An Apostle of Gloom

by John Creasey

  “Did Pep tell you anything?” Mark asked.

  “No. I rang him up because Cornish had identified the taxi-driver for me and I’ve sent him to interview the fellow.” His tension appeared to relax as he smiled at Mark and added: “You’ve had a morning on the tiles, haven’t you?”

  “Do I smell of beer?” asked Mark, startled.

  “You look as if you’ve been swimming in it!” Roger declared, and then: “What about Leech? Did you—?”

  Mark stood up and smoothed the back of his head, in turn looking so grim that Roger broke off short. He had to wait for what seemed a long time before the other, speaking quietly, told him what had happened to Joe. Only a deepening of the frown on Roger’s forehead betrayed emotion while Mark, well under way, elaborated the story and filled in the details. He excelled himself with a description of the damage done to the Saucy Sue and the character of Masher Malone.

  When he finished, Roger said, slowly: “Malone impressed you, didn’t he?”

  “He made me look over my shoulder all the way here from the pub,” Mark said, frankly. “I didn’t like the gentleman at all. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him,” said Roger. “He has a gang but he’s never been caught. Race-course stuff and probably some black market – I didn’t know he was important.”

  “If he isn’t he will be,” Mark said, forcing a smile. “I’ve never seen anyone so sure of himself. He might be swollen by his own conceit but he’s got guts and—oh, confound it, you know what I mean!”

  “Ye-es,” said Roger. “I wish I knew more about him, but the Division looks after the gangs, we don’t touch them much at the Yard unless they go too far. It’s Corny’s old Division, he’ll know what there is to know about Malone.”

  “Isn’t to-day’s affair ‘too far’?” asked Mark.

  Roger smiled, ruefully.

  “I wouldn’t know! Chatworth will probably have one of our men there because you put in an appearance, but as far as I can see it’s a straightforward business except for one thing. He – I mean Malone – sent his gang on to wreck the pub. That’s done often enough. He probably arranged for the murder to take place when he was in the room, so that the police couldn’t touch him for that, although they might get him for disturbing the peace. He’d probably admit that the gang got out of hand and smashed up the place but”—Roger was frowning and rocking to and fro on his heels—”the very fact that he was behind the wrecking would suggest that he knew nothing of intent to murder.”

  “Why?” demanded Mark.

  Roger said: “He, or his gang, had a grievance against Leech, probably because he’s squealed and put one or two of them inside. The Masher’s retort was to break Leech’s place up – an eye for an eye. But if he intended murder, would he trouble to do the wrecking? Even to a man like the Masher, death is enough payment for betrayal. D’you follow me?”

  “Ye-es,” said Mark, slowly.

  Roger smiled. “Only part of the way.”

  “No, farther than that,” Mark said, more quickly. “The wrecking was a cover for the murder and Malone thought it would clear him, but—would the police accept that argument?”

  “Not if they could prove anything else against Malone, but I think he’s arranged it so that they can’t. He’ll probably even be able to ‘prove’ that he had nothing to do with the mob which broke in – I don’t doubt they all got away. What did you actually see him do?”

  “Unbolt the door—and he had some nerve!—and strike Leech,” Mark said.

  “With Leech threatening him with a gun? It’s hardly a crime to strike someone who’s threatening to shoot you,” Roger said. “I’m beginning to rate Malone high, Mark; he’s handled this well.”

  “Do you seriously think he’ll get away with it?”

  “I do,” said Roger, briefly.

  “Surely they’ll hold him for questioning?”

  “Oh, yes, but with a good lawyer he’ll get off even if he is taken as far as the police court, but I doubt whether it will be allowed to go so far. There’s no sense in bringing a case and putting Malone inside for a few days or weeks – which would be the absolute limit. More likely, the case would fail and he’d be able to cock a snook at us.” He smiled at the ‘us’, the wound was still very raw. “If they arrest and charge him and he gets off, it would make it more difficult to get him on a similar or more serious charge, afterwards. Even the biggest rogue can claim that he’s being persecuted and get a lot of public and judiciary sympathy.” He laughed. “Don’t become a policeman, Mark!”

  After a pause, Mark asked quietly: “You said it was straightforward with one exception, didn’t you?”

  “Yes!” Roger was crisp. “Why did it coincide with your arrival? Pub wrecking is a pastime that’s indulged in often enough, but usually it’s done after dark, when the pub is open. In the confusion the gang can escape and the police get tangled up with the innocent customers who’ve joined in for the fun of the thing. A morning bust is rare. I think—” he paused.

  “It surely can’t have had anything to do with me,” said Mark, uncertainly.

  “I think it almost certainly had,” said Roger, smiling a little obscurely. “You probably saw no one en route to the pub, but a hundred people saw you go in. If Malone wanted to make sure Leech didn’t squeal about him he’d have lookers-out everywhere and he’d learn within five minutes that you’d arrived. You say there was a whistle and Leech knew immediately that it was a sign of Malone?”

  “Yes.”

