The Doorway to Death Read online

  The lawn-mower stopped.

  Sybil heard her father cry out, as if in pain, and saw him strike wildly at the man from the bushes. Then he grappled with the man. They were swaying when the detective from the road came rushing up, and the man who had attacked her father turned and ran.

  He came straight at her.

  She could see the way his lips were parted and his teeth glinted. She saw his sallow face and shimmering eyes. She saw the knife in his hand, although it no longer glinted; it was dark red. She did not think that there was a chance to avoid him. The running detective had collided with her father, but she didn’t see that; she stayed as if hypnotised in front of the man with the knife.

  From behind her, her mother screamed: “Sybil!”

  The shriek must have distracted the man; he missed a step and wavered. Sybil flung herself to one side as he recovered and came on. She did not see him leap into the shrubbery at one side of the house, or climb the wall into a neighbour’s garden. She only knew that he had gone, that her mother was rushing up, that her father lay on the ground, that neighbours were hurrying towards him, and that the big detective was racing in the direction of the escaping man.

  Roger reached Laurel Avenue less than twenty minutes after the incident. He had picked up a general report on the car radio, but did not know how Henry was, or whether Sybil had been hurt. He saw a big white ambulance outside the house, with the inevitable crowd being kept on the move by the inevitable policeman in blue. The driver pulled up twenty yards away from the people on the fringe, and he and Sloan jumped out of the back. They saw Henry on a stretcher, being pushed into the ambulance.

  “Face not covered, so he’s alive,” Sloan observed.

  “Can’t all go wrong,” Roger said. “I’ll give ten to one Sydney came out here to cut Henry’s throat, too.” He climbed a wooden fence in the next-door garden, so that he could get to Sybil and her mother, who were standing with friends by the gate. Detective Sergeant Ibbetson was near them with a Divisional man.

  Ibbetson spotted Roger in the gloom, and came hurrying. “Could kick myself all the way to the Yard for this, sir. Chap must have crept through the next-door garden. I hadn’t any idea he was there until I heard Miss Henry scream.”

  “How’s Henry?”

  “Knife-wounds in the stomach and side, sir; touch and go, I think.”

  “Anyone else hurt?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “Get a good look at the fellow?”

  “Good enough, I think; he answered the description of the man Sydney. There’s a call out for him.”

  “What’s been done?”

  “Whole district is alerted, and the neighbouring Divisions warned,” said the Divisional man, a little diffidently. “We’ll get him before long, Mr. West.”

  “He’s a sight too slippery for my liking,” Roger growled. “Bill, get that car turned round; we want to go to Page Street.”

  “But he wouldn’t be crazy enough to go there!”

  “He probably doesn’t know we’ve picked Mrs. K. up yet; he might have a cut at her,” Roger said. “I’ll be with you in a couple of jiffs.” He went nearer to the gate, as the ambulance drove off. Sybil stood with her arm at her mother’s waist, and neighbours hung about, with the helpless goodwill of such occasions.

  Roger said: “Did your father tell you where he was going, Miss Henry?”

  She looked at him almost wearily.

  “He had a telephone call, and went straight out,” she said, and then a little life sparked in her eyes. “And this time it couldn’t have been to see Rose Jensen, could it? Mr. West, perhaps my father didn’t—”

  “We’re finding out,” Roger said quietly. “Telephone me if there is anything I can do.”

  She nodded.

  Roger doubted whether her mother had understood anything he had said. He turned and hurried back to the car, where the driver was already at the wheel with the engine ticking over. There wasn’t must likelihood of finding Sydney at Page Street, but it was worth a try.

  “Anything else on your mind?” Sloan asked, almost humbly.

  “We’ve got search-parties at Pegg’s office and home, and at Page Street. Kate Harrison’s place will have been turned inside out by now, and Sydney lived there, remember. We’ve been through Quist’s place. The one place we haven’t access to yet is Henry’s bank.”

  “You’ll need dynamite to get anything done there before the morning.”

