John Creasey - Inspector West At Home
“Yes, Guv’nor. I remember.”
“And you let another man share the cab?”
“I don’t ‘ave to tell yer what you already know, Guv’nor, do I?”
“I’m talking as a private citizen,” Roger said. “How far did the other man go?”
“West End,” said the cabby.
“Do you remember where you dropped him?”
“Yers — end of Welbeck Street.”
“Did he say where he was going from there?”
“No,” said the cabby. “He just said the end of Welbeck Street would be all right for ‘im. He went down the street. I know that, ‘cos I saw him disappear into a house. I wanted to lay orf for an hour so I follered ‘im along to the nearest rank.”
Roger’s heart began to beat fast.
“Was it far along?”
“I don’t exactly know, but it wasn’t so far, Guv’nor. I couldn’t say for certain which one it was. Tell you what,” he added, his eyes on the two pounds. “There was an island in the middle of the road just erbaht where he turned into the house. I know that place like the palm of me hand. It might have been the second island or the first, but it was an island.”
“That’s a great help,” said Roger. “Take us to Welbeck Street, will you? Pep, will you come with me?”
“Why, of course,” said Morgan.
“But —” began Janet.
“Mark will look after the house,” said Roger. “He’ll also keep an eye on you. I won’t be long.” He was followed by the cabby and Pep.
“Now what’s got into you, Handsome?” demanded Morgan. “That’s the trouble with you, I never know whether I’m coming or going.”
“Oh, we’re going,” said Roger, expansively. “And I’m full of ideas. How did you get on at the Yard last night?”
“I didn’t like it much, Handsome,” Morgan said frankly. “I never did like Abbott, and after the way he talked to me I’ll never have a good word to say for him. Sarcastic swine. But I didn’t give anything away and you put me all right your end, Mr Lessing says.”
“They also know you’re working for me,” Roger said. “Have you heard what happened to Mark this morning?”
“A bit of it,” said Morgan. “The driver was with us most of the time; he couldn’t say much. What did happen?”
Roger told him but did not add why he had suddenly become animated and left the house in such a hurry until they reached the end of Welbeck Street. The cabby explained at some length where he thought the passenger had gone. It was into one of the houses near the second island in the middle of the street.
“Thanks,” Roger said. “If you care to wait, I’ll probably want to go back to Chelsea soon.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” said the cabby.
“Would you mind telling me what you think you can do at a house where this man might have come?” demanded Morgan. “I can’t help you if I’m in the dark all the time, Handsome, can I ?”
“Pep, you missed a vision this morning,” said Roger, in high good humour. “A Daimler pulled up outside my house and out she stepped.”
“Now be sensible.”
“Oh, I am being! She was beauty itself and there was money oozing from her. She came, she said, to solicit Janet’s help for the Society of European Relief. Oddly enough,” he added, offhandedly, “the offices of the Society are in Welbeck Street.”
Morgan looked at him sharply.
“So I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t find many interesting things here,” said Roger. “We’ve plenty to go on, Pep. How do you like working for an ex-policeman ?”
“Now don’t talk like that,” remonstrated Morgan. “What are you going to do now ?”
“You take the next house, I’ll take the one beyond it,” Roger said. “See if you can find the name of the Society of European Relief on one of the boards.” He smiled as Pep went up four steps leading to an open door and whistled to himself as he viewed the next-door house. It had been taken over as offices but none of the name boards mentioned the Society. To refresh his memory, he looked at Mrs Sylvester Cartier’s card : Welbeck Street was right but there was no number. Pep passed him, shaking his head. They were opposite the island and the cabby had pulled up on the other side of the road.
The next house was a blank also, but when Roger walked down the steps he saw Morgan standing on the porch next door, waving. Roger joined him quickly.
“Got it!” exclaimed Morgan. “You’ll make quite a detective when you grow up, Handsome!” He led the way into a darkened hallway and pointed to the notice board, which had the names of four different firms or institutions; on the third floor — the top — was the Society of European Relief. “But there’s no lift,” Morgan said.
“I couldn’t ask you to walk up all those stairs,” Roger said. “Stay down here and keep your eyes open.”
“Now listen —”
“You can’t have it all your own way,” Roger told him. He made for the stairs, going up the first flight two at a time but then proceeding more calmly. Pep shook a fist at him but did not attempt to follow.
