by John Creasey
“Hal-lo, Handsome!” He patted Roger’s elbow. “This is a fine old how-d’ye-do, isn’t it?”
“Come in, Pep.” Roger led him into the lounge, where he shook hands ceremoniously with Janet and smiled at Mark.
“You did your stuff very well, Mr Lessing ! I was upstairs, and believe me I thought you would have the police on you for disturbing the peace.” He looked back at Roger and his smile grew strained. “Handsome, you won’t take me wrong, I know, but I’m staking my reputation on you.”
Janet and Mark seemed to fade into the background. Roger smiled, grimly, and asked :
“How’s that, Pep?”
“It’s a remarkable business, it really is. You’ve guessed I came here when Abbott was on the spot, and removed a little trifle from upstairs?”
“We guessed,” said Roger heavily.
“The little trifle was one thousand pounds,” said Morgan, softly. “One thousand of the very best in five-pound notes, that is what I found upstairs underneath your wardrobe, Handsome. Look!” Pep took out his wallet and extracted two clean five-pound Bank of England notes. “I’ve brought two of them. I thought I’d better not bring them all in case Martin saw me come in and wanted to know what I was doing — he might have insisted on searching me.” Morgan was nervous, but perky with it. “I don’t know who’s got their knife into you, Handsome, but someone wants to put you on the spot.”
Roger stared at him.
“You must feel pretty bad about it,” said Morgan, “and so do I, Handsome. When I heard what was coming to you I came to the conclusion that it was a fix, and I couldn’t let you down. Lucky thing you’ve got some friends at the Yard.”
Roger said slowly : “What do you mean?”
“It was like this,” said Morgan, moving to the table and sitting on the corner. “No names, no pack drill, but I was chatting with one of the women at the Yard and she started to talk about you. Some o’ the ladies get a proper crush on him, Mrs West!” Morgan shot a sly glance at Janet. “She didn’t exactly tell me, but she did say she’d got a nasty job on this afternoon, and she rambled on a bit — talked about having been told there would be some dough in the bedroom of a Yard man some time after lunch and it would be curtains for him if it was found. She didn’t say you were the man concerned, but she’d been talking about you and she gave me a wink — kind of telling me to put two and two together. So I rang up Mr Lessing and came along here and did my stuff.”
After a long pause, Roger said :
“And you found a thousand pounds in notes?”
“Two hundred five-quid notes as sure as my name is Pep Morgan,” declared Morgan. “I don’t mind admitting I was pretty scared; if they’d found that dough on me they might have asked a lot of awkward questions. So I tied it up and registered it to Post Restante, Lower Strand, addressed to a Mr North. I thought that sounded better than “Smith”,” added Morgan, anxiously. “It’s a bit close to West. I hope I didn’t slip up there.”
“No, you didn’t slip up,” said Roger, smiling into the little man’s eyes. “Pep, I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”
“Oh, forget it. You’ve done me many a good turn, and I knew if they found that dough here you would have a taste of what you dish out to others, but I don’t believe you would take bribes.” He took out his cigarette-case but Janet stepped forward with a box. “Oh, ta,” he said. “Bit of a shock for you, Mrs West, I expect.”
“It certainly wasn’t a pleasure.”
“I’ll say it wasn’t! Well, I’ve told you all I know, Handsome. I needn’t say I know you won’t let me down.” He laughed and drew on his cigarette. “What a business it is, isn’t it?”
“Did Winnie Marchant tip you off?”
Morgan wrinkled his forehead and repeated :
“No names, no pack drill. Was she here ?”
Roger smiled.
“Yes. She gave Janet a piece of her mind !”
Morgan slid from the table and stood up, frowning, barely reaching Roger’s chin.
“Handsome, what’s it about?” he asked. “Who’d do the dirty on you like this?”
“I simply don’t know,” said Roger.
“You must have some idea,” protested Morgan.
“One day I will have.” Roger said softly. “I hope it won’t be long. Will you take a commission from me, Pep?”