  “Yes,” Roger agreed, “and we may have to get some. Take a straight look at it, Bill. This man Sydney killed the Harrisons almost in front of my eyes. He must know that he can’t get away with it, or else he’s sure that he can. If he feels sure that he can, then something’s laid on for him to get out of London, perhaps out of the country, tonight. So we’ll watch all airports and seaports and main-line railway termini. That’s the routine. But why did Sydney think it worth that desperate chance to kill Kate Harrison and the boy? Why did he take another chance, and come to kill Henry? What makes him so desperate? What makes it worth his while?”

  Sloan said: “Search me.”

  “There must be a reason. The obvious one is to keep their mouths shut. He may have get-away plans they knew about, and he may even be trying to protect someone else. He’d only do that if it paid off well.”

  Sloan actually caught his breath.

  “Any idea who?”

  “We could have a lead,” Roger said, and there was fierce excitement in his voice. “The puzzling thing has been Samuelson’s effort to keep back evidence in Quist’s favour, hasn’t it? It doesn’t fit into anything we yet know. I thought it was a smart way of handling Quist’s defence, a way I couldn’t follow. But supposing he wants Quist blamed? He works for Saxby’s, so he’s doing this for a Saxby big shot. Is it someone who’s been in this from the beginning, who knew it would be found out eventually, and wanted someone else to take the blame?”

  “Well, who?”

  “A certain Mr. Gorringe, who denied having received Quist’s report, and who put Samuelson on the job,” Roger said softly. “Gorringe knew we were bound to catch up eventually with trouble at Saxby’s; it would suit him nicely to have a stooge sitting in for him. And by trying to investigate on his own, Quist would fit in perfectly.”

  “Gorringe,” breathed Sloan.

  They turned into Page Street. Two plainclothes men were standing together near Number 31, and a uniformed constable was walking along the other side of the street, all of them clear in the street lamps, and the last tinge of the afterglow; a peaceful scene.

  “Stop a minute, driver.” Roger waited impatiently until the car had pulled in, and leaned over the back of the empty seat next to the driver, for the radio telephone; he switched it on. “Give me the Night Superintendent,” he said, and went on talking to Sloan; “Gorringe is in a perfect position to defraud Saxby’s in a big way. The firm’s secretary is away, and Gorringe is in full charge of the financial side for three months – time to racket a fortune in a bank account as large as Saxby’s. So …” He broke off, as a man with a slightly north-country accent sounded over the air, “Hallo, is that Superintendent Thwaites? … Yes, West here. Charley, Saxby’s ran their own air freight to the Continent and Africa, don’t they? … Using Croydon airport these days, I think. It’s possible that Sydney’s making for Croydon airport, and that he’ll try to board a Saxby plane leaving the country tonight. Will you cover it? … Fine, and there’s another thing. It might help if we can check the bank where Henry worked, try and prise some bank officials out, will you?” He rang off, smiling tautly, and Sloan saw the glint in his eyes and marvelled; for Roger West looked as fresh as if he’d just had a full night’s sleep.

  Roger switched off the radio.

  “Where now?” Sloan demanded. “Croydon or the bank?”

  “Croydon,” Roger said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Airport

  There were dozens of lights at the airport, and the sound of at least two en
gines warming up. As Roger’s car swung towards the runways, waved on by airport officials who had been warned to expect them, he saw two men approaching a small aircraft some distance away. Car headlamps were turned towards these men, who were looking round. They were too far away for him to recognise them, but he saw the name Saxby’s on the side of the craft they were approaching. Other police cars were already waiting, and Roger saw at least two on the far side of the field.

  The mechanics were ready to take away the chocks from the Saxby aircraft. Once the two men got aboard, they wouldn’t have a chance, of course, for the pilot would be stopped. That was why the police cars were holding off.

  Then Roger recognised one of the men as he reached the steps leading to the aircraft’s cabin. It was Sydney, who turned round and seemed to hesitate. Sydney spoke to the second man, who pointed to the cabin doorway, and started up the steps.

  Sydney didn’t.

  He turned, suddenly, and began to run. He went swiftly, and obviously headed for the fence at the side of the great field, certainly hoping to climb it and get away among the warrens of streets and tiny houses. Whatever else he lacked, he had guts.

