Inspector West Regrets Read online

  ‘Handsome West in the doldrums,’ said Mark. ‘I wonder why there was an earnest desire, at one time, to kill you?’

  ‘I probably imagined it,’ said Roger. ‘Alexander might have been playing on my nerves, to get me in the right frame of mind for delivering up Griselda.’

  ‘Now that’s nonsense,’ said Mark. ‘Newman was waiting to kill you at the Ealing house. By the way, what about that friend of Griselda’s, and the possibly vengeful husband? Have you been to see her?’

  ‘If he was so anxious to kill you,’ Janet said, practically, ‘why did he let you go?’

  ‘That’s the crux of the question,’ said Roger. ‘There must be an answer to it, but it’s just as puzzling as why he let Griselda go. The fact that he has drugged and put her to sleep for what might be two or three days makes one thing evident,’ he added. ‘He wants a short time to complete his preparations.’ He stubbed out his cigarette, and pushed his chair back. ‘We’ll get the beggar!’ he added, and looked more cheerful than he had done during the meal.

  ‘I suppose there’s nothing I can do,’ said Mark.

  ‘I don’t see that there is, at the moment,’ said Roger. ‘If there’s anything at all, I’ll telephone you.’

  ‘I suppose,’ repeated Mark, with apparent innocence, ‘the use of a car wouldn’t persuade you to let me drive you about?’

  ‘Come on!’ said Roger, laughing.

  Mark got it out of the garage, and soon they were driving towards Scotland Yard. The same problems faced Roger, the same thoughts kept passing through his mind, and all the time the one urgent problem was to catch Alexander. He had rarely felt so utterly at a loss.

  Coming out of the Yard was the police-surgeon, with a black brief-case swinging in his hand as he hurried down the steps. He pulled up when he saw Roger.

  ‘West, I’ve just seen Sloan.’

  ‘How is he?’ asked Roger, quickly.

  ‘Out of danger,’ said the doctor, and went on his way.

  The news cheered Roger up a little, and before he reached his office there was another item, more significant, although unlikely to yield immediate results. The Packard had been found abandoned in a wood near Guildford.

  ‘It looks as if they were heading for London,’ said Roger, as he and Mark walked towards his office. ‘It’ll be an hour or two before we get any more information about that, though.’

  In the office Eddie Day was sitting at his desk, and spoke as soon as Roger opened the door.

  ‘I say, Handsome, Parky wants to see you, he says it’s urgent. Why, if it isn’t Mr Lessing. How are you Mr Lessing?’ Eddie shuffled to his feet and advanced to shake hands, and then detained Mark in trivial conversation while Roger went upstairs to the fingerprint office.

  It was a poky little place, with one wall filled with a large window to get the best light. A small bench was crowded with oddments, many of them covered with a greyish-white dust on which the marks of fingerprints showed up clearly. Inspector Parker, the Yard’s fingerprint expert, looked up and grinned.

  ‘I thought that would fetch you,’ he said, ‘I told Eddie Day that I would have his blood if he didn’t tell you the moment you came in. I think I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘I need it badly enough,’ said Roger, ruefully.

  ‘Come along with me,’ said Parker. He led the way to another, much larger office, where the walls were fitted with shelves on which reposed hundreds of thousands of fingerprints, carefully filed away. Roger had never really got used to the amazing system by which it was possible for Parker and his numerous helpers to find particular fingerprints at a few minutes’ notice.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Parker. ‘There was a set of prints at Kelham’s flat which I couldn’t identify at first, and then I had a brainwave and looked through the letters.’ He picked up a foolscap sheet, on which were marked the prints of thumb and four fingers of both hands; all of them were small, and Roger thought they were a woman’s. ‘There weren’t many at Kelham’s flat,’ said Parker, ‘but we got one good set, you see. Now—look at that.’

  He opened a cardboard file of papers, marked at a foolscap sheet, and Roger saw an identical set of prints. The loops and whorls were well defined, and he knew there was not the slightest doubt that they belonged to the same person.

  ‘Mrs Millicent Garner,’ said Parker, with a broad smile, ‘who went down for three years for running a brothel and some other nasty business a few years back. Ever seen her before?’ he added, and from the file he slipped a large head-and-shoulder photograph.

