John Creasey - Triumph For Inspector West
“Well, wot a pleasure,” Tenby said, in a high-pitched voice. “Wot a pleasure it is, Evie. I never thought I’d see you ‘ere. What’s the game?”
“What are you doing here?” Eve demanded, shrilly.
“I’ve been invited,” Tenby answered, grandly. “My wealthy friends decided I was socially okay, but I didn’t know anyone else was coming.”
They went in.
Mark crept round to the back of the cottage, and tried the back door; it was not locked. He stepped inside, keeping a sharp look out for the bearded man. He saw the marks made by damp shoes on the oil cloth, and went into a narrow passage which presumably led from the kitchen to the front of the house. He passed a door which he thought was closed.
He was about to go into the hall, when a hand shot out from the door, without any warning, and clutched his throat, stifling a cry. He caught a glimpse of the man with the black beard; then a sharp blow caught him behind the ear, and he felt his senses swimming.
The bearded man broke his fall, left him lying on the floor, and opened the door wider.
Tenby had been talking shrilly all the time, and now his voice was clear; Mark could just hear him! “It’s a trap, that’s what it is, a trap. Don’t ask me who they want to trap, the ruddy swine!”
“What—what are you going to do?” asked Eve, in a scared voice.
“I’m going to ring Raeburn, that’s what.” There were quick footsteps as he crossed the hall, and the bearded man crept toward it. Tenby banged the receiver up and down, and Mark, trying to get up without attracting attention, sensed the desperate anxiety in the man’s voice as he cried: “For Gawd’s sake, answer me!”
“Is—is it working?” asked Eve.
“It’s nothing but a bloody trap!” cried Tenby. “ ‘Ere, I’m getting out. I never trusted the swine. I even kept me case packed. Get out of my way.”
“Don’t leave me alone!” There was terror in Eve’s voice. “Tenby, don’t—”
Mark heard a thud, as if Tenby had pushed her against the wall. Then the front door slammed. ,ark tried to get up again, but the pain in his head was agonising, and he dared not make a noise.
The bearded man crept forward, out of his sight.
Then Mark, trying again, saw Roger West stepping silently along the passage. Roger glanced at him, winked, and put a finger to his lips.
In the hall, Eve was pulling at the front door, the bearded man was creeping up on her, and Roger waited, out of sight, ready to move on the instant.
Eve was pulling at the front door, terrified now that Tenby had gone. She saw and heard nothing behind her, but the man with the beard crept toward her, holding a scarf stretched out. He moved suddenly, dropped it over her head, and pulled tightly.
Her cry was strangled to silence. The scarf dropped to her neck, and the bearded man began to pull it tighter, unaware that anyone else was at the door.
“Not quick enough, Warrender,” Roger observed, mildly. “And not fast enough, either.”
Roger moved very fast indeed, and as the man with the theatrical heard swung round, he ran into Roger’s fist, and sagged back against the wall.
Roger bent over Eve, untied the scarf, and said: “Now take it easy, Evie, you’ll be all right. And even if we can’t pin murder on to him, Warrender will get ten years in jail for attacking you.”
“Warrender!” the girl exclaimed.
“Plus beard,” Roger explained, easily. “Ten years for attempted murder,” he said, “and we’ll probably make the capital charge stick, Warrender.” He leaned forward, and tugged at the black beard; it sagged loose, with a soft tearing sound. “Mark!” he called, and turned to see Mark coming unsteadily into the hall. “Look after Eve, will you?”
“So you had to do it yourself,” Mark said, weakly.
“I took the tailers off Warrender, and he thought he’d been clever enough to evade them,” Roger explained. “He didn’t realise we were reporting his progress by radio every few miles, or that we were waiting here for him. You must have given him a bit of a shock.”
Warrender just stood there, like a man damned.
“I don’t pretend to know all the answers yet,” said Roger to Turnbull, “but we’re getting on, Warren. Eve either can’t or won’t talk, Warrender won’t, and Tenby’s pretending to be half asleep, but they’ll all talk when the time comes. It’s clear that Warrender planned to kill Eve, and to frame Tenby. He would probably have killed Mark, too, and let Tenby take the rap for that as well, if he’d got away with it. Taking the tabs off him was a good move.”
“Seen the AC?” asked Turnbull. “He ought to have a billet-doux ready for the Home Secretary.”
“Give me a chance, I haven’t been back twenty minutes,” said Roger. “I want a talk with Raeburn before I see Chatworth, anyhow.”