  The other man was standing hesitantly on the steps.

  Now the police moved.

  Two cars headed for the aircraft, and two for Sydney. Roger said jerkily: “After the running man.” It should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Two petrol tankers, a firefighting unit and several stacks of freight and luggage were in the way, preventing a clear run. For a moment Sydney disappeared; then he came in sight, running desperately towards the fence. Roger’s driver swung the car in the same direction, and stepped on the accelerator. The car raced forward, but it couldn’t go at speed for long. Just ahead was a wire fence round an enclosure which the driver hadn’t noticed.

  He jammed on his brakes.

  Roger rasped: “Come on,” and opened the door as the car slowed down. He heard Sloan yell, but ignored him. He jumped out, kept his balance and leapt over the enclosure fence. Sydney was only fifty yards away, and equidistant from the main fence which he was so anxious to reach. He didn’t seem to have seen Roger, and when he twisted round he was looking only at the pursuing cars.

  Sloan was pounding behind Roger.

  Suddenly, Sydney turned, and saw them as their shadows were cast long and dark by the lamps of the stranded car. Sydney probably didn’t know who they were, but any policeman was a danger to him then.

  He flung out his right arm.

  “He’s got a gun!” Sloan shouted. “Look out!”

  Roger didn’t swerve, didn’t slacken speed, put everything he had into racing towards Sydney. If the man once got away, he might stay in hiding for a long time; might even live to kill again and again.

  Sydney paused, to turn and fire, but he didn’t give himself enough time to steady his aim. Roger saw the flash of the shot, but didn’t know where the bullet went. He was only five yards away, and another shot might be fatal; next time he would have to dodge. He saw Sydney stop again and level the gun.

  Then Sydney kicked against something on the ground, and pitched headlong. His gun fell from his grasp, and when Roger reached him, he was dazed, helpless and unarmed.

  The other man, now held by the police, was Gorringe of Saxby’s. The police boarded the waiting aircraft, and found twentv-one thousand pounds, stolen that day from Henry’s bank, undoubtedly by Henry himself, as well as securities and records of large credits in overseas banks, enough to have kept a dozen men for years.

  “Well, it was simpler than it looked,” Roger said, when they were back at the Yard. “Gorringe caved in when we caught him, and talked. He was in it from the start, and it began with Pegg’s. He’d allowed Pegg’s to overcharge for years, and taken a cut. Then they both grew greedier, and worked the same trick with some associated companies. But it wasn’t big money. When Saxby’s secretary went on a long visit to the United States and left Gorringe in charge, it looked a perfect opportunity. They began some cheque fiddles, but not until they’d got Henry under their thumb. First he was involved with Rose Jensen – Pegg’s cousin – and she became his mistress. Being a bank official, and banks being notorious for disliking any employee to create a scandal, they had a good hold on him. Then they bribed him with a cut in the proceeds. He passed forged and altered cheques, and sometimes paid out big cash sums. He was frequently told that it wouldn’t last much longer, and led by the nose to a big robbery, like last night’s. By then he believed he could be found guilty of murder, and daren’t back out. He was telephoned about a job on the night that he was followed by Quist, and Rose Jensen was murdered. He saw Rose to plead with her to help him get free of the stranglehold. Rose knew everyone involved, and knew that Henry was desperate enough to kill himself. She phoned Sydney and threatened to squeal if they didn’t stop the pressure – so she had to be killed.

  “One of Pegg’s men, a motor-cyclist named Chick, followed Henry, and saw Quist already following the man. Quist was a thorn in their flesh, but Gorringe had known what he was doing for some time – and Gorringe knew that when Saxby’s secretary came back the frauds would be found out. So he let Quist go on probing – and planned to frame him as the murderer.

  “No one but Pegg knew that Gorringe was the Saxby end of the racket, and as Quist became dangerous, Gorringe and Pegg prepared what looked like a masterly coup. Quist was to be framed, and take the rap for Gorringe; the police would get on to Quist, Henry, Sydney and the others, but Pegg was to try to keep in the clear by a simple double-cross.

