An Apostle of Gloom Read online

  “Forget it,” said Roger. “Oh, there’s one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you detain me?”

  Abbott shrugged. “We wanted to give you plenty of rope.”

  Roger said: “And you’ve no idea who I was supposed to be sheltering?”

  “None,” said Abbott, “none at all. I hoped we could get information from Leech.” They were walking down the steps of the Yard, then, towards the Embankment; the moon was shimmering on the sluggish Thames and the dark silhouettes of barges were moving down river. One hooted mournfully. A car horn sounded not far away and a tram clattered along the Embankment a ghostly thing with its faint lights. “You have no idea where to find Malone, I suppose?”

  “No,” said Roger, “I wish I had! Well, I’ll get a taxi.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” said Abbott.

  “Not home – Buckingham Palace Gate,” Roger said, and then stopped abruptly, remembering Lois; he had quite forgotten her while he had been with Chatworth. His mind was too clouded, he should not have tried to think, it only gave him a headache and depressed him. He went on: “There’s one other thing you should know, Abbott. I’ve got the girl who helped Pickerell.” Hastily, he went on: “Oh, I haven’t kidnapped her, she’s willing enough to take help from me, but she won’t make any statement. Pickerell was blackmailing her, of course. I think it would be a mistake to interview her officially.”

  Abbott did not answer immediately.

  “A serious mistake,” Roger emphasised. “She might be able to give us a line if she’s treated well, but I believe she’s so frightened of the police, as police, that she would stay dumb.”

  Abbott gave a thin laugh; with a shock, Roger realised that he had never heard the Superintendent laugh before.

  “We owe you some licence,” Abbott said.

  He did not even ask where Lois Randall was staying. Nor did he get out of the car outside the hotel, but wished Roger good night and then drove off, after promising to send two men to help guard the hotel, thus showing his keenness. Roger watched the rear light fade into the grey pallor cast by the moon, then stepped towards the front door. One of Morgan’s men said: “Good night, Mr. West.” There was no night porter and he had no key, but Legge, a rotund, jolly individual, came to the door promptly. After he drew back bolts there was a noise of chains being moved – Legge was taking no chances.

  Roger felt a momentary twinge of alarm.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked abruptly.

  “Why, yes, Mr. West,” said Legge. “Why shouldn’t it be? I believe your wife is in the upstairs lounge.” The dim light in the hall revealed his wide smile.

  “Roger!” called Janet. “Is it you?” She came to the head of the stairs and then raced down them. “It is!” She ran into his arms and he felt as choky as when he had left her at Lois’s flat, had a resurgence of the feeling that she was more on edge than she was wont to be. “Darling, I get the darnedest ideas these days, I’m as touchy as—” she broke off, for he winced when she kissed him. “Roger, what is it?”

  “I—er—I banged into a door,” mumbled Roger.

  “A door? I don’t believe it!”

  When she saw his face she refused to allow him to talk, although Mark and young Tennant, also in the lounge – Lois had gone to bed – were obviously disappointed. Roger said enough to make them understand that he had had another encounter with Malone.

  Nothing was clear to him. He did not even realise that Janet sent a lugubrious Mark to an all-night chemist near Victoria Station for some zinc ointment to put on his lips. He undressed and his limbs felt like lead, his head throbbed abominably. He was soothed by Janet, as she helped him, but half asleep when the salve was rubbed in. Janet’s face was outlined against the electric light, which she had covered with a handkerchief to save his eyes from glare. It made her hair look radiant and her face very soft and lovely. He smiled a little wearily, told her that there was no need to worry about the Yard, forgetful that she already knew, and then dropped off into a heavy slumber.

  He did not know that Janet, deciding that he must have had a sedative to have made him so sleepy, stayed awake to watch until the early hours, when Mark replaced her. He did not know that outside, Pep Morgan’s two men kept a ceaseless vigil together with two whom Abbott had sent along. He slept the sleep of physical exhaustion which was a reaction after the strain of the past few days.