Morgan’s little eyes glistened.
“I never thought I’d come to the day when a Chief Inspector would ask me that. Sure, sure. It’s all in the way of business, there’s no need for anyone to know how I came into it. You could have phoned me and asked me to try to find out whether anyone’s trying to put you on the spot. It would be a natural thing to do. What’s happened? Been suspended ?”
“Not yet,” said Roger.
“Nothing to prevent you from looking around yourself, then,” observed Morgan. “And Mr Lessing would lend a hand, as well as me. These fivers might help. Inspector West works from home, so to speak!” He laughed, quite gaily. “What do you want me to do for a start?”
“Make general inquiries, and try to find out whether anyone has a grudge against me. I suppose someone who’s just come out of stir might be behind it.”
“I thought of that,” said Morgan. “But it would have to be a big shot — I mean, a thousand quid isn’t chickenfeed. I’ve been thinking about those who’ve come out in the last month, and I don’t know of anyone who could lay his hands on a thousand. Still, I don’t mind trying, Handsome. There won’t be any secret about it, will there?”
“None at all.”
“Okay, then, I’m hired!” Morgan beamed, looked positively embarrassed when Janet came forward and kissed his cheeks. “He’d do the same for me,” he mumbled and hurried to the door.
Roger watched him disappear into the gloom, and followed. It was not quite dark, and he could make out Morgan’s shadowy figure. Suddenly he saw two others converge on the little man, and heard Detective Sergeant Martin:
“I want a word with you, Morgan.”
Morgan protested in a high-pitched squeak. Roger drew nearer.
CHAPTER 4
Information from Eddie
PERHAPS because he thought that Roger would be following, Morgan held his ground and complained at being frightened out of his wits. He talked to Tiny Martin and the other policeman luridly enough to cheer Roger as he drew nearer, keeping against the hedges of the small gardens of Bell Street so that he would not be noticeable if Martin looked round. Ten feet away, he stood still.
“There’s no need for you to behave like that,” growled Martin. “You’ve co-operated with us before, haven’t you?”
“I haven’t had anyone run out on me like that. What do you want?”
“Superintendent Abbott would like a word with you.”
“Well, he knows where I live. He seems to have gone off his rocker. So do you, Tiny.” Although still aggrieved he sounded mollified, a sensible reaction to ‘Superintendent Abbott would like a word with you’. “I’ve just been along to see Handsome West. You must be daft if you think he’s crooked.”
“Never mind that,” said Martin.
He led the way towards King’s Road. Roger stayed on the other side until a bus lumbered out of the gloom, stopped for the two men and went lurching onwards. Roger turned back to Bell Street. The other Yard man was still near the house and Roger caught a glimpse of him across the road.
Roger went into the house but did not return to the lounge. He took his raincoat out of a corner cupboard.
“What are you doing?” Janet asked.
“I’m going to the Yard,” Roger said.
“Do you think —” began Janet.
“Is it wise?” asked Mark, outlined against the light of the lounge.
“I’m not suspended yet,” said Roger. T might pick up a hint from someone. If Winnie Marchant was prepared to let Pep know, one of the others might give me a hint of what it’s all about;” He put his hands on Janet’s shoulders and ki
ssed her. “I don’t expect I’ll be late,” he said. “Make Mark play backgammon with you.”
There were tears in Janet’s eyes.
Roger went out, and paused on the porch to light a cigarette.
The plainclothes man was near the gate.
Roger drew on his cigarette so that his features were illuminated, then shone his torch into the other’s face.
“I hope it keeps fine for you,” said Roger. He was ridiculously glad that it was raining and cold enough to make the vigil an ordeal.
He did not get his car out, but walked briskly once he had grown accustomed to the gloom. He kept his eyes open for a taxi but had reached Sloane Square before he saw one. He was not sure that the Yard man had kept up with him, but thought it likely.