  Roger gasped: ‘Great Scott! The matron of the hostel!’

  ‘Now known as Agatha Barton,’ said Parker, with great satisfaction. ‘I knew it was the same woman when I saw one of the photographs you brought back from that hostel, Handsome. Not bad, eh?’

  ‘Not bad!’ exclaimed Roger. ‘It’s a miracle!’ He stood staring at Parker’s florid face, his mind working at lightning speed. ‘So the hostel’s matron visited Kelham’s flat, she’s in this business. What a complete fool I’ve been! When the false message was telephoned to the cinema, it was from somewhere with a private telephone exchange, yet when I saw one at the hostel I didn’t give it a second thought! Parky, I’m in your debt for life!’

  ‘I’ll remind you of that,’ said Parker, as Roger hurried out and went to his own office.

  Mark and Eddie Day stared when he rushed to the telephone and banged the receiver up and down, then asked for Chatworth. A moment later he said: ‘West here, sir. I’d like authority to raid the hostel in Buckingham Palace Gate in some strength—may I go ahead? The woman Barton is known to have been at Kelham’s flat, probably on the day of the murder … Yes, I’ll see to it, sir, thanks!’ He rang off, and looked jubilantly at Mark. ‘Now we’re moving! Eddie, be a hero and ask Abbot to arrange for eight men, will you, I’ve got another call to make.’

  ‘That’s all very well—’ began Eddie, and then he sighed and lifted the receiver, for Roger was already asking for Kelham’s flat. Gardener answered him, as bright as ever, and in a few seconds he was speaking to Andrew Kelham.

  He said: ‘It’s West here. Kelham, do you own the hostel where Griselda Fayne lived?’

  ‘No,’ said Kelham. ‘But my half-brother owns several houses along there.’

  ‘Do you know the woman who runs it?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Kelham. ‘Just a moment, West.’ He was silent for some seconds, and then went on: ‘I’ve been trying to think where I could find out exactly what property Alexander owns there, but I’m not really sure. You’ll find it in the Bellews’ records, I think, they sold it to him.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Roger, and asked: ‘Let me have a word with my man, will you? Thanks … Gardener, listen to me. Don’t allow Mr Kelham to use the telephone, nor to go out, but report immediately to me here if he tries to do one or the other.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said Gardener, cautiously. ‘That will be all right, sir, I’m not a bit tired.’

  Roger grinned at the elaborate way in which the man prevented Kelham from guessing the topic of conversation. He rang off and hurried to the door, telling Mark that he would be back in a quarter of an hour. He hurried along the passages and down the steps, and, to the astonishment of the policemen on duty, he ran across the courtyard, out of the gates, and into Cannon Row. He called out to the sergeant on duty, say: ‘I want to see Bellew, at once.’

  ‘Okay, sir.’ The man swung his keys and began to walk leisurely along the cells.

  ‘Hurry!’ cried Roger, and the sergeant broke into a trot.

  Guy Bellew was huddled up on a hard wooden chair. He looked up when the key grated in the lock, but did not try to get to his feet. He looked so utterly dejected that, in spite of his own elation, Roger felt sorry for him.

  ‘Bellew, this might make a lot of difference to your future. Tell me at once what property Alexander owns in Buckingham Palace Gate. I know he owns the hostel, at 21b. What others are there?’

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p; Bellew made no effort to be evasive.

  ‘He owns three, with the hostel in the middle,’ he said. ‘We sold them to him years ago.’

  ‘No others?’ asked Roger.

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ said Bellew. ‘What do you mean, it might make a lot of difference, Inspector?’

  ‘It means that I’ll do all I can for you,’ said Roger. ‘All right, sergeant, that’s all.’

  He turned and hurried out of the police station. As he turned into the Yard gates, he saw two police cars outside the front entrance, and men were already getting into them. Mark was standing by his Lancia.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked, eagerly.

  ‘All ready,’ said Roger. ‘Come on.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A Raid in Force

  ‘I don’t like being a Jonah,’ said Mark Lessing, ‘but you seem to be taking it for granted that you’ll find Alexander at the hostel. It’s not really likely that he got into London again, and even if he did he’ll know that that place is likely to be suspect.’