  “The gang was approaching and someone had seen Malone and gave the signal to start,” said Roger; “that gave Malone time to deal with you and Leech. The main question is whether he knew you, as yourself, were there, or whether he just wanted to make sure that Leech did not confide in any stranger.”

  “How the dickens could he have known of me?”

  Roger looked at him oddly.

  “Mind not working well this morning?” he asked. “If Malone was connected with the canard about me he would know that you’ve often lent me a hand.”

  Mark stared. “I can’t believe—”

  The telephone interrupted them and Roger, proving that Janet was still in the forefront of his mind, stepped swiftly forward and lifted the receiver. “There is a call for you,” said the operator. “Hold on, please.” Roger heard her speaking to the caller. “Press button A, please – you’re through.”

  “Roger!” cried Janet.

  “Oh, thank God!” said Roger, sitting down heavily on the arm of a chair. Mark saw perspiration on his forehead and an inane grin on his lips. “Jan, where—?”

  “I’ve had the very devil of a time!” Janet said, hurriedly. “I’ve never been so scared, darling! I’m at Chertsey now—”

  “Chertsey?”

  “Yes. I left Cornish and thought I would walk across St. James’s and get a bus from Victoria Street. I was in the park when two men came alongside me.” She spoke breathlessly, obviously still feeling the effect of her experience. Roger’s smile faded and his lips set in a grim line. “They told me to obey orders if I wanted to be unhurt – Roger, it was fantastic! There were hundreds of people about and there was I walking between them, not daring to raise my voice. They hired a taxi, I don’t think the driver was in the know, and made me get in. I didn’t hear where they told him to go but they climbed in after me and —Roger, they just didn’t speak! It was crazy, but they just didn’t speak, and whenever I started to, they snapped at me to be quiet.”

  “Yes,” said Roger, tautly.

  “It seemed an unending journey,” Janet said. “I felt sure that I was being kidnapped. Once I thought I might jump out, at a traffic jam, but one of them gripped my arm and I couldn’t do a thing. We reached Hounslow and they made me get out, took me to another taxi and—brought me here.”

  “And th
en?” Roger asked.

  “Nothing!” exclaimed Janet.

  “Nothing at all?” demanded Roger, incredulously.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Janet assured him. “They stopped the taxi outside one of the houses by the river – the phone number of the kiosk is Chertsey 123 but it’s not far from Staines – and told me to get out. Then they just drove off! I walked along the river and came to this kiosk – Roger, it is crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Ye-es,” said Roger, “another touch of fantasy.” He guessed that Mark was on edge to hear the story but his own initial relief had been offset by another sobering emotion. “But all’s well, my sweet! Get to Staines and come to Waterloo, I’ll meet you there. Just a moment, I’ll find the times of trains.” He turned to a writing cabinet but Mark was already at it, taking out a timetable. He turned the pages and gave the times of the trains and Roger repeated them.

  “I’ll catch the three something,” Janet said. “I haven’t had any lunch and I’m starved. Don’t trouble to meet me, I’ll be all right.”

  “Get a snack at the station buffet and catch the two something,” Roger said firmly. “I won’t be happy until I set eyes on you . . . yes, I do mean it! . . . oh, we’ll have a snack here. Mark has had an alarming morning, too . . . yes, I will . . . good-bye for now.”

  He replaced the receiver and turned to look into Mark’s eager eyes.

  “I don’t like it one little bit,” he said, and gave Mark a resumé of what Janet had told him, although there was an easier note in his voice as he finished. “Warning number 1, or 2, or 3, choose which you like!”

  “Warning?” ejaculated Mark.

  “Yes. They’ve demonstrated that they can, if they wish, make Janet do a disappearing trick,” Roger said; “it can’t mean anything else. At least we know that they mean business!” He smiled more freely and led the way to the kitchen. “We’d better get a snack.”

  It was a quarter to two and Janet’s train was not due to arrive at Waterloo until after three. Nothing happened meanwhile and Roger set out for Waterloo. He reached the station ten minutes before the train arrived and he could hardly wait, although he tried to assure himself that if a warning had been given, he would probably be given time to heed it. Then the train came in and Janet was not among the first passengers to alight. Tight-lipped, he peered along the platform, trying to distinguish her tall figure, and he was about to push through the barrier when he caught sight of her, hurrying and smiling in anticipation, quite outstanding amongst the motley crowd.

  She gave up her ticket, they gripped hands and Roger pulled her towards him and kissed her. Janet said breathlessly that she’d never known a journey take so long.

  “You are all right?” Roger demanded.

  “Bruised only in spirit,” Janet said, and laughed with relief. “What on earth did they do it for, darling? To show what they can do if they make up their minds?”

  Roger grinned. “You’re not slow, are you?”

  “You think that’s it?”

  “I feel sure it is,” Roger said, “but we aren’t going to let it worry us now and I’m going to keep you on a piece of string until this is over!” He looked at her and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, my sweet—” he began.

  “No, don’t fuss me!” Janet said, sharply for her. He walked quietly by her side, reflecting that the experience had affected her more than he had expected. Soon, she tucked her arm into his.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I feel so jumpy.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Roger asked, reassured.