As he waited on the kerb while the taxi turned in the road, footsteps, soft and stealthy, drew near him. He took it for granted that this was the plainclothes man and took no notice. The taxi pulled up and the driver expressed himself tersely on the weather.
“You going far ?”
“Scotland Yard,” said Roger. The shadowy figure behind him drew nearer and he wondered what the man was thinking. As he was climbing into the cab, the figure moved forward and a soft voice, certainly not belonging to the detective, broke the stillness.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Roger turned his head, when half-in and half-out of the cab.
“Yes?” He was in no mood for casual encounters.
“I hope you won’t think this an impertinence,” said the stranger, “but I am most anxious to get to Piccadilly and the buses appear to have stopped running. I wonder if you would mind if I shared your cab?”
“What abaht askin’ me?” demanded the driver.
“Oh, yes, indeed — if your fare wouldn’t mind.” The man looked towards the cabby. Roger noticed that he wore a trilby hat pulled low and had his coat collar turned up. As he saw the pale blur of his face he thought, impatiently, that it could not have happened at a worse time, but he said:
“Of course,” and hoped that he sounded cordial.
There was no sign of anyone else nearby.
“Thank you so much,” said the stranger, eagerly.
“Op in,” said the driver.
Roger shifted to the far corner and the newcomer sat back with a sigh. He murmured that taxi-drivers were getting far too independent, it was most embarrassing to ask favours of them; it was very good indeed of Roger to allow him to share the taxi. Had he overheard him say that he was going to Scotland Yard ?
That was an invitation to confide, but Roger made an evasive remark and sat back. The other continued to talk of the weather, the cold war situation, the possibility of the bank rate going up, the price of houses and income tax. Roger made an occasional comment.
The cab drew up outside the gates of Scodand Yard, and the cabby opened the glass partition.
“Needn’t take you right in, need I ?”
“No, this will do fine,” said Roger.
He got out, stumbling over the other man’s outstretched legs. He paid off the driver and watched the rear light fading into the night. He heard the footsteps of the policeman on duty and, a moment later, a bull’s eye lantern was switched on.
“Is that necessary?”
“Oh — sorry, sir,” said the policeman, putting the light out hastily. “Nasty night, sir, isn’t it?”
“Bloody,” growled Roger and strode towards the steps. It was some consolation to know that the man had no instructions to stop him. He went up the steps and into the hall, where a sergeant on duty saluted. He was an oldish fellow with a wisp of yellow hair and very thin features. It might have been the light and shade of the hall, but to Roger he seemed surprised as he said “Good evening.”
“ ‘Evening, Bates,” grunted Roger.
He passed no one downstairs nor on the stairs, but the walls themselves seemed cold and hostile. He had never been in the Yard before without feeling a certain friendliness in its atmosphere. He began to realise how much the place meant to him. The dimly-lighted passages, shadowy now, seemed to hold a menace which was no less disturbing because its cause was unwarranted.
He opened the door of his office quickly and stepped inside.
Eddie Day was sitting at his desk with a watchmaker’s glass screwed to one of his prominent eyes. He looked up — and the glass dropped out, bounced from his desk and rolled along the floor.
Roger repressed a comment, loosened his coat and approached Day, looking down at the startled man.
“So you’ve heard, have you ?”
“H-h-heard w-w-what?” stammered Eddie.
“Why pretend that you haven’t, Eddie? Is it all round the Yard?”
Eddie closed his mouth, then bent down to retrieve the glass. His face was scarlet when he straightened up. Then he burst out:
“I’ve heard a rumour, yes!” To his credit he stopped pretending and did not try to make light of it. “You could have knocked me down with a feather. I don’t know what to make of it, I really don’t. You’re the last one I would have thought —” he broke off. “What are you doing here ? You’ve been suspended from duty, haven’t you?”
“I haven’t been told so.”
“Oh, well, perhaps that’s a rumour,” Eddie said hopefully. “I hope it is, Handsome. I can’t believe —” he paused and then went on : “Did Abbott have a search-warrant?”
“He did. And he used it.”
