Inspector West Regrets

by John Creasey

  Kelham frowned, and looked at Roger as if to say that it was obviously impossible to expect any sense from Mr Alexander.

  ‘Inspector,’ he asked, ‘exactly what brought you here?’

  Roger said: ‘Two men robbed me after I had visited Griselda’s room and taken some papers away. I followed them here.’

  ‘Here!’ cried Alexander. ‘The damned fools!’

  ‘Why, did you tell them to go elsewhere?’ asked Roger, sweetly.

  Afterwards, he admitted that he should not have allowed himself to be taken by surprise. Jubilation was the main cause of his momentary carelessness; in wringing that involuntary sentence from Alexander he had completely vindicated himself. While he was rejoicing, Alexander pushed Kelham on one side and leapt at Roger. A single sweep of his mighty arm was enough to send Roger to one side, and then he ran to the door and pulled it open. He was halfway down the stairs before Roger reached the landing.

  Kelham hurried in Roger’s wake.

  Roger saw no chance of catching up with the man unless he could somehow delay him. He looked round swiftly, but the landing was almost bare of movable objects. Alexander, now near the foot of the stairs, was glancing over his shoulder. Roger turned, and slipped on one of the Persian rugs. As he recovered an idea entered his head. He picked the rug up, folded it double, and threw it towards the front door. It unfolded and floated slowly towards the end of its journey. For a moment it hid Alexander from sight, although as he ran down the stairs Roger saw the man try to strike it away from him.

  It was Alexander’s one mistake, for the rug coiled about his arm, and when he tried to shake it free, fell about his head and shoulders. He rushed forward blindly, but caught his foot against the door mat and banged heavily against the front door.

  Roger slowed down.

  It looked as if the blow had winded Alexander, but he was wary as he approached. The man made no further effort to get the rug away from his arm, but he pulled it from his face and stood by the door, breathing heavily. The absurd pompous expression was gone from his face. He looked malignant and angry.

  ‘What the devil is the matter with you?’ demanded Kelham, breaking a short silence. ‘West will think you’re crazy if you go on like this!’

  ‘No,’ said Roger. ‘Not crazy.’ He pulled Alexander away from the door, and the man made no further effort to attack him. He opened the door and put the police whistle to his lips. It echoed loudly through the hall, and startled the others. Before he left the open door, he saw two figures begin to move up the drive. The taxi-driver was staring at him in some alarm.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Roger called to him, and turned again to Alexander. ‘So you think they were fools to come here, do you?’ he said. ‘I’m talking of your two men in the car. You aren’t very clever, Mr Alexander.’

  He did not finish.

  From Alexander’s mouth there came a curious gurgling sound, and in front of Roger’s eyes he began to change colour. His lips were tinged with blue, the florid red of his cheeks grew pasty, and his eyes began to roll. He held his hands rigidly by his side, clenching and unclenching them, until suddenly he moved one to his throat and began to clutch it. At the same time he swayed from side to side, and the gurgling shaped itself into words: ‘Pocket—waistcoat pocket—’

  Kelham moved swiftly to his side. Roger, wary and yet finding it hard to believe that this was feigned, steadied him. Kelham ran through his waistcoat pockets, and, with an exclamation, drew out a small glass phial. By then Alexander was leaning his full weight against Roger, who had difficulty in preventing him from falling. Kelham saw what was happening, and between them they half-carried and half-dragged the fat man to a settee. The springs groaned as his great weight fell on them.

  His mouth was opening and closing like a fish’s, and he kept gurgling. Kelham shook a tablet from the phial to the palm of his hand, and as he held it up, Alexander nodded violently.

  ‘Get some water,’ Kelham snapped.

  Roger went to the service door, flung it open, and bellowed for a maid. One came running into the hall.

  ‘Water, quickly,’ said Roger.

  The maid took one frightened glance at Alexander, and disappeared into a cloakroom. By the time she had returned with a glass of water, Mellor and Gardener had reached the porch. They stared at Alexander without speaking, and Roger said: ‘Come in, and stand by.’

