John Creasey - Inspector West Alone

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.

“Don’t waste time,” said Kennedy.

The Squad cars might be on the way already, but they might not be here in time to prevent Percy from leaving. There was no way of stopping him, except going for him now. That wouldn’t stop but only delay him. Percy passed Harry—paused again, and drove his foot into Harry’s side. Harry whimpered. Roger felt the blood rushing to his head in rage. No one spoke, and Percy went out. Kennedy backed after him, and closed the door. His wife went across the room and opened a cocktail cabinet and poured out three drinks. The seconds dragged. Kennedy looked at Roger with those dull eyes—the eyes that weren’t really his, and the eyes which had made Kennedy so noticeable among a crowd. The woman in green had said it would be impossible to swear that Kennedy was Kennedy. Impossible?

Kennedy came slowly. “Your mistake was in thinking we didn’t check up on your guard, West. We sent a man to see him, every couple of hours. When he wasn’t there, we guessed what had happened. I wish I knew why you did it.”

“Changing a face, you don’t change a mind.”

“I offered you everything——”

Roger said: “Why talk about it? You wouldn’t understand.” His cheeks and chin were smarting. He didn’t see how it would end, now, but Kennedy would get away with it for the time being, because that damning evidence had gone. He wondered what was in the man’s mind, what thoughts were passing behind those odd eyes. Kennedy didn’t look himself; looked a different man; he had become Raymond Hemmingway.

Kennedy shrugged.

“I still don’t understand it, West.”

Roger said: “You can judge a man by his actions, but not by his plans. You tried with me and failed. You used every pressure you could think of—threats to my wife and boys. You failed. I’m no further use to you. My wife and family can’t be. They’ll have enough to worry about, but just to get your petty revenge, you’ll make it worse for them. You’re as cheap as they come.”

Kennedy laughed. “Think so. West? I shall use someone else at the Yard and hold up what happened to your wife and the kids as an awful example. I’ve others marked down. Before I’m through, I shall have several contact men at the Yard. Banister is a good start, but a small one. I shall be able to get away with a lot of crimes with help from the Yard. But there isn’t time to go into detail.” He laughed again. “Just one more detail will interest you. I’m going to shoot you.” He raised the gun. “When the police arrive, I shall tell them the simple truth: my wife heard someone about, came to investigate, found you two in the house, shot one of you, and was overpowered by the other. Then I returned, and caught you red-handed. There’s the open safe, all the evidence. I am not Kennedy here, I am a respected society and businessman, named Hemmingway. I suppose you knew that. I shall pretend to know nothing at all, except that there were burglars and both were shot while trying to get away. That’s justifiable homicide. To make it more realistic, I may wait until the police are at the door—the sound of a shot would be most impressive, and would prove that I’d waited as long as I dared, and that you made a final desperate attempt to escape.” He laughed again. “It was a good throw, West, you almost deserved to succeed. Harry was the weakness, of course. I suppose it was a mistake to use a friend of Ginger Kyle’s.”

The gun covered Roger’s stomach.

There was one thing he’d forgotten, and his wife might forget; that Roger had used Sloan’s name. How would he explain that away?

It was very quiet in the room.

The woman in green said: “I shouldn’t lose any more time, Ray.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Kennedy, and raised the gun a fraction.

Here it came.

Roger braced himself. Better fling himself forward, make a pretence at fighting. Death had an ugly face, and he was looking right into it, it mattered little which way it came.

Then Harry kicked Kennedy.

*     *     *     *

Kennedy, caught unawares, staggered and turned on Harry, who kicked again. Roger swung round on the woman in green. Gun in hand, she was staring at Harry. Roger snatched at the gun. She pulled it free. They grappled, and she fell backwards.

Kennedy fired at Roger. He felt nothing.

He grabbed the woman’s gun and flung himself towards the bookcase which stood at right angles to the wall. He felt a bullet tear at his coat and heard the second bark. He thumped against the wall, on the turn. Kennedy was out of sight. Roger waited. All he could see was the desk and the woman, picking herself up. Kennedy was creeping towards him, his only chance now was to shoot on sight. Never had the seconds seemed so long.

Then the door opened; he heard it bang back against the wall.

“What’s all this?” a man asked.

Roger knew that voice: this was Peel of the Yard.

*     *     *     *

Roger kept behind the bookcase. Other men came into the room. The woman in green said in a choking voice: “Be careful, he’s armed.”

“Who’s armed?” demanded Peel.

“The thief behind here.”

Peel came forward slowly and stealthily. “Don’t try any funny stuff,” he said. He appeared and didn’t flinch, didn’t look at the gun.

“We caught them red-handed,” said Kennedy, and there was a catch in his voice. “Two of them—he’s dangerous, be careful.”

“He won’t do any harm,” said Peel. He held out his hand. “Let me have that gun, please.” He was crisp and authoritative, and didn’t seem to have a nervous qualm at all. “You’re Charles Rayner, aren’t you?”

Kennedy said: “Yes, he is. And——”

“We’ll talk later,” said Peel. “Your gun, Rayner, and don’t try any funny stuff.”

Roger said: “Get after Myers, the Bilk Street mobsman. He’s got Sloan. He’s going after West’s wife. The maid at the Wests’ home is going to kidnap the children.”

He held out the gun.

Peel said to a sergeant: “You heard that. Better put in a call. Have Myers picked up and the Wests’ maid questioned.”

He swung round on Roger. “Where’d you get all this?”

There was a chance for Janet.

“Never mind.”

“Inspector——” began Kennedy.

Peel said: “All safe now, Mr. Hemmingway.”

Roger moved forward. The woman in green joined Kennedy’s wife. Their tension reached screaming pitch. Kennedy, with those pale, dull eyes, was rigid, frowning. He was envisaging the accusations and counter-charges; his mind was working already on a way to discredit “Rayner”. It would have been impossible, had those papers been in the room. Now-

There were three men with Peel—familiar Yard men, big, comforting, confident. Two of them came forward and looked at the safe and began to talk in undertones.

“Now I’ll hear what you have to tell me, Mr. Hemmingway.” Peel was formal, and not particularly friendly. “You say that Mrs. Hemmingway surprised the two thieves and shot one. You arrived and were about to shoot the other——”

“After he had drawn a gun on me.”

“Yes, I see. Are there any servants here?”

“On the top floor.”

“Weren’t they disturbed?”

“No. The burglar alarm had been put out of action.”

“You returned with your wife——”

“No, with my sister.” Kennedy spoke quietly, and his eyes narrowed in that familiar trick. “My wife was alone on this floor. Do you mind if I get her a drink. Inspector, she has had a nasty shock.” He moved towards the cocktail cabinet.” And may I warn you not to pay any attention to this man, Rayner? He has a remarkable repertoire of lies.” He reached the cabinet, and picked up a bottle.

“No drinks just now, please,” Peel said. He was brusque. Kennedy looked at him, as if in surprise. The tiny china doll who was his wife sat down heavily, and buried her face in her hands. The woman in green stared at Roger— only at Roger. The tension in the three of them was at its height.

“Why not?” Kennedy snapped.

“I’d rather you didn’t, sir.”

Kennedy submitted, evidence of nerves.

“Very well. As I say, Rayner will doubtless——”

“What a man says isn’t evidence, sir, at this stage—he would have to offer proof of any charge which he might prefer against you.” Why was Peel so brisk and formal? “Has Detective Inspector Sloan been gone long?”

Mrs. Kennedy caught her breath.