The landings were darkened but windows were open and allowed some light in. On the third floor a typewriter was clattering and one door was ajar. It was marked ‘Inquiries’ and had the name of the society underneath. Roger stepped in. Behind a wooden partition he could hear a typewriter going at great speed. He pressed a bell in the counter and started at the loud, harsh ring. The typewriter stopped at the first sound, a chair was pushed back and a girl rounded the partition.
She was pretty; she wore a white blouse and a dark skirt; her hair was dark, like Janet’s, and she was about Janet’s height. She appeared very self-possessed, and smiled pleasantly. On her right hand was a solitaire diamond ring, a beautiful thing.
“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?” Roger liked her voice.
“I think you probably can,” he said.
“In what way, please ?”
Roger smiled disarmingly. “I wonder if you would take £250 in notes to the Mid-Union Bank and put it into my account ? My name is West.”
He knew at once that he had scored a hit. The girl backed away, her eyes narrowed, and he thought she groped behind her as if for help. As he gave his name, her lips — red but not heavily made-up — parted slightly and her breathing grew agitated.
“What — what are you talking about?” she demanded.
“Don’t tell me that I have to say it again,” said Roger. “After all, you’ve done it often enough to know how easy it is, haven’t you?”
“You’re talking nonsense!”
“I wonder how long you’ll continue to think so? But I’m not an ogre.”
“If you have any business to discuss, please state what it is,” said the girl stiffly. She stood a foot away from the counter with her hand clenched by her sides; the ring glittered like fire; she was badly frightened, but she tried hard not to show it and her voice was steady. “I haven’t time to waste.”
“You know,” said Roger, “the cashier will be able to identify you.”
“I have no idea what you mean. Please go away.”
“What, so soon ?” asked Roger. “I’ve only just —”
A door behind the partition began to open; he could see the top of it. Someone moved towards the reception office and a middle-aged man appeared, his kind face looking faintly puzzled. He had grey hair and a gentle voice.
“Lois, my dear,” he said, “I thought you were going to — oh!” he broke off at sight of Roger. “I beg your pardon, I did not know you were engaged. Can we help you, sir?”
Roger beamed. “Can I give you a lift? I’m going as far as Scotland Yard.”
“I beg your pardon !”
“Do you know, I think you are both being wilfully obtuse,” Roger said, as if wonderingly, “but you’ll have to change your attitude.”
“I dislike your threatening manner, sir !”
“No threats,” Roger said, “just a little jogging of your memory. Last night you begged a lift in my cab, and —”
“I was at home all last night,” interrupted the man, giving sufficient emphasis to the ‘all’ to make it clear that he was confident of his alibi. “Lois, has this person been threatening you ?”
The girl said, hesitantly : “He seems to think he knows me.”
“Do you know him ?”
“No.”
“You will both know me in future,” Roger said. He looked them up and down, then turned and left the office. The door, which was fitted with a vacuum-type doorstop, closed behind him with a gentle hiss.
He was no longer smiling. He had bungled a golden opportunity, and allowed himself to be carried away by a bright idea, in a way which would have disgraced a raw sergeant. He should have made a tentative inquiry and then engineered an opportunity for the bank cashier to see the girl; now, he had warned them of their danger, had virtually invited them to get away.
He had made another mistake, too; he should have brought Morgan up with him, the little man should now be waiting outside the door, ready to slip inside and listen-in to the conversation in the inner office. He reached the head of the stairs, then stopped — for Morgan was smiling at him from halfway up the stairs !
“You were away so long, that I thought —”
“Hush !” warned Roger, beckoning. Morgan drew level. “Try to get inside the office, the first on the right, and hear what’s being said next door, Pep. They won’t hear you go in if you’re careful.”
Morgan hurried past him.
Easier in his mind, Roger went to the first landing and stood by the bannisters, lighting a cigarette. He was really angry with himself; had it been Mark, he could have forgiven it. He had been wrong to come here, Mark should have handled this part of the inquiry. He admitted ruefully that from the moment when the idea of the Welbeck Street association had first entered his head he had been carried away by it and, on finding that he had scored a hit, had let himself be dazzled by the success of the visit.
He heard someone coming up the stairs.
