“He’s dead,” said Malone. “There isn’t much I don’t know about Leech, and I’ll sell what you want to know — at a price. Just ask for Masher Malone.” He walked across the room and went out, without glancing behind him, as a stentorian voice bellowed up the stairs :
“Leech ! You up there, Leech?”
Clay, who was nearer the door, called stiffly :
“He’s been shot.”
“Cripes !” exclaimed the man with the stentorian voice and he hurried up the stairs. Mark was not surprised to see his uniform as he entered. “So Joe’s got it,” the man said and looked curiously at Mark, as out of place there as a peacock in a poultry run. “Malone, don’t you go,” he called.
“I should worry,” came Malone’s voice.
“How’d it happen?” the policeman asked, taking it so calmly that Mark knew he was not even mildly surprised. “Was it Malone?”
“Malone was in here when the shot came from the door,” Mark said. “He didn’t fire it.”
“And doesn’t know who did fire it, copper,” Malone said from the door. “I came to ask Leech some questions but before the louse could answer someone who didn’t like him got busy.”
More policemen arrived and statements were taken. While Mark was making his, an ambulance and two police cars drew up, finger-print and cameramen invaded the ‘Saucy Sue’.
It was an hour before Mark was given permission to leave. None of the Divisional men recognised him or his name, to his satisfaction, for he did not want this affair linked with Roger West yet. He was glad, too, that the situation was taken out of his hands.
Clay spoke slowly when questioned. Several times he looked towards the dead body of his master. Mark wondered what queer twist of loyalty had bound Clay to the bookmaker. Mark asked no questions and kept himself in the background; consequently he knew nothing of the extensive inquiries, although when he reached the bar, he saw three plainclothes sergeants talking to three members of the pub’s staff, recently come on duty.
The broken glass had been swept to either side of the bar so as to make a path. The floor was swimming in beer and spirits and the stench was overpowering to Mark’s fastidious nose. The shelves were wrecked but one empty bottle stood untouched near the end of the bar — it seemed to be the only whole one left. The beer-taps had been opened and kept open, otherwise so much beer could not have escaped. Mark hurried across the room, crunching glass underfoot. Rose Street, that morning, was a place of fresh air and beauty compared with the interior of the inn.
An excited crowd had gathered and half a dozen policemen kept the gangway clear. At the front of the crowd was the old man, still in shirt and trousers and worn boots, chattering to himself. Mark looked at him narrowly, decided that it was not the time to ask him questions, and stalked off. Loud hoots of derision followed him.
He did not go to the river but towards Mile End Road and, near Aldgate Station, he found a taxi. He went straight to Chelsea and when the cab drew up outside the Wests’ house he saw Roger at the window. Roger came hurrying along the path as Mark paid off his cab.
Mark turned and then missed a step, he was so startled by the expression on Roger’s face.
“What—” he began.
“Have you seen Janet?” Roger demanded. His eyes were hard and glittering.
“No,” Mark said, and sharp alarm cut through him.
Roger drew a deep breath. “I hoped she’d decided to come and give you a hand,” he said. “She should have been here about twelve. It’s half-past one now and there’s no sign of her.”
“Have you done anything?” Mark asked as they reached the front room.
“I’ve told Pep and phoned Cornish,” Roger said. “Janet left Cornish at half-past eleven and as far as he knew she was coming straight back here. Mark, last night you suggested that they might be trying to get at Janet as well as me. What made you think so? Was it anything more than the fact that she was supposed to have made those payments?”
“It was a passing idea, that’s all. Confound it, nothing could have happened to Janet!”
“Couldn’t it?” growled Roger.
“She’ll turn up. She’s probably had a brainwave and gone to try to solve the mystery herself ! It’s not two hours yet, old man, you’re worrying yourself over nothing. Did Pep have anything else to say ?”
Roger pursed his lips and stared, his eyes filled with shadows. The ticking of the mantelpiece clock seemed loud, the sound of people passing in the street was very noticeable. They did not speak for fully three minutes; then Roger moved, snapping his fingers.
“What did you say?”
“Did Pep tell you anything new ?”
“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.
“You smell as if you’ve been swimming in it!” Roger declared, and then : “What about Leech?”