  “He and Gorringe were all ready to take the first good chance. It came when Sydney telephoned Pegg and reported Rose Jensen’s threat, and added that Quist had followed Henry to Rose’s place. Pegg told Sydney to kill Rose and frame Quist. Sydney jumped at what seemed a chance to put himself in the clear.

  “But he very soon began to see the snags. He tried to have Quist killed by Chick, but that failed. Pegg kept him reasonably sweet by promising the world. Pegg himself planned to leave the country in a Saxby plane, with a good share of the money that Henry was to steal – and he would stay away until it all blew over.”

  Roger paused, and Cortland grunted.

  “Didn’t expect Sydney to let him get away with a double-cross, did he?”

  “He did, and he was right,” Roger went on. “If Quist was successfully framed for the murder, Sydney would just go down for a few years. But if Quist wasn’t framed, Sydney would get a lifer, even if he wasn’t hanged. Kate Harrison and the boy were on Pegg’s side – Pegg paid them well to make sure of that.

  “Then Ibbetson discovered the relationship between Rose Jensen and Pegg, and that started the rot,” Roger went on. “Pegg had to play for time enough for Henry to finish his job and get the cash, and Sydney had to be kept quiet. But Sydney was suspicious already.

  “Both Pegg and Gorringe realised that the only hope left was flight – or we would catch up with them both. Pegg told Kate he was planning to get away – he had to, so as to keep her quiet. When the lid blew off at Kate’s house tonight, she almost certainly tried to save herself by telling Sydney about the get-away. Once he knew that, Sydney killed her and the boy because they could warn us about the airfield. Then he tried to kill Henry – who also knew. Next he went to the airfield in place of Pegg—”

  “What kept Pegg away?” demanded Cortland.

  “Sydney telephoned him and threatened to kill him if he went near the airfield, and Pegg took that seriously,” Roger answered. “Obviously, Sydney’s only hope was flight. What would have happened if he and Gorringe had got away is anybody’s guess. He might have cooled down or might have murdered Gorringe at the first opportunity. That would have been killing the goose which laid the golden eggs – only Gorringe and Pegg could get at the money planted in banks in many parts of Africa.”

  “Question’s irrelevant,” Cortland said gruffly. “Damned clever scheme. We could easily have proved a case against Quist. I suppose Gorringe took that report of Quist’s.�
��

  “Yes. And burned it,” Roger said.

  “Did Henry think Quist was the Saxby end of the racket?” Cortland asked,

  “He did, from the time he realised that Quist had been in Page Street on the night of the murder,” Roger said. “He couldn’t have named either Gorringe or Pegg – only Sydney. As it is, no one can put a finger on Samuelson, but we will one day.” He checked a yawn.

  “Time you went home,” Cortland declared. “You’ve had quite a day.”

  Janet opened the front door of the house in Bell Street, and saw Roger step out of the police car which had brought him home. It was nearly half-past twelve. She came hurrying, a sure indication of anxiety, and Roger grinned at her; but that didn’t greatly help.

  “Roger, you look ghastly!”

  “Tired, that’s all.”

  “What’s happened to your chin?”

  “Had a row with a bad man,” said Roger, “and it’s all right, darling; he’s in jail. Looks as if the job’s working out, too. All I need is a good night’s rest, preceded by a potent whisky-and-soda. Come to think,” he added, hugging her, “I wouldn’t mind a snack, either, I haven’t had anything to eat since tea.” He closed the door behind him. “The boys all right?”

  “I think they had a funny kind of day at school,” Janet said. “Half heroes, and half suspect because of the way the Witness talked about you. Scoopy had two fights, and Richard one.”

  Roger chuckled.

  “Pity they can’t stand in for me in the morning! I’m booked for the carpet, sweet, at ten o’clock sharp. Then I’ll find out what kind of a bird Jay really is.”

  “You don’t seem very worried.”

  “If he suspends me for a month, it’ll be all holiday,” Roger said, “and I don’t see that he can do much more. In fact I don’t think he can suspend me, after what’s turned up, unless he’s going to do it on the principle of asserting and maintaining authority. If he does it could be damned awkward, I wasn’t exactly the model of discipline.”