He was going through reports on his desk when a superintendent looked in.
“Oh, West,” he said, “the Assistant Commissioner would like to see you.” He paused, and then delivered his bombshell: “Mr Paul Raeburn is with him.”
CHAPTER XXIV
RAEBURN MAKES A STATEMENT
CHATWORTH WAS sitting behind his desk, puffing at a small cigar. Raeburn was in one of the tubular steel armchairs, his hat, gloves and stick on the floor by his side, his ankles crossed. His expression was one of complete assurance, and he smiled affably as Roger entered, but made no attempt to rise.
“Ah, West,” said Chatworth. He paused as Roger, schooling himself to show no emotion, approached the desk. “Mr Raeburn has come to make a statement.”
“Has he, sir?”
“It’s one which, I hope, will help to clear up the misunderstanding between us,” Raeburn said, urbanely. “As I have told Sir Archibald, I have been very worried about your attitude, Chief Inspector. Only now do I realise that you had very good reason for being suspicious of my actions.”
“Oh,” said Roger, blankly.
Chatworth said: “Sit down, West.”
“Thank you, sir,” Roger said, as he sat down. His mind was beginning to work, searching for the trick behind this bold move.
“I hope that I’m in time to make sure that nothing more goes wrong.” Raeburn said. “I’ve had a very great shock, Chief Inspector. A man whom I trusted implicitly has betrayed me.” He smiled faintly. “I’m afraid this sounds rather dramatic, but it is the simple truth.”
Was he positive that Warrender would not talk? Could he be? Or was he preparing his defence against betrayal?
“I think I ought to tell you that when I first met War- render, he actually swindled me out of several hundred pounds,” Raeburn said, very carefully, “I caught him, and he pleaded for another chance. I gave it to him. I believe in trying to help lame dogs over stiles, Chief Inspector. Since then, he has always worked competently for me, and I believed loyally. I had almost forgotten the curious nature of our first meeting until this shocking discovery.”
“I see,” said Roger, heavily.
“During the past few days, I have been worried by telephone calls and messages from a man named Tenby,” Raeburn went on. “Tenby is a man whom Warrender employed for several jobs in connection with my greyhound racing tracks, when I first opened them. I had met him, although I hardly remembered him. The messages were all very much alike; he threatened me with some disastrous disclosure. What the disclosure was he didn’t say, and I certainly couldn’t guess. The man actually came to see me yesterday afternoon, Chief Inspector.”
“Did he?” asked Roger, and thought helplessly that this man had genius—a genius for evil distortion.
Chatworth sat impassive.
“Yes, Tenby came to see me,” Raeburn repeated. “Warrender was present, and obviously Tenby was not at his ease. It transpired that he hoped to blackmail me because—” he paused, and leaned forward impressively— “because Eve Franklin did not see the accident when Halliwell was killed. Tenby had forced her to say that she had, as part of his scheme of blackmail.”
This was really brilliant: a smooth answer to every charge, even before it was made, but could he be sure of Warrender?
“When I realised that there was reason to doubt the truth of the evidence, I was well able to understand your attitude,” said Raeburn, spreading his hands. “It was a complete surprise to me to discover that Eve had committed perjury. You know that I fell in love with her— that we were married yesterday. This news shocked me beyond words. It was difficult to believe, yet Tenby convinced me of its truth. I at once began to make inquiries. My wife does not admit that she lied to save me, but I gather from her manner that she is troubled. Consequently, I arranged for her to visit a cottage I own near Reading, promising to join her there later. I thought that, during a quiet week-end, I would be more likely to learn the truth.
“I am quite sure of this,” Raeburn went on, leaning forward again. “If she did commit perjury, it was under someone’s influence. This man Tenby first introduced her to Warrender. I believe that Tenby found a way to dominate Eve, and to make her come forward as she did. My faith in my wife is absolutely unshaken.”
Melville would talk to Warrender and to Eve, of course; certainly, Raeburn must be absolutely sure of himself— unless this was a bluff to out-do all bluffs.
Chatworth asked, like a cigar-smoking Buddha: “What inquiries did you make?”
“I asked my housekeeper, Mrs Beesley, to find out what she could,” Raeburn told him. “She knew Warrender before I met him, and has never been so confident of his loyalty as I have.” Raeburn sighed, just enough to suggest that he was still suffering from the shock of betrayal. “You see, gentlemen, I read of the brutal attack on the Brown woman the other evening. I remembered the sup-posedly accidental death of Tony Brown. I knew—who could fail to know?—that, in your mind, all these things would be connected. I hoped that I would be able to show that there was no connection, but I’m afraid that there was.”