  When he woke up it was nearly ten o’clock.

  Janet, in a dressing-gown, came in from the bathroom and the opening door disturbed him. He opened one eye – the other would not open. He heard her exclaim. He tried to speak but his lips were far too swollen. Only after he had managed to swallow a cup of luke-warm tea and eat some porridge did he feel better in himself.

  He had to admit that he would not be much good that day.

  After twelve o’clock, when he had bathed – he did not shave – Janet took him to a chemist where he was given a lotion to reduce the swelling at his eye, which was badly discoloured, and his lips. Abbott telephoned to tell him not to come in and he felt glad that they were not waiting for him, eager though he was to find out what was being done. Later, he sent the two five-pound notes from the £1,000 which Morgan had found in his bedroom to the Yard, with a note asking for them to be traced back; he might learn something from them.

  He kept going over the case of the man Cox, who had murdered his wife and buried her beneath the floorboards of the kitchen.

  He persuaded Janet to let him send for the complete file of the case and spent the afternoon brooding over it. It was sordid, unpleasant and unremarkable. The motive had been greed – the man’s wife had been on bad terms with her husband and had hoarded several hundred pounds in the house. Relatives had first suspected that something had happened to her, and the case had followed its usual course – once suspicions were aroused, and the body found, it had been a mere matter of routine. There seemed no possible mistake, certainly nothing which had not been disclosed during the course of the investigation.

  Mark Lessing and Tennant went out during the afternoon but only because they were too restless to stay indoors. Lois stayed in; during tea, she seemed unable to remove her gaze from his battered face. Janet was remarkably good with her, Roger decided, and as his gaze rested on Janet he smiled, although it still hurt. Lois returned to her own room. She seemed content to stay in hiding, but remained quite adamant.

  Mark and Tennant returned.

  Abbott, showing a solicitude quite out of character as Roger knew the man, telephoned to say that there was no trace of Malone, who had left his regular home in Stepney, nor of his men, nor of Pickerell. There was nothing to report from the office of the Society except – Abbott seemed ill at ease when he admitted this – that the offices had not been guarded all the time after the fire and there was evidence that Malone had visited the place and discovered the dictaphone. The over-eagerness of Cornish doubtless explained the lapse, for the office should have been watched. It was reasonably obvious that Roger had been seen to go to Mrs. Cartier’s flat, and that Malone or Pickerell had guessed that she had installed the dictaphone.

  Apart from that, there was nothing.

  In spite of the lazy day, Roger was glad enough to get to bed just after eleven o’clock. His face was much better and Janet said, optimistically, that the scars would be much less noticeable in the morning.

  To their mutual surprise she was right. The lotion had performed miracles and his lips had healed, although he found it difficult, in the course of another day, to eat or drink anything hot.

  He went round to the Yard and saw Chatworth and Abbott, as well as an enthusiastic Cornish – his eagerness unaffected by the slip at the Society’s office – and an ‘I-told-you-so-Handsome’ Eddie Day, as well as a number of sheepish individuals who took the opportunity to say that
they had been sure it would all prove a mistake. Chatworth gave him chapter and verse of the ‘case’ against him. Based on the payments into the Mid-Union Bank, it had been given credence by reports that he had been seen to visit Malone (until then known only slightly to the Yard and as a man to be watched by the Division). Joe Leech had given categorical evidence, with apparent reluctance, saying that Malone had boasted that he had West in his pocket. Cornish had assessed Malone as a nuisance, before his transfer from the Division to the Yard, and the Division had continued to make that grievous mistake.

  There was a report about the two five-pound notes, but a disappointing one; their last owner had been Joe Leech, who had often been suspected of handling stolen money.

  On two occasions, in the past months, Roger had gone to the East End on inquiries which had given him an opportunity to see Malone. On both occasions Malone had come out of the house he had visited, after he had gone. Tiny Martin and Abbott had seen that for themselves.