He thought at once of Mrs Sylvester Cartier and looking round hastily, saw a door, marked ‘Inquiries’, of another suite; he slipped inside. Keeping the door open an inch or two he looked out, but as the newcomer drew nearer he felt sure that he had been wrong. Mrs Cartier would walk with a brisk step and her heels would tap sharply on the bare wooden boards. This walker came slowly.
It was a man, whose careworn face was lined with the marks of great suffering. His sad eyes and the dejected droop of his shoulders startled Roger. He watched the man walking wearily towards the next flight of stairs and then realised that the newcomer would almost certainly discover Pep.
An exclamation behind him told him that he had been seen and he stepped swiftly out of the office, closing the door. He hurried after the haggard man.
“Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes ?” The man’s European accent was strong.
“I thought I would save you wasting a journey,” Roger said. “There is no one in upstairs — I have just been trying to get in myself.”
Sad, disappointed eyes regarded him, making him ashamed of the lie.
“T’ank you, sir, t’ank you so mooch.” The man ran his fingers through his sparse hair. “I vill vait, I t’ink. I ‘ave come for an app — appointment.” He looked along the bare passage and, at the far end, Roger saw some benches. “I weel sit down, please.”
“Oh, by all means!” said Roger. “I’ll wait with you.”
The benches were at the far end of the passage. Roger thought he heard a mutter of conversation but could not be sure. The old fellow shuffled along beside him, weary and broken. Roger offered him a cigarette but he refused it.
He received no encouragement when he tried to start a conversation. After a quarter of an hour he began to wonder whether anything had happened to Pep. He grew alarmed and excused himself and moved towards the doors. One opened, and Pep came out on tip-toe. He hurried along the passage but faltered when he saw Roger, who shook his head. Pep took his meaning and hurried down the stairs.
“Well, that’s surprising!” exclaimed Roger. “No one answered when I knocked.”
“It ees — your turn,” the old man said, in a tone of infinite patience.
“I’m in no hurry,” said Roger. “You go first.”
“You — you weel not mind?” The man was startled, but when Roger reassured him he walked more briskly towards the end of the passage and disappeared into the office. Once he had gone, Roger hurried in Morgan’s wake. The private detective was standing on the pavement, near the taxi, and the cabby was speaking bitterly to him of the lack of consideration displayed by some people. He stood to attention when Roger arrived and asked sarcastically :
“Any more waiting, sir?”
“No,” said Roger, briefly. “Back to Bell Street.” He looked at Morgan.
“Bell Street’s all right for me,” said Morgan. When they were sitting together in the cab he shot a sideways glance at Roger, full of meaning. “Handsome, have we found something !” he breathed.
Roger said tensely : “What ?”
“That was the girl who paid in the cash, and you’ve scared the wits out of her,” said Morgan. “The old man did most of the talking, but I couldn’t hear all of it. He tried to pacify her at first but didn’t have much luck. But —” Morgan’s little eyes were rounded with concern — “he put the fear of death into her then, Handsome !”
“Well, well!” said Roger, softly.
“When she kept saying that she couldn’t do any more he told her she knew what he could do to her if she didn’t behave herself and ordered her to go back to her work. I came out then, I didn’t think she’d be long after me.”
“Pep, we ought to have waited, I can’t do anything right. We’ll have to follow her.”
Morgan grinned. “I’ve got her address ! Her handbag was on her desk, so I had a look inside it. I think I’ve got his private address, too — she called him Pickerell; you couldn’t mistake a name like that, could you? I found a ‘Pickerell’ in an address book on her desk and made a note of it. Her name is Randall.”
Sitting back at ease and copying the addresses in his notebook, Roger said :
“You’re teaching me my job, Pep !”
“Who’s surprised?” asked Morgan, heavily. “Handsome, what have we struck? I didn’t catch a glimpse of the girl but I don’t mind telling you I felt sorry for her.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Well, as we know who paid the money in — it lets you out,” said Morgan, “but they know you know and that makes it awkward, Handsome. Then, why did that vision you talked about tell you to go there? I know she didn’t actually tell you, but she went pretty near it, didn’t she?”
“She did,” admitted Roger, frowning. “And — Pep, we’re crazy!” He leaned forward and rapped on the glass partition, opening it as the cabby automatically applied his brakes. “Get back to Welbeck Street!” Roger snapped, startling the man so much that he was unable to find a comment.