  They went by Underground to Knightsbridge and walked from there to the bus stop, catching a bus which dropped them at the end of Bell Street. They said little, except that Janet did her best to describe the two men who had forced her into the taxi. Neither of them had been out of the ordinary, and although she thought she would recognise them again any time, Roger knew that it would be impossible to pick them up on a description which could apply equally well to a hundred men. Yet he was too relieved by her return to worry much about it – and, as they turned into Bell Street and saw a taxi waiting outside the house, his thoughts were diverted. He gripped Janet’s arm and hustled her along.

  “Who do you think has called?” demanded Janet.

  “A cabby with a good memory, I hope,” said Roger. “Ah, there’s Pep! It’s my man of last night all right.”

  Chapter 9

  AN ADDRESS IN WELBECK STREET

  The cabby was a gruff individual, as Roger remembered from their brief encounter in the black-out. He was also a stolid, solid fellow, who wore a dirty collar and tie but only one overcoat; he was standing with Pep Morgan and Mark in the lounge and glared at Roger as he entered with Janet, but he managed to smile when he saw Janet, and touched his forehead. He even removed his cap, which had been at the back of his head.

  “Nar p’raps you can tell me wot it’s all erbaht?” he said, eyeing Roger aggressively. “I dunno wot you think I am. Got to be earning me living, I ‘ave, not like some people.” He sniffed; his nose was red and he spoke thickly, obviously wrestling with an incipient cold. “Wot’s it all erbaht, Mister?”

  “Do you remember taking me to Scotland Yard last night?” Roger asked, taking out his wallet and extracting two pound notes. The cabby stared at them, sniffed again, then answered in a more conciliatory tone.

  “That’s right, Guv’nor, I remember it clearly.”

  “And you let another man share the cab?”

  “Nar listen, I don’t ‘ave to tell yer what you already know, Guv’nor, do I, even if you are a dick?”

  “I’m talking as a private citizen,” Roger said; at all costs he must not let it be put around that he was making capital of his Yard position. “How far did the other man go?”

  “West End,” said the cabby, “not so far.”

  “Do you remember where you dropped him?”

  “Yerse – end o’ Welbeck Street.”

  “Which end?” asked Roger.

  “Piccadilly,” said the cabby.

  “He didn’t say where he was going?”

  “No,” said the cabby, “he just said the end o’ Welbeck Street would be all right for ‘im, that’s all. Only ‘e went dahn the street, I know that, ‘cos I saw him disappear into a ‘ouse. I wanted to lay orf for an hour so I follered ‘im along to the nearest rank. Yerse, I see him going into one o’ the houses, mister, I can tell you that.”

  Roger felt hopeful.

  “Was it far along?”

  “I don’t e’sackly know,” said the other, frowning, “but it wasn’t so far, Guv’nor, although I couldn’t say for certain which one it was. Tell yer what,” he added, his eyes on the two pounds, “there was a n’island in the middle of the road just erbaht where he turned into the ‘ouse. I know that place like the palm o’ me ‘and. It might ‘ave been the second island or the first but it was a n’island. That suit, Guv’nor?”

  “It’s a great help,” said Roger, warmly. “Are you busy?”

  “I ain’t got much petrol,” the man said, defensively.

  “I don’t want to go far,” said Roger. “Pep, will you come with me?”

  “Why, of course,” said Morgan.

  “But—” began Janet.

  “Mark will look after the house,” said Roger, very cheerfully, “and he’ll keep an eye on you. I won’t be long!” He seemed to be in high fettle as he stepped into the hall to get his hat, and ignored Janet’s protests and Mark’s questioning gaze. He was followed by the cabby and Pep, whose shoes twinkled and whose face shone although his forehead was wrinkled in perplexity. Roger waved to Janet and Mark, who were standing on the porch, as the cab moved off, and he lit a cigarette after Morgan had refused one.

  “Now what’s got into you, Handsome?” demanded Morgan, resignedly. “That’s the tr
ouble 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 that slab-faced Abbott, and after the way he talked to me last night I won’t ever have a good word to say for him. Sarcastic swine, that’s what he is. But I didn’t give anything away and you put me all right your end, Mr. Lessing says.”

  “Yes, they know you’re working for me,” Roger said.

  In King’s Road the cabby opened the glass partition and asked sarcastically if the gentleman would mind telling him where to go. He contrived to look over his shoulder without turning his body, gazing pointedly at Roger’s hand. Roger glanced down and found himself still clutching the two pound notes. He laughed.

  “Welbeck Street, didn’t I tell you? Oh, and thanks!” He pushed the notes through the partition, the cabby took them and grunted his thanks, then closed the window. Roger sat back and smiled at Pep. “Have you heard what happened to Mark this morning?”

  “Just a bit,” 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 doan mind waiting,” said the cabby, gruffly.

  “Would you mind telling me what you think you can do at a house where this customer might have come?” demanded Morgan, aggrievedly. “I can’t help you if I’m in the dark all the time. Handsome, can I?”