  ‘Not he,’ said Roger, confidently. ‘Why should it be? He even tied up Agatha Barton, and used Ethel Downy to make it look as if he had no influence at the place. That’s the reason for his confidence, and his one big mistake. We’ll find him there.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Mark.

  Roger grinned, and yet the cautious attitude made him thoughtful. It was the last place where he would have thought of looking but for Parker’s perspicacity, and he thought that Alexander would feel quite secure there. Yet it was obviously possible that the man was somewhere in the country. Even if he were, however, the matron would probably know something about his movements.

  He sent one car, with four men, to the back of the house where they were reinforced by the man on duty there, and left the other four outside, with strict instructions to watch the adjoining houses, also reinforced by the man on duty. Then he and Mark approached the front door of the hostel and knocked loudly.

  The maid whom he had seen before opened the door.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said.

  ‘Hallo,’ said Roger. ‘Is Mrs Barton in?’

  ‘Miss Barton, sir.’ said the girl. ‘Yes, she’s in her office. I’ll tell her—’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Roger. ‘Go along to the kitchen, and tell the cook that you’ve both got to be out of the house within two minutes. Don’t worry about clothes, just get out. You’ll see some men at the back, and they’ll look after you. Hurry, now!’

  The girl gasped; but she turned and hurried to the kitchen while Roger walked along the passage to the office door. It opened as he reached it, and ‘Miss Barton’ stood on the threshold, staring at him unpleasantly.

  ‘Really!’ she said. ‘You might at least have the courtesy to send word that—’

  ‘Not again, Mrs Garner,’ said Roger, ‘the time for politeness is past.’

  She backed away from him, her hands clenched at her breast and her face ashen. She tried to speak, but although her lips quivered, she could not utter a word, and she knocked against her desk and fell.

  ‘Where is Alexander?’ demanded Roger.

  She licked her lips, and croaked: ‘Who—who do you mean?’

  ‘Alexander is the fat man for whom you work,’ said Roger. ‘Did he also use a different name? Where is he?’

  She gasped: ‘I—I don’t know what you mean. I—’

  ‘Start thinking very hard,’ said Roger.

  Then he saw that her hand was groping behind her for the telephone switchboard. He let her grope, speaking all the time, until she touched a switch – and then he pounced, and dragged her away; the switch was not touched. Mark stepped forward swiftly, and took her other arm.

  ‘So you’d try to warn him, would you?’ said Roger. ‘Listen to me, Garner. I intend to know where Alexander is within the next five minutes. You may have a chance to turn Queen’s Evidence, but you’ll lose that chance if you’re obstinate now.’

  ‘I—I don’t know anything! You’ve made a dreadful mistake, a dreadful mistake!’ Her voice was high-pitched, and she was gasping for breath. ‘I don’t know any Alexander. I tell you I don’t know—’

  Roger snapped: ‘You were at Kelham’s flat on the night his son was murdered. I have evidence that you fired the bullet which killed him. Alexander gave me the evidence.’

  She cried: ‘That’s a lie!’

  ‘Lie or not, I’ve a warrant for your arrest,’ said Roger, making a play of taking a paper out of his pocket. ‘He wasn’t so loyal to you, you see.’ He drew out the warrant for the search of the hostel. ‘Millicent Garner, alias Agatha Barton, I—’

  ‘He’s in the cellar!’ she cried. ‘It runs under three houses!’

  Then, suddenly, she groaned and fell forward in a dead faint.

  Roger said: ‘Not bad, Mark. Stay here a moment, will you?’ He went to the front door and beckoned his men. ‘Three of you come with me,’ he said. ‘Two of you watch all three doors, and if anyone tries to get out and won’t stop, shoot to wound.’ To one of the men who came in with him, he said: ‘Go and give the same instructions to the men at the back. Three of them are to come back with you.’

  ‘Right, sir!’

  ‘Now for the cellar door,’ said Roger.

  ‘Don’t take it too carelessly,’ warned Mark, ‘he might be able to overhear anything said up here.’

