John Creasey - Inspector West At Home
“West, I insist that you stop this nonsense !” called Abbott.
Boom! went Mark. Then he took his hands from the keys and swung round on the piano stool, pushed his hair out of his eyes and glared at Abbott. Roger had never seen him look so furious.
“Nonsense?” he roared at Abbott. “Who the hell are you, sir? What do you mean by calling my playing nonsense? If you have no appreciation of good music, if your ignorance is so abysmal, I advise you not to declare it to the world. Is this what you would call nonsense?” He swung round to the piano, raised his hands and began to crash out Liszt’s Liebestraume.
Abbott stared, tight-lipped. Roger, at first irritated by Janet’s laughter, saw an expression in her eyes which gave him his first inkling that she knew why Mark was playing the fool. She began to laugh again as if she couldn’t stop, and Abbott looked about desperately; Roger thought he bel-lowed ‘madhouse’. He did shout loudly enough to be heard above the playing : “Stop him. West!”
Roger tried, half-heartedly, beginning to wonder whether Mark could possibly be making this din deliberately, as a distraction. Roger remembered the bump upstairs. His confusion grew worse but he made a good show of losing his temper. Mark stopped at last and rose, disdainfully from the piano. He brushed his hair back from his forehead and straightened his tie — and then he jumped, as if horrified.
At no time handsome, he was a distinguished-looking man with a high forehead, a Roman nose and a pointed chin; his lips were shapely and his complexion so good that it was almost feminine. About him there was an air, normally, of arrogance.
Just then his whole expression was of horror.
“My sainted Cousin Lot!” he exclaimed. “Superintendent Abbott! Why didn’t someone tell me? I am sorry. I’d no idea it was you.” He continued to stare into the Superintendent’s eyes while uttering abject apologies. Since he was not a policeman they were excessive, but he was known at the Yard as a friend of ‘Handsome’ West’s who dabbled in crime. “You know, Superintendent,” he went on in the same shocked tones, “I was absolutely carried away. I’ve been working hard and just felt like letting my hair down. Something powerful in the way of urges. And it’s Janet’s birthday. I remembered that this afternoon and rushed over to apologise for not having wished her many happy returns. I say, Jan, could you rustle up a cup of tea and a biscuit?”
“Of course,” said Janet. “Will you stay to tea, Superintendent?”
Abbott had listened to Mark’s protestations while gradually resuming a stony aspect. He turned to Janet, obviously ill-at-ease. Roger offered him a cigarette.
“Don’t get worried, Abbott,” he said. “All this will work itself out. Why don’t you have a cup of tea and talk about it?”
“What’s this?” demanded Mark. “Sticky business on the criminal stakes? Famous member of the Big Five flummoxed, Handsome West called in to get his nose on the trail?”
“You’re not going to take Roger away!” Janet protested. Abbott had the grace to cough in confusion.
Roger put him out of his misery.
“Not in the usual way, Jan, anyhow. I don’t know what’s gone wrong, but he’s turned up with a search-warrant. I must be credited with having broken open a till.”
“A search-warrant ?” gasped Mark.
“What?” cried Janet.
Roger thought that they put a shade more emphasis than was needed, although he might have gained that impression because there was obviously something afoot between them.
Abbott appeared to think their amazement understandable and sincere; he coughed again.
“You can’t be serious !” exclaimed Janet.
“I am afraid I am, Mrs West,” said Abbott. “I really must not waste any more time.” He shot a quick, almost furtive glance at Roger. “Information has been lodged to the effect that you received, today, a sum of money intended as a bribe in consideration of withholding action when you knew that action was required.”
Roger stared, blankly.
“Let’s be serious,” said Mark. “A joke is a joke and I like one with any man, but this —”
“It is no joking matter,” Abbott assured him. “But for the peculiar circumstances, I would not have made the statement in this room. However, you appear to wish your wife to know, West. That is your responsibility.”
Janet stepped to Roger’s side.
“Is he serious, Roger?”
Roger forced a smile. “Yes, he has a warrant, but it’s coining to something when he adopts this method instead of a straightforward approach. I suppose he could have come while I was out instead of while I’m here, but apparently that’s the extent of the consideration I can expect.” He seemed almost amused. “It’s all quite fantastic. It explains why Martin was dogging me, anyhow. He’s probably been making sure I didn’t pass the bribe on to anyone else!”