  “Oh, there was a case all right,” Roger said to Janet, Mark and Tennant, on the evening of that second day. “Apparently Joe told Abbott that he had heard that Malone was bringing a packet of money to the Chelsea house and that he was going to put it in the bedroom. Thanks to Winnie Marchant, Pep Morgan had learned of it.” (Pep was progressing well but was gloomy at his enforced inactivity.) “The only established fact is that Leech was bribed to lie about me, and then killed in case Mark forced the truth out of him.”

  “At least I haven’t been wholly ineffectual,” Mark said.

  “So you think that’s certain?” Janet asked. “I mean that Leech was killed because—”

  “Malone was afraid he would crack under Mark’s interrogation,” Roger said. “Malone knew Leech well – so did most people in the East End. We – the Yard – had rarely found him to lie to us, he’d been a reliable squealer, otherwise I doubt whether Chatworth would have acted as he did. But when Leech told a categorical story, it made ‘em sit up and take notice.” That did not appear to rankle.

  “We know one or two other things,” Mark pointed out, sitting back in a winged armchair, with gay loose covers, his austere face set in lines of concentration. Tennant looked at him curiously, not quite sure what to make of Roger’s close friend. “Pickerell is not even in authority over Malone but Malone isn’t running the whole thing. Whoever is, knows him.”

  “How bright!” murmured Janet.

  Mark glanced at her severely.

  “At least I try,” he said, then startled Tennant by beaming at him. “Any ideas, drill instructor?”

  “Er—no, I haven’t any ideas,” confessed Tennant, only to frown when Roger and Janet could not forbear to laugh at his naive admission. “I don’t mean about anything,” he went on confusedly. “I mean as far as this business is concerned – look here, what’s so funny?”

  “Not funny – refreshing,” Janet put in hastily. “It’s a relief to meet a man who doesn’t pretend that he knows everything! I suppose”—she looked very thoughtful—”Lois didn’t say anything that might help on your last leave?”

  “I’ve thought about it until my head’s in a whirl,” said Tennant, “but there was nothing at all. When I discovered how badly she was feeling I had the shock of my life.” He stood up and stepped restlessly across the room. “This doing nothing is getting me down,” he went on, “if I could get at the beggars and put the fear of death into them it wouldn’t be so bad.” But he was troubled as well as impatient. “If only I knew why Lois is so scared! I can’t understand it at all. She’s got no relatives – no close ones, that is – and as far as I know she hasn’t many close friends. Pickerell was blackmailing her, there’s no doubt about that. So she must have—” he broke off, helplessly.

  “A skeleton in the cupboard,” Mark intoned. “Such skeletons often seem a lot worse to their owners than to outsiders. I shouldn’t worry too much about that, if I were you.”

  “That’s all very well,” said Tennant, glumly.

  “How long have you known her?” asked Roger.

  “Oh, more than a year. She was serving at an A.R.P. mobile canteen during one of those little blitzes last winter.” Tennant ran a hand over his curly hair. “She was as happy as could be and she had plenty of guts, too. She told me she was out during nearly all the big blitz nights.”

  “What part of London?” Janet asked; she seemed anxious to get away from the main topic. Perhaps because she believed that if she could persuade Roger to think of something else he might get the rest he needed; she knew that his mind was working at full pressure even though he had spent little time at the Yard. She glanced across at him. His lips were almost normal and the swelling at his eye was much reduced, although it was still brightly coloured.

  “Battersea,” Tennant said, promptly.

  Roger sat up abruptly. “Battersea? Are you sure?”

  “Of course,” said Tennant, “I was stationed near the park, we had some training squads there for a while.”

  “Ease off it,” said Mark, looking at his friend’s set face, “you’ve got Battersea on the brain because you were there on December 13th! Forget it, old man.”