  By then Alexander had swallowed the tablet and drunk the water. He sat gasping for breath, his face now quite blue. The whole party stood staring at him until Kelham said to the maid: ‘All right, Mary.’

  The girl hurried away, and Kelham looked at Roger with an apologetic smile.

  ‘I should have warned you about this, West. He’s liable to these attacks if he receives a shock.’

  Roger said: ‘It looks as if he’s going to get a lot of attacks in the near future.’

  Kelham frowned.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t said that. Will you come upstairs to my study for a few minutes?’

  ‘Don’t let Mr Alexander leave the hall,’ Roger ordered, and then went with Kelham, who did not speak until they reached the study. Kelham drew his hand over his hair; he looked tired and troubled.

  ‘I know that you are finding it most trying,’ he said. ‘I suppose I haven’t helped, but you startled me when you gave a false name, and I was angry—justifiably, I think. However, that isn’t important now. Alexander is. He is a wealthy eccentric and a close friend of mine, and I humour him in every way I can. I don’t want to labour the word “eccentric” too much, but—’ he broke off.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that he’s insane?’ asked Roger, bluntly.

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as that,’ said Kelham. ‘He isn’t quite normal, and he is given to these outbreaks of violence and to these sudden heart attacks. He’s too fat, of course -he weighs over twenty stone.’

  Roger said: ‘I don’t know whether he’s certifiable or not, but I do know that his behaviour is highly suspicious. I’m afraid I shall have to take him away with me.’

  ‘What exactly have you got against Him?’ asked Kelham.

  ‘The fact that he assaulted me last night, and knew that Griselda Fayne had come to see me,’ said Roger.

  Kelham said: ‘Did she do that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She is an astonishing child,’ said Kelham, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘No one has ever been able to predict what Griselda would do next. However, that’s by the way. You’re quite wrong about Alexander assaulting you last night, I assure you. He was here when I arrived, a little after eleven o’clock, and he hasn’t left the house since then.’

  Chapter Nine

  Return to London

  Roger did not believe him, but he did not say so.

  Kelham looked relieved.

  ‘I suppose all fat men do look rather alike, after dark,’ he said. ‘Why did you come here, Inspector? Not to see him, I assume?’

  ‘No—the two men I’ve mentioned came near here,’ Roger said, and dismissed the subject. ‘I must get back to London soon, but while I’m here, what can you tell me about Griselda Fayne?’

  ‘She is the daughter of a man whom I knew in business,’ said Kelham. ‘Her father was in difficulties, tried to take his own life and was violent with his friends. He died in a criminal lunatic asylum. I’ve always tried to help her—she is a bewitching little creature, as you’ve doubtless noticed. She isn’t in serious trouble, I hope?’

  ‘I want to ask her a few questions,’ said Roger.

  ‘In connexion with my son’s death?’

  ‘Yes. She saw him last night.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kelham. ‘I begin to understand you. I expect you have discovered that unfortunate incident when she pretended to shoot at Anthony. I think you will make a mistake if you take that as a precedent, and I hope you will go very carefully.’

  ‘I will,’ said Roger.

  ‘Good! Well, Inspector, we seem to have got as far as we can. You’ll want
to leave your men here, I suppose; but don’t let the poor fellows hang about outside, they’re quite welcome in the house.’ He smiled, faintly. ‘Neither Alexander nor I will try to run away, I assure you. Oh—will it affect your plans if I don’t return to London until later in the day, or even tomorrow morning? My wife received a very great shock, of course, and I am very anxious about her.’

  ‘Make it later today, if you can,’ said Roger, brusquely. ‘Now, I’d like to see Mr Alexander again.’

  Downstairs in the hall, Alexander was sitting forward on the settee. The blue pallor had gone, and his face was pasty. The twitching had also gone, and he was talking in a subdued voice to Gardener and Mellor; Gardener seemed fascinated.