Abbott regarded him coldly.
“I can see nothing amusing in the situation, West.”
“I suppose not,” said Roger, dryly. “Hadn’t you better start searching? You’ll want to begin on us, but that doesn’t include my wife.”
“If it is necessary to search Mrs West — and I hope it will not be — I hardly need tell you the proper measures will be taken. Will you be good enough to call in Martin and the others ?”
“Others?”
“ There are two detective-officers with him.”
Roger nodded curtly, went to the front door and called the sergeant and his men. One of the plainclothes men was obviously embarrassed, but that didn’t stop him from doing his job properly.
The police finished downstairs and went up. Roger heard the heavy movements of the men upstairs and thought how often he had been on exactly the same quest.
He had searched with a thoroughness which had brought the tension of the people waiting in another part of the house to breaking point. He had worked with a grim determination to find some evidence of complicity in crime and to break his victim’s resistance. After the search, if it proved successful, came the arrest, the charge, the magistrate’s court, the gradual collection and piecing together of evidence, the final day of the assize trial. That last stage was often absurdly short in view of the weary weeks of preparations which had preceded it. Jury, judge, sentence — and prison.
He could not really grasp that this was happening to him. Instead of being the Apostle of Gloom, Abbott became the Apostle of Doom. For with every minute which passed one thing became more obvious. The Superintendent would not have come here, and Chatworth would not have signed the warrant, unless they felt reasonably sure that they would find evidence that he had accepted bribes.
He lit a cigarette and stared at Janet helplessly. Her lips curved in an encouraging smile.
The men were still moving about upstairs and time was flying — it was a quarter past five. Every minute worsened the suspense.
Janet turned restlessly towards the window.
“How much longer will they be?”
“Not long,” Roger said.
Mark broke in, reassuringly.
“After all, no news is good news. If they’d found the alleged evidence they would have come down by now.”
Almost as he spoke, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
The three turned towards the door, and only the plainclothes man seemed indifferent. All of the search party appeared to be coming and Roger, feeling a curious mixture of relief and tension, stared at the door handle. Someone spoke in a low-pitched voice but the handle did not turn. The front door opened and footsteps scraped on the narrow gravel path.
Roger muttered a sharp imprecation, stepped towards the door and opened it. Abbott was standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Well?” The word almost choked Roger.
“I want you to believe that I’m really sorry about this,” Abbott said. His lips moved so little that he looked incapable of feeling. He glanced towards the open door, and Roger, following his gaze, saw a woman approaching with Sergeant Martin. He recognised the newcomer as a tall, round-faced, jovial policewoman, one of the few female detectives at the Yard. Her purpose was only too apparent. He turned back to Abbott and spoke in a low-pitched, angry voice.
“I won’t forget this afternoon’s work, Abbott.”
“I am sorry,” Abbott repeated, expressionlessly. “Will you explain to your wife ?”
Roger turned on his heel. He caught Janet’s eye as he returned to the room. She gave him the impression that she had heard Abbott and was half-prepared for what was coming.
“They want to search you,” Roger said. “They’ve a woman outside, so they’re not breaking any regulations.”
The woman officer stood on the threshold, smiling as if it were the best joke in the world. She was the only one of the police who seemed untroubled by the situation. Roger stared when she winked at him before going upstairs with Janet to the main bedroom. Abbott entered the lounge and stared at Roger.
“All right,” Roger said. “Get on with it,” and allowed himself to be searched, standing rigid, neither helping nor impeding Tiny Martin, whose every movement seemed to be reluctant. The contents of his pockets were set out in neat array on a corner of the tea-table, next to the muffins which were now cold and unappetising, with congealed butter smeared on them. The fire had nearly gone out. Mark, suddenly waking out of a reverie, began to stoke it, putting on a few knobs of coal and two logs and using a small pair of bellows.
Tiny Martin finished and Roger looked at Abbott.
“Well, are you satisfied?” He could have crashed his fist into Abbott’s face.
“There is nothing here,” Abbott admitted. He took some brown paper and oddments of string from his pocket. “What was in this ?”
Roger stared. “I don’t know.”
“It is addressed to you and it’s registered,” Abbott said. “What was in it?”
