that. Can’t I, Lois?”

The girl said nothing.

“Can’t I?” insisted Pickerell, sternly. “After all, my dear, you have so much at stake. Nothing will happen to you, although West obviously thinks that you are in danger. You would be, if you could go free and say what you liked, but I. know you will obey instructions now as you have in the past. Won’t you?” His voice grew silky.

“I —” began the girl, and then turned away, exclaiming: “Oh, God. Yes, I will.”

Pickerell smiled : “You see, Mr West? If you tell your friends what you have discovered, or pretend to do any such thing, when Lois is questioned she will tell them exactly what they want to know. I hardly know how you have succeeded in staying free for so long — but if you want to retain that freedom, be discreet about this visit. Do you understand?”

Roger leaned back against the wall, not speaking.

“I see that you do,” said Pickerell. “There is another question and I insist on an answer. If you refuse one I shall arrange for Miss Randall to tell her story whatever you do. How did you come to find this address ?”

“You were traced here.”

“Yes, yes, but how?”

“Your habit of slipping messages into coat pockets betrayed you. The taxi-driver was traced, and all the offices here and in the adjoining buildings were searched. Your voice is unmistakable.”

“Now don’t lie to me,” said Pickerell. “You didn’t hear my voice until after you had identified Lois.”

“I talked to all girls on the premises who might have been mistaken for my wife,” Roger said, plausibly. “Pickerell, there is a powerful organisation at the Yard and you won’t get away with this. Your gun won’t help you.”

“Perhaps not,” said Pickerell. “But you’re not a fool, West. You won’t take the risk of Lois committing perjury. Are you sure that is the way you discovered this office ?”

“Yes,” lied Roger, shortly.

The man seemed relieved.

“Now be sensible and go away. I suggest a long holiday in the country. I think I can assure you that when I have finished my job you will have nothing to worry about. The truth can be told afterwards, and you will be back at your desk without a stain on your character !”

Roger said : “You’ve made one mistake.”

“Bluff will not—”

“It’s nothing to do with bluff,” said Roger. “You’ve assumed that only I heard your conversation with Miss Randall. Someone else did, too. My word might not be sufficient but the testimony of two people will. When Miss Randall realises that her evidence will be rebutted she’ll see that the only way out is to tell the truth.”

The man seemed to stiffen.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Roger raised his voice.

“Pep, are you there? Be careful, this man’s armed.”

“I’ve rung the Yard, Handsome,” came Pep’s voice. “They won’t be long.”

The girl gasped. Pickerell backed to his desk and, keeping the gun trained on Roger, the girl and the door, who were all in line with one another he pulled open a drawer and took out some papers. He felt inside the drawer as if to make sure that it was empty, then stuffed the papers into his pocket.

Then he took out a box of matches.

Roger guessed what he intended to do, but the threat of the gun kept him still. Clumsily with one hand, Pickerell broke two matches before one ignited. He held it to the corner of a paper on the desk. It flared up. He set light to other papers. Smoke and flames rose up and began to spread.

“Don’t do it!” Roger cried.

“Stay where you are!” ordered Pickerell. He moved towards a door leading to the passage as the flames took a fiercer hold. A ring of them ran along the cable of the telephone and a draught from the open window sent two pieces of burning paper sliding along the desk where they caught others; the desk and its contents were soon ablaze, and the smoke was beginning to make Roger cough. The girl turned towards the window but Pickerell ignored her. Step by step, he reached the passage door, took a key from his pocket, inserted and turned it.

“Pep!” Roger exclaimed, moving forward, “he’s —”

Pickerell stretched out a leg and kicked a chair, standing near the wall. He pulled the door open and stepped swiftly into the passage. Morgan’s voice was raised and Pickerell fired. The gun had no silencer and the shot echoed loudly, followed by a sharp exclamation from Morgan. Roger leapt over the chair and reached the passage in time to see Pep leaning against the wall, holding one foot off the ground, and Pickerell disappearing down the stairs. He ran past Pep and might have caught the man up when the ‘Inquiries’ door opened and Lois Randall appeared. She got in his way, blocking his path by accident or design. He pushed past her and sped on, calling :

“Put that fire out!”

He could not see Pickerell when he reached the street. The stocky cabby was lounging against his taxi, staring towards the Piccadilly end of the street.

“Some people!” he was saying. “Swore at me just because I said —”

“Did he get a cab?”

“Yers. “Arf way up the road.”

“You didn’t hear where he was going?”

“Nar what do you think I am?” demanded the cabby, with a vast, triumphant grin. “A human walkie-talkie?”

“One day you’ll learn when to be funny,” Roger said savagely. “Telephone Scotland Yard from the nearest call- box, ask for Inspector Cornish and tell him that West — have you got that, West?”

“Yes.”

“West says that he should send men to this address at once,” Roger said. He turned and hurried upstairs, wondering whether he was too late to stop the fire from spreading. He had been forced to attempt too many things at once. There was no sign of the girl, but Pep Morgan was disappearing into the end office, from which smoke was billowing in great choking gusts. Roger hurried after him, to find him wincing as he dragged himself towards the desk, the top of which was all ablaze. He picked up a heavy ledger with one hand, and began to beat at the desk.