“Blimey!” Eddie pushed his lips forward and eyed Roger owlishly. “I just couldn’t believe it when I heard. When Bennett told me I thought he was joking, but he said he’d seen the warrant. What’s the Old Man got to say?”
Roger said : “The Assistant Commissioner hasn’t thought it worth discussing with me.”
“Strewth !” exclaimed Eddie.
“Eddie, do something for me,” said Roger softly. “If you know what they think I’ve been doing, if you’ve any idea from where they got the tip, tell me. I was pretty sharp with Abbott, because I know nothing about it. What do you know?”
“Handsome, I’m with you. I think it’s all a lot of nonsense. I can’t understand the Old Man. All I know is that you’re supposed to have accepted bribes over a period of the last three months.”
“From whom ?” Roger demanded.
“The squeak came from Joe Leech.”
“Oh,” said Roger. He stepped restlessly to the fireplace, where the fire glowed red. He knew ‘Joe Leech’, a bookmaker in the East End who kept within the law and was allowed to go to the extreme limits because he was a regular source of information to the police. His information was usually reliable and the police were often obliged to act on it. Few at the Yard had any liking for Leech, whose bad reputation in the East End was well known. Two or three times a year he had to be given police protection after he had squealed and friends of his victims had threatened violence. One thing was certain. Leech would not have done this unless he believed the allegation to be true or unless he had been heavily bribed.
“Don’t say I told you,” pleaded Eddie.
He heard someone approaching and put his glass hastily to his eye. The footsteps passed. Eddie stared at Roger with his glass at his eye, his forehead and nose wrinkled.
“It’s a bad do, Handsome, no doubt about that.”
He broke off when the telephone on his desk rang. He answered it and Roger judged, from his manner, that it was Chatworth. Eddie was more impressed by the Assistant Commissioner than most Chief Inspectors, although Chat- worth had a reputation for being a martinet.
Eddie replaced the receiver and stood up, gathering some papers from his untidy desk.
“Got to go and see the Old Man,” he said, in a confidential undertone. “He wants my report on those dud notes. You know the ones I mean.”
“Yes,” said Roger, with a flicker of interest. “Are they slush?” He thought of the £1,000 now at the Strand Post office waiting for ‘Mr North’ but it was too early to ask Eddie’s opinion of the two speci
mens; Eddie was not a man to be trusted in these circumstances. There were two Yard men who might take the risk of helping him, but one, Sloan, was on holiday.
“Stake my reputation on it,” said Eddie, half-way to the door. “They’re good, though. Er — best of luck, Handsome. If I can do anything let me know.”
Alone in the office, Roger looked about him, putting his hand in his raincoat pockets. He felt an envelope in there but thought nothing of it. The green-distempered walls displayed a few photographs, including one, old and faded, of a
Suffragette procession down Whitehall in 1913, two cricket XI’s one of them including himself, two or three maps of London districts and several calendars. On one of the desks was a small vase of fading daffodils. The fireplace was littered with cigarette ends and the carpet, with several threadbare patches, had a few trodden into it. The desks were bright yellow but, in places, the polish had worn off and the bare wood showed. There were little partitions for different papers – ‘For Attention’ – ‘For Review’ – ‘Mail In’. Suddenly he stopped reading the black, stencilled letters, for his own desk was empty; everything had been removed since he had been there that morning.
He turned away, taking his hand out of his pocket and drawing the envelope with it. He looked down at the crumpled paper, frowning. It was thick and newish-looking; had it been in his pocket for some time it would have been grubby. He remembered thinking that morning that it was a fortnight since he had last worn his raincoat. He had not noticed the envelope then.
It was sealed and there was no writing on it. He inserted a finger at one end and ripped it open. Inside was a single slip of paper on which were two or three lines of block letter writing, upside down. He turned it swiftly and read :
Dear West,
I’ve another proposition I think will interest you. It will pay even better than the last. Meet me at the usual place, tomorrow, Wednesday, at 7.30, will you?K.