Mark in turn looked so grim that Roger broke off. He had to wait for what seemed a long time before the other, speaking quietly, told him what had happened to Joe, and the smashing up of 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 admitted. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard of him,” said Roger. “He leads a gang but he’s never been inside. Racecourse stuff and probably some fencing. I didn’t know he was big.”
“If he isn’t, he will be,” Mark said. “He might be big- headed but he’s also got guts.”
“It’s Corny’s old Division, he’ll know what there is to know about Malone,” Roger said.
“Can’t you pull him in for today’s trouble? Malone sent his gang on to wreck the pub beyond doubt.”
“I’ll bet you the actual wreckers weren’t caught, and no one will identify them — the locals will be too scared of the Masher. He undoubtedly 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 would probably admit that the gang got out of hand and smashed up the place but” — Roger was frowning and moving 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?”-
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?”
“Would the court accept that argument?”
“Not if we could prove anything else against Malone, but I think he’ll have made sure we can’t. What did you actually see him do?”
“Unbolt the door and strike Leech,” Mark said.
“It’s hardly a crime to strike someone who’s threatening to shoot you,” Roger said.
“Surely the Division will hold him for questioning.”
“Oh, yes, but with a good lawyer he’ll get off even if he is taken as far as the court, but I doubt whether it will be allowed to go so far. If the Division arrests and charges him and he gets off, it would be more difficult to get him on a similar charge afterwards. Even the biggest rogue can claim that he’s being persecuted and get a lot of public and judiciary sympathy!” He laughed, rather acidly. “Never become a policeman, Mark!”
After a pause, Mark asked quietly :
“Is that as far as you’ll go?”
“Except for questions.” Roger was brisk. “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 mob is rare.”
“It surely can’t have had anything to do with me.”
“I think it almost certainly had. You probably saw no one on the way 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 know 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. But how the dickens could he have known of me?”
“Mind not working well this morning?” Roger asked. “If Malone was connected with the attempt to frame me he would know that you’ve often lent me a hand.”
Mark stared. “I can’t believe—”
The telephone rang. Roger started, and stepped swiftly forward. “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.
“Thank God you’re all right,” 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. “I’ve never been so scared. I’m at Chertsey.”
“Chertsey!”
“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.” Janet spoke breathlessly.
Roger’s smile faded and his lips set in a grim line. “They told me to obey them 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, made me get in, and they climbed in after me. Then — Roger, they just didn’t speak! It was awful. Whenever I started to speak they told me to be quiet.”
“Go on,” 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 then ?” Roger asked.
“Nothing!” exclaimed Janet.
“Nothing at all ?” Roger sounded incredulous.
“Absolutely nothing. 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 drove off! I walked along the river and came to this kiosk.”
“Well, thank God it’s no worse,” Roger said. “Get to Staines and come to Waterloo. I’ll meet you there. I’ll find the times of trains.” He turned to a writing cabinet but Mark was already at it, taking out a time-table. 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 Mark.
“Warning Number 1, or 2, or 3, choose which you like!”
“Warning?” ejaculated Mark.
“They’ve demonstrated that they can 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 could hardly wait. When the train came in and Janet was not among the first passengers, he peered along the platform anxiously, trying to distinguish her tall figure. He was about to push through the barrier when he caught sight of her, quite outstanding amongst the motley crowd.
They gripped hands and Roger pulled her towards him and kissed her.
“I’ve never known a journey take so long,” Janet said.
“You are all right?” Roger demanded.
“Bruised only in spirit,” Janet said, and laughed with relief. “What on earth did they do it for? To show what they can do if they make up their minds?”
“Probably,” 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!”
“No, don’t fuss me !” Janet said, sharply for her.
He walked quietly by her side, thinking that the experience had affected her more than he would have expected. Soon, she tucked her arm into his.
“Sorry,” she said, “I feel so jumpy.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Roger asked.
They said little as he drove home, except that Janet did her best to describe the two men who had forced her into the taxi.
As they turned into Bell Street they saw a taxi waiting outside the house. Roger’s 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 stolid and solid. He wore a dirty collar and tie but only one overcoat; he was 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.
“Now p’raps you can tell me what it’s all about?” he said, eyeing Roger aggressively. “I dunno wot you think I am. Got to be earning me living, I have, not like some people.” He sniffed.
“Do you remember taking me to Scotland Yard last night?” Roger asked, taking out his wallet and extracting two pound notes. The cabby sniffed again, and answered more affably :
“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.”