He paused for effect.
He appeared slightly disappointed at the stony reception of his news; he glanced from Roger to Chatworth and back again, and for the first time he showed some signs of disquiet. When he went on, it was in a harder voice.
“I am afraid that Warrender was behind these vicious crimes which were committed partly to cover up the fact that he had persuaded my wife to commit perjury, partly to be able to blackmail me at a later date. It seems evident to me now that my wife’s ex-fiance, Tony Brown, knew of that. Did you ever suspect that he was murdered, gentle- men?”
Roger felt sick.
“It did occur to us,” Chatworth said, heavily.
“I am afraid it is true, too.” Raeburn stood up and began to pace the room. “There is another thing. Tenby accused me of luring him to Aldgate the other evening, so that he would be framed—I quote him—for the attack on die policeman Peel. I accused Warrender of this. He denied it, of course, but there was no doubt that Warrender was gravely troubled by Tenby’s visit, and by my suspicions. Mrs Beesley, Mr Melville, and I were talking about it most of the night.”
Melville, with a good counsel, could convince any jury of this story. Raeburn was actually giving a preview of his defence.
Now he thought it wise to seem on edge.
“You must try to understand the distress which I felt,” he went on, earnestly. “I had no proof, only suspicion, and Warrender tried to convince me that those suspicions were baseless.”
“What made you come here now?” Roger forced himself to ask.
“Mrs Beesley telephoned me only a little while ago, and told me that Warrender had left the flat by the fire escape, last night, although I had ordered him to stay there until I returned.” So Raeburn was going to pretend that he did not know of Warrender’s arrest. “Airs Beesley is a very- shrewd woman, as no doubt you know, and she had been keeping a watchful eye on him for some time. She found a slip of paper in his coat last night—yes, she entered his room, and searched his pockets while he was asleep. The note makes it clear that Warrender and Tenby were planning this blackmail together. Would you like to know my final conclusions, gentlemen?”
“Very much,” said Roger, heavily.
“I think that Warrender has been using my name and my companies as a cover for extensive criminal operations.” Raeburn stood in front of Chatworth; his eyes were flashing, a most plausible imitation of a man in great distress. “I think that I have been completely deceived by a very clever rogue. Mrs Beesley suspected this some time ago, but wanted to be sure before she spoke. It seems evident that Warrender has reason to fear that his activities would be discovered. He was afraid that, if I were convicted of manslaughter, the police would investigate my affairs and, necessarily, his. I think he created a situation which eventually grew too big for him, and in desperation resorted to murder, and to hiring dangerous criminals to cover his tracks.
“You will ask what grounds I have for these suspicions.
I can only say—”Raeburn hesitated, then threw up his hands. “I can only say that the facts are clear to me now that I have been through my books. Warrender has been robbing me of huge sums. He had access to my banking accounts, and you will find that the figures speak for themselves. I know that I was wrong to trust him, but that is not the point now. I did trust him.” Raeburn spoke as if he were righteousness itself. “Gentlemen, I want you to make the fullest inquiry into my affairs wherever Warrender has been connected with them. I want the whole truth to come out. No matter how hurtful, I will face it. Warrender’s departure from the flat seems to me an admission of guilt. I want you to find him, too; he may have made plans to leave the country.”
“That’s possible,” Chatworth grunted, as if he had to make some contribution.
“I can only hope you will get results quickly,” Raeburn went on, briskly. “I really cannot carry on working until everything is known.” He put his hand into his pocket, drew out a key case, and dropped it on to the desk. “These are the keys to my safe at the flat, and to my strong room at the company offices. You may examine everything at your leisure. No doubt you expect Warren- der to try to wriggle out of this, and no doubt he will try to smear me with his own dirt, but—”
“Mr Raeburn,” Roger interrupted, in a deceptively quiet voice, “this isn’t going to work out quite as you expected. There’s something I don’t think you know. Warrender failed to kill your wife. He is now under arrest, charged with attempted murder. Your wife—”
Raeburn put out a hand on a chair to steady himself.
“You mean he tried to murder Eve?” he cried. “He wanted to kill fun’ to stop her from saying anything that might harm him. She—she isn’t hurt?” He jumped forward, gripping Roger’s arm. “Tell me that she isn’t hurt.”
Did he really think he could get away with all this? Could he?