“All right, Pep,” said Roger, “I’ll get a fire extinguisher.”

He was surprised to see no one else on that floor; he called out for help. Someone had smelt the fire and was on the landing below; he hurried up. He was a middle-aged man, followed by two girls and an old lady; all of them sized up the situation quickly and began to help. A cloakroom was handy for water, and within five minutes the evil smelling foam from the extinguisher covered the desk while the two girls were going round the office, beating out little fires started by the burning paper which had blown off.

Pep was sitting on a chair against the wall with his right leg stuck out in front of him. Roger turned to help him but Pep shook his head and pointed to the other door. Roger went into the room where Lois had been working. He ran through the papers on her desk, picking up an address book and a telephone index. He pushed them under his coat, and made sure there was nothing else of interest. He opened a small account book and saw that the pages were headed with copperplate handwriting, admirably executed in black drawing ink. The entries were not all the same, some being in a neat hand which he imagined to be the girl’s, but others, in drawing ink, had exactly the same characteristics as the letter from ‘K’.

“So I don’t need to look much further for him,” he muttered.

He looked through the address book, found the name ‘Pickerell’ and an address in Lambeth. He picked up the telephone, dialled the Yard and asked for Chatworth. He was told that the AC was not in. He knew that Eddie Day would shrink from taking any action without Chatworth’s express wishes; Cornish was the only man to try, but Cornish had left. Accepting the inevitable, Roger asked for Abbott.

The Superintendent’s voice sounded far away.

“What is it, West?”

“I have the address of a man named Pickerell,” Roger said. Whatever else Abbott did he would take the message correctly. “He has admitted arranging for the payment of the money into my account, and using an employee to impersonate my wife. Pickerell has just escaped from his office. He might have gone to his home, at 81 Bligh Street, Lambeth. Is that clear?”

“Yes. But—”

“Thanks.” Roger rang off, giving Abbott no chance to ask questions, and hoping that he had forced an issue.

He heard men approaching and saw Cornish passing the open door. He called out, and Cornish hurried towards him.

“Much excitement,” said Roger, “but I’m afraid the bird’s flown.”

“Flown?” Cornish’s voice rose in disappointment.

“I’ve just phoned Abbott and told him where he might be, so you’d better stay here,” Roger said, “Abbott will probably resent it if you usurp his authority.”

“I don’t give a damn for Abbott!” said Cornish roundly.

Roger persuaded him to stay at the office of the Society. The fire and Roger’s and Morgan’s evidence were enough to justify Cornish making a search. Roger kept the address book and telephone list tucked under his coat. Eventually, Roger found that the two girls of the fire-fighting party had given Pep Morgan first aid. A bullet had entered the fleshy part of his thigh. When an ambulance arrived, the doctor said confidently that it would do perfectly until the patient reached hospital.

Roger saw the little private detective off.

“Got everything you want, Handsome?” Morgan asked as he was being lifted on to a stretcher.

“Everything,” Roger assured him. “I’ll look in before the day’s out, Pep.”

“Don’t you worry about me, you look after yourself,” urged Morgan. “Oh, there is one thing, Handsome — if you wouldn’t mind telling my wife. Don’t want some idiot putting the wind up her.”

“I’ll go straight from here,” Roger promised.

Pep said “Ta!”, and the doors were closed on him.

Roger felt a strange independence in his freedom from the obligation to go immediately to the Yard and report — and he was appreciative of Cornish’s ‘forgetfulness’ in not telling him to stay long enough to make a full statement.

He found the cabby waiting nearby.

“Anywhere else, Guv’nor ?” he asked, and then eagerly: “Your pal copped it, didn’t he?”

“Oh, that was nothing to what might happen next. Shall I hire another cab ?”

“Don’t you leave me aht o’ this,” snapped the cabby with quick resentment. “I drove all through the blitz, didn’t I? What’s a little thing like this to the blitz? Where to?”

Roger said : “Clapham Common.”

Then he broke off. Looking along the street, he saw a Daimler limousine turn the corner and approach slowly. He did not know whether Mrs Sylvester Cartier was inside but recognised her chauffeur, the man with the name of ‘Bott’.

CHAPTER 11

The Strange Behaviour of a Beautiful Woman

AS ROGER stepped away from him, the cabby drew himself up to his full height, puffed out his chest and thrust forward his square, unshaven chin, narrowed his shrewd eyes and spoke with deep feeling.

“Guv’nor, will you make up your mind? Are you a fare or aren’t you— Do you want to go to Clapham Common or don’t you?”

Roger took out a handful of silver, thrust it into the cabby’s hand, and said :

“Give me some change. Make it look as if I’m paying you off”.” He waited only for the man’s startled expression to change to one of understanding before going on : “Drive along the street and wait where you can follow the Daimler when it moves off. When you’ve finished that, telephone a report to my Chelsea house — Chelsea 0123. Keep the chase up all night if necessary.”