  ‘It must indeed be a remarkable vocation,’ Alexander was saying. ‘Service to the community at large,’ repeated Alexander, with bated breath. ‘The hounding down of unscrupulous criminals, so as to make the life and property of the people safe.’ He gave a slow, sad, smile. ‘Ah me, life is rarely what you expect it to be! I will confess that in my youth I dreamed great dreams. I wished to become a policeman. The dignified mien and the impressive uniform fascinated me. Little did I think that the ebb and flow of fortune would make the realization of my ambition impossible!’ He looked up as Roger and Kelham reached the hall, and his face brightened. ‘Andy, my dear fellow, I wondered how long you would be! And Inspector—West, is that the name? To what great eminence you have risen!’ he cried loudly. He stood up unsteadily, and took a step forward.

  ‘Andy, tell me the truth. Was I—’ Alexander paused, and then whispered the last word: ‘Violent?’ When Kelham did not deny it, he drew in his breath, and turned to look at Roger with a pathetic stare. ‘I am terribly sorry, Inspector, terribly sorry.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Roger, brusquely.

  ‘Come upstairs,’ said Kelham to Alexander, and then he added: ‘What about lunch, Inspector? Will you join us?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Roger, ‘but if you can find some for my men, they’ll be grateful.’

  ‘I will see to it,’ said Kelham. ‘Goodbye for the present.’

  Alexander was already halfway up the stairs, walking heavily and looking thoroughly dejected. Roger stood so that he could see the man’s profile, but nothing in his expression suggested that he was acting. He disappeared with Kelham, and the study door closed.

  ‘Well, I’m—’ began Gardener.

  ‘Don’t say it,’ said Roger. ‘I know. I don’t think Alexander is the sick man he pretends to be, and I don’t trust anyone in this house. I shall want a full and detailed report on everything that happens. Gardener, you come back with Kelham—and you, Mellor, stay until I recall you, and keep a look-out for Griselda Fayne or either of those fellows who attacked me at Victoria. Gardener saw them.’

  Only Eddie Day was in the office, and he had no information and no dire warnings. He grimaced when he saw the typewriter case, but when Roger took the machine out, he found that although the enamel was chipped it was in working order. Roger could not work up any feeling of excitement when he typed a few sentences and, with Eddie Day breathing down his neck, compared the typewriting with that of the anonymous letters.

  ‘That’s it!’ cried Eddie.

  He spotted the broken ‘i’ and the ‘s’ which was out of alignment, and his cry made Roger’s heart jump.

  He went along to Chatworth’s office, and Chatworth gave him a one-sided grin.

  ‘I hear you’ve been in the wars, West!’ He stared at Roger’s nose, over which a new skin had formed but which was red and puffy.

  ‘I have, sir,’ said Roger, ‘and I don’t feel very proud of it. I lost some papers which I took away from Griselda Fayne’s room, and it seems as if they were of great importance.’

  ‘Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk,’ said Chatworth. ‘You’ve been to Newbury, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger, and explained at some length.

  Chatworth listened intently.

  ‘And that’s as far as I’ve got,’ said Roger at last. ‘There’s just one other thing, sir.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘This is a curious business, and it might be useful to have outside help. I’m thinking of—’

  Chatworth grinned. ‘Your friend Lessing!’

  ‘Lessing and Pep Morgan, sir,’ said Roger.

  ‘Hum. Why call on a private agency to help in this?’ asked Chatworth, frowning.

  Roger said, slowly: ‘I’m worried about Kelham, sir. He knows all—our people fairly well by now, and Blair knows them also. I’m not suggesting we employ Morgan at once, but I would like to be able to call on him in an emergency.’

  ‘Oh, all right, all right,’ said Chatworth.

  Something like a deep depression settled on Roger in the next two hours. He telephoned Pep Morgan, a little agent with whom he had often worked. Another disappointment: Morgan was out.

  He reached home a little before seven o’clock.

  No depression was so deep, these days, as to withstand the cajolery of Master Martin West. He was lying on a chair near the fire, regarding his fingers with wide-eyed interest.

  Suddenly, the baby caught sight of Roger.

  ‘Hallo, there!’ said Roger, beaming. He poked him gently in the tummy, ‘Hallo, Scoopy!’