  ‘I know,’ said Roger. He walked along the passage to the kitchen, and stopped by a door beneath the stairs. It was locked. He began to pick it, but even when the lock was clicked back – as his men arrived and crowded in the passage – the door would not open.

  ‘Bolted,’ said Roger. ‘Two strong men—forward!’

  All the men laughed and moved forward in a body.

  ‘Two, I said,’ said Roger. ‘Parrish, you and Fraser can do it, and don’t forget we want it down in a hurry.’

  The two most powerful men of the party launched themselves against the door. The thought passed through Roger’s mind that they might find it impossible to break down, for Alexander might have reinforced it with steel; it might even be electrically controlled. He went so far as to wonder gloomily whether he should have brought a man with an oxy-acetylene burner along; but then the two stalwarts put their weight against the door, and on the third lunge the holts on the door gave way, and they were precipitated through the entrance. There was a small landing immediately in front of them, and they came up against it.

  ‘All right,’ said Roger. ‘Mark, stay here!’

  He pushed forward, but Mark, disobeying him, was the next to start down the stairs. Roger went with his gun at the ready. One of the men at the top had switched on a light, which filled the staircase and the little square lobby below with a bright glare. Their footsteps were muffled on thick carpet, and the floor of the lobby was similarly covered.

  Ahead of them was another closed door.

  ‘Strong men forward again,’ called Roger softly.

  He was pressing himself against the wall to let the others pass when the door opened from the inside. He saw it in time, and covered the opening with his automatic. He caught a glimpse of Alexander’s face – and then the door was slammed again.

  Before the bolts could be pushed home the two hefties had launched themselves against it. They went through at the first attempt, and Roger pushed past them into another lighted room, where Alexander was squeezing through another doorway. He was facing them, and he held a gun.

  Roger and Alexander fired at the same moment, but the fat man’s bullet went wide, and Roger scored a hit on his forearm. Alexander winced, and tried to squeeze through the doorway, but it was not wide enough, and he was jammed so tightly that Roger was able to catch up with him and grip his sound arm. He pulled the man forward savagely. Alexander lurched towards him, holding up his injured arm, and gasping for breath.

  ‘Watch for others!’ Roger snapped.

  Mark and three men hurried through the doorway, while Roger and Al
exander stood facing each other. Elation surged through Roger. In the fat man’s eyes there was still a hint of bewilderment, as if this were the last thing he had expected, and that even now he could hardly believe that it had happened. Roger waited, feeling a sense of anti-climax. Now that it was over and he had his men, he realised what a shambles it might have been if Alexander had prepared to defend himself to the last; one submachine gun or automatic rifle would have caused terrible execution.

  ‘Well,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘That’s put paid to your account, Alexander. I want you for murder.’

  Alexander opened his little mouth, and in a piping voice he said: ‘I did not kill young Kelham!’

  ‘I think you did,’ said Roger, ‘and I know you killed Mortimer Bellew.’

  Alexander squeaked: ‘He—he tried to get out of the car, he fell out—’

  ‘And after killing himself, hid in a ditch,’ said Roger sarcastically. ‘There isn’t any hope for you. You’re through.’

  Alexander said: ‘West, West, listen to me. I gave you a chance! I was going to write to you to tell you my half-brother killed young Kelham, and what other devilry he’s up to. You don’t know what a mistake you’re making. I’ve only tried to prevent him from doing his devilish work, that’s all! I’ll tell you everything, everything, if you’ll give me a chance, the same as I gave you. And I let Griselda Fayne come back, I didn’t hurt her, she’ll be all right in a day or two—’

  ‘Kelham has told me everything,’ said Roger, ‘and I don’t propose to treat you lightly.’

  ‘He’s a congenital liar! Give me a chance, West, just one chance. I—I couldn’t help it, I had to do it. I tell you that you want Andrew, not me. He’s really arranged it all! West’ – he stretched out his sound arm, beseechingly. ‘Don’t be hard, West. I beg you not to be hard. I have been inspired by the highest motives, I beg you to believe that. Have I done you any harm? Have I ever done more than frighten you? Have I—’

  ‘You’re wasting time,’ said Roger. ‘And Newman did more than frighten me.’