  “Did Lois live in Battersea?” Roger demanded, completely ignoring the advice.

  “At the time, yes,” said Tennant, colouring. “As a matter of fact, I persuaded her to leave her digs – oh, it would be about six months ago now. I don’t like the people she lodged with. He was a pretty nasty customer and he and his wife were always rowing – I think he had an eye for a pretty wench. Anyhow, although Lois said he was always decent to her, I didn’t trust the fellow. Sometimes his wife stayed out all night after a quarrel and I didn’t fancy Lois being in the house alone with him. It’s a district where neighbours don’t worry about what happens in the house next door and – well, the long and short of it was that she moved to the flat at St. John’s Wood,” he added, “and I think she was a lot happier there.” He frowned, for Roger was eyeing him with a peculiar expression. “Well, what have I said wrong now?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” Roger assured him, “nothing at all.” His voice was strained. “Did she lodge at a house in New Street?”

  Tennant gaped. “Why, yes, how did you know?”

  “Was the man’s name Cox – Benny Cox?”

  Tennant gasped: “Yes! West, what do you know about him?”

  Roger spoke very gently, Mark’s eyes were startled, Janet stood up quickly, obviously guessing what was coming.

  “Benny Cox was hanged for the murder of his wife,” said Roger in the same strained voice. “I was at New Street on December 13th, looking round the house. That can’t be just a coincidence!”

  Chapter 18

  ONE MYSTERY SOLVED

  “Yes,” said Lois, “I knew.”

  She stood by the dressing-table of the room which she shared with Janet. She had been sitting reading and had not undressed. Her hair was untidy and she had not made up – she looked pale and in her eyes was the familiar gaunt, distraught look. Her hands were clenched by her sides, the book she had been reading was on the floor by her feet.

  “You mean you knew that Mrs. Cox had been murdered,” Roger said.

  “Yes. I’m not—”

  “Look here,” said Roger, patiently, “I have tried to help you and I’ve given you ample time to think this over, Lois. I’ve used what influence I have at Scotland Yard to make sure that you weren’t officially questioned but I always worked on the assumption that there was a strictly personal reason why Pickerell and Malone were able to force you to work for them. It begins to look as if that’s not so.”

  “I didn’t say it was,” said Lois, tonelessly.

  In the other room, probably close to the door, were Mark and Tennant. Sitting at the foot of the bed was Janet, who had come to give Roger moral support in the hope that Lois would be more disposed to tal
k in the presence of another woman.

  As he looked at the girl, Roger wondered whether he would not have been wiser to have left this to Mark; probably she was more frightened of him because he was a policeman. The damage was done now, however. He had acted too hurriedly under the stress of the startling discovery, made so casually through Tennant.

  “What Roger means,” Janet said, “is that since he knows this he can’t keep the other police off much longer, so you’d be much wiser to tell him what’s worrying you. He’ll help you, you know, and the police aren’t ogres. They’ll take into account the fact that you’ve had such a bad time.”

  “It—it doesn’t matter,” Lois said.

  “I don’t want to have to send for someone else,” Roger told her, “and if you’ll tell me the whole truth I’ll do everything I can to make sure that they don’t know it. Only if it has a direct bearing on what is happening now will I have to disclose anything – and even then I need not divulge the source of my information. Lois”—his voice was low and friendly—”I really shouldn’t make such an offer, you know, but I’ll keep my word if you’ll tell me what you know.”

  She said: “You won’t. You’re like all policemen, as soon as I’ve told you, you’ll—” she stopped, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.

  “You think I’ll charge you,” Roger said. “I won’t. I’ll give you this firm undertaking – if what you tell me means that you should be charged and arrested, I’ll tell Mark Lessing and leave it to him to get you away from here to a place of safety – and, officially, I won’t know where you are.”

  The girl’s eyes were clouded as she looked at him but Roger thought there was a glimmer of expression in them, as if hope were being reborn.