Roger stretched out a hand and took the paper. It was familiar but nothing clicked in his mind at first. It was of good quality, with a typewritten address on a plain label. The postmark was blurred but, after some seconds of close scrutiny, he saw that it was franked December, although he could not distinguish the date. His face cleared and he handed it back, knowing both what had been in it when it had reached him and why Abbott had found it upstairs.
“It contained a Christmas present from my father,” he said. “Two first editions of Scott.”
“Christmas!” Abbott was stung to the ejaculation.
“It was tucked away in my drawer for some months,” continued Roger, icily. “I took it out today and wrapped a birthday present for my wife in it. So it has quite pleasant associations. I carried it all the way from here to the Yard. It was folded up in my raincoat pocket when you saw me this morning. I went to Estelle’s in Oxford Street and bought a twin set. For my wife,” he added with a savage note in his voice. “Are there any more intimate details you want to know?”
“Now, West —” began Abbott.
“ ‘Now West’ be damned!” growled Roger. “This is an outrageous visit. I may be a policeman, but I have some rights in law.”
Mark began to whistle a dirge. Roger swung round on him.
“Is that necessary? The piano’s still there.”
“I was only trying to while away the time. Ah! Sounds of progress.” Footsteps, this time of the women, sounded cm the stairs. Janet was first and she hurried in.
“Nothing at all on my person !” she declared. “I must say the officer made a job of it. Mr Abbott, perhaps you are satisfied now that my husband is not a renegade policeman?” She stared at the paper and snapped : “What are you doing with that?”
“He thinks the filthy lucre was wrapped up in it,” said Roger. “I’ve been giving him the history of it. Next time I bring you a present I ought to wrap it in newspaper or it will be used as evidence against me.” He thrust his hands in his pockets. Now that the search was over, except for this room, he felt much better. He insisted on staying while the room was searched methodically. Nothing was left out of place, perhaps because the work was done under Abbott’s cold eyes. When the man had finished, Roger eyed Abbott steadily and, after a prolonged silence, asked :
“Well, what’s the next shot in your locker?” For the first time he wondered whether they would take him away.
CHAPTER 3
The Remarkable Story of Pep Morgan
HAD THE police made any discovery there would have been a formal charge; although they had not, they could still ask him to go with them for questioning. Abbott seemed not to hear Roger’s question but turned and motioned to Tiny Martin and the policeman — the woman detective had already gone. The lesser policemen went out and Martin closed the door.
Abbott looked even more discomfited.
“I don’t propose to do anything else now, West, but —”
“Now wait a minute,” protested Roger. “Either you give me a clear bill or I call for legal aid. I hope you realise that I can create the mother and father of a row.”
“You would be ill-advised —” Abbott began.
“What you seem to have forgotten is that I’m a policeman too,” interrupted Roger. “If there were any suspicions of a man at the Yard and I had charge of the case, I’d have the ordinary decency to tell him what allegations had been made, and ask him for an explanation. I would not burst into his house, risk upsetting his wife, accuse him —”
“I accused you of nothing.”
“You charged me with nothing but you’ve accused me of a damned sight too much. I want a full explanation and an apology.”
Abbott rubbed his chin, slowly.
“I think you had better come with me,” he said.
“If you want me, get a warrant.”
“Do I understand that you refuse to come with me?” Abbott demanded.
“You understand that I refuse to come to the Yard for questioning until I have had a more formal explanation of the reason for all this, and I’ve had a chance to get legal aid. That’s the least you would do if I were an ordinary civilian.”
Abbott’s mouth closed like a trap.
He turned and, without nodding to Janet or Mark, sidled through the partly open door and then closed it. There were muffled footsteps in the hall before the front door closed. Footsteps followed on the gravel path. Roger stepped to the window and saw the party disappearing towards King’s Road.
Roger turned to face the room, his lips curved in a smile which held no amusement.
“Sweet, I’m terribly sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be an ass, you couldn’t help it,” said Janet. “If it had to happen I’m glad it was here.”
“I’m not and before I’m through I’ll let Chatworth know what I think. I might have expected it of Abbott, but not of Chatworth.” He lit a cigarette and stared at the teapot.
“I’ll make some tea,” Mark volunteered, now very subdued.