  ‘Dar-ling!’ came Janet’s voice. ‘Supposing I ask Mrs Norman if she’ll sit in for the evening, and we go out to the pictures? She said only today she would gladly come in, and she’s had three of her own, so I’m quite happy about leaving him with her. Shall we?’

  ‘Bless you, yes,’ said Roger.

  It was a scramble to get ready, but the kindly neighbour proved willing and just after eight o’clock they were holding hands at the local cinema. Loud rhythmic music was playing in the interval, and it was faded abruptly as the curtains were drawn back; but instead of the title of the feature film, a notice was flashed on the screen.

  ‘Roger!’ cried Janet. ‘Scoopy!’

  For the message read: ‘Will Inspector and Mrs West please return home at once?’

  Chapter Ten

  Threats in the Night

  They stumbled over the feet and knees of the other people in the row, Janet leading the way, Roger apologizing freely. Janet started to run towards the exit, and tripped up over a step.

  They burst through the swing doors to the brightly-lit foyer, and a commissionaire opened the street doors.

  ‘Roger—look—a taxi!’ cried Janet.

  ‘Taxi!’ yelled Roger.

  The cab pulled up, and Janet climbed in while Roger gave the address. As he did so, a man came out of the darkness by the side of the cinema, and asked: ‘Is that you, Mr West?’

  ‘Oh darling, don’t wait,’ implored Janet.

  ‘You carry on,’ said Roger, ‘you won’t have any peace of mind until you’ve seen him. Off you go, driver!’ Fie turned to the man by his side, feeling certain that he was from the Yard and that the Yard had sent the SOS. ‘Well, what’s all this about?’ Fie did not recognise the man, and peered into his face, which was in shadow. Who are you?’

  ‘Never mind who I am,’ the man said. He was by Roger’s side, and something was poking into Roger’s waist. ‘Don’t argue and don’t waste time, West. Go that way!’

  Roger went rigid. ‘I—!’

  ‘I’ll blow you apart if you don’t move on!’ said the other, fiercely.

  They reached a side-street.

  ‘Down here,’ said the man who was poking the thing against Roger’s ribs. He had no choice but to obey.

  Two other men were waiting, and they hustled him down the street.

  A small wooden shed loomed up, and one of the men released him and went ahead, opening the door with a key. If he were to break away, he would have to take the chance now. He stiffened again, but they were extremely watchful, and the man with the gun – if it were a gun – pushed him forward. In a moment he was being hustled into the shed.

  They closed
the door before switching on a light; it was a poor one, from a shadeless lamp hanging from the wooden ceiling. The hut was empty. It had a concrete floor, and the walls were hung with dirty cobwebs. There was a musty, unpleasant smell that made him cough.

  Now he could see his captors: a bald-headed man of medium height, with a round, good-humoured face; a tall, thin man and the smallest of the trio, a thick-set fellow with a rugged face.

  Now there was no doubt that he had a gun; a Luger automatic was pointed at Rogers stomach.

  ‘Now what’s all this about?’ demanded Roger, forcing himself to keep his voice calm. Surely if murder was their object they would have killed him by now.

  The man with the gun said: ‘Listen, West. You’re after a girl called Griselda Fayne. She’s a nice girl. She’s a friend of mine. If you arrest her, you’ll make trouble for yourself. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger.

  ‘What have you got against her?’

  ‘She was at the Kelham flat when young Kelham was murdered,’ said Roger. ‘At least, just before and just after it.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then why did you take the papers from her room?’

  ‘You made a mistake there, Baldy.’

  The bald-headed man started. ‘What?’

  ‘Until you snatched those papers I didn’t know they were important,’ said Roger. ‘I do know now.’

  The bald-headed man said, uneasily: ‘I told you—’

  ‘Shut up!’ said the man with the gun. ‘Listen to me, West. You’re a man as well as a policeman, a family man. You’ve got a wife and you’ve got a kid.’ His sneer widened, and Roger started. ‘Well, if you want to make sure your wife and kid don’t get hurt, ease off Griselda and forget what we look like. Okay, Sam!’

  The thin man seemed to have been waiting for that word. Something struck the side of Roger’s head and he slumped into unconsciousness.