Inspector West Takes Charge Page 5

  ‘Are there any others watching?’

  ‘I’m the only one on duty at the moment, sir. Another man is coming to join me later. He would have been here but he had a puncture.’

  ‘Have you seen anything unusual?’

  ‘No, sir. Had there been, I should have seen it. I can see both roads from here.’

  ‘So the mad driver didn’t come from here,’ Roger remarked to Janet as they, drove on.

  The house soon loomed out of the darkness, but not until they had drawn up outside did they see its square shape against the starlit sky. A faint wind rustled about the tall trees growing near it. An owl gave a strident hoot which made Janet start. From the house there was no glimmer of light.

  ‘The black-out’s pretty good,’ said Roger. He left the rear and sidelights of the car on, and shone his torch on the steps.

  A bell clanged in the distance when he pulled the brass handle. After a short silence footsteps sounded.

  A glow of light appeared, and Roger said: ‘Mr and Mrs West, to see Mr Prendergast.’

  ‘You are expected, sir,’ a man informed him. ‘Will you please come in? Can I fetch anything from your car, sir? Your case?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Roger held Janet’s elbow as they stepped into the large, square hall. The rooms at Delaware House had one thing in common; all were square, all high-ceilinged.

  Beyond the black-out trap the light was bright. The servant, an elderly man, led the way to a room on the right.

  He tapped, opened the door, and announced ‘Mr and Mrs West.’

  Janet and Roger went through, to find Mark sitting in a comfortable chair, Claude Prendergast not so much at ease on a settee, and a tall, well-built man standing by the fire, which glowed red. There was no other light in the room until the servant switched it on. Then a dozen lamps in an ornate chandelier gave a garish yet dullish effect, a queer combination.

  The tall man eyed them both curiously; while Roger had a shock. For Harrington, if this was Harrington, was not a day more than thirty. He had clear-cut features, was almost swarthy, and had the look of a man in fine physical condition. He had clear, wide-set grey eyes.

  Mark introduced everybody, and suggested drinks. He mixed gin and tonic, whisky and soda, and gin and Dubonnets. Claude appeared willing to surrender his position as host. He had made no more than a pretence at getting up, and now peered at Janet with lack lustre eyes; he looked very warm.

  Harrington was eyeing her with the overt admiration of a man who expected to be a success with a woman.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived,’ he said briskly. His voice increased the good impression. ‘Now perhaps we’ll get the official police view.’ His voice and smile were pleasant enough; but his manner suggested that he was irritated, though doing his best to conceal it. ‘Mr Lessing has been very mysterious, and implied that you were the cause.’

  ‘Mark makes a mystery out of trifles,’ Roger said lightly. ‘I’m glad to have the chance of meeting you, Mr Harrington.’

  Harrington accepted a cigarette. He was bigger than he had at first appeared; powerful, striking-looking. His dark hair was short and wiry.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  Roger looked at Mark. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Looking around,’ said Mark, airily. ‘There’s a cabinet of Old Dresden that’s a delight, Roger, it rather took my mind off things.’

  Harrington said dryly: ‘Mr Lessing has been entertaining me with a discourse on rare china. My cousin has hardly said a word. I hope you’ll be more informative.’

  Mark had been stalling while Claude had been unable to hide his suspicions of his cousin. But was Harrington a cousin? He was a tough, hard man, very unlike Claude, unlike the other Prendergasts. An idea sneaked up on him: that Potter might have put Harrington up to impersonate a cousin.

  Janet said abruptly: ‘Mark, did you know the house is surrounded by men?’ She meant the police but Claude misunderstood. He moved quickly for the first time, jumping to his feet, and backing towards a wall. He held a hand in front of him, as if to fend off an attack.

  ‘I knew it, I knew that would happen!’ He swung round on Harrington, and his voice rose. ‘You brought them. You brought them!’

  Harrington eyed him contemptuously.

  ‘I’m getting out of this madhouse while I’m still sane,’ he said.,’ I was never interested in the Prendergast side of the family. It was a mistake to try to get to know it.’ He moved very fast, and reached the door before Roger said: ‘It’s an unusual situation, Harrington, and I’m surprised you haven’t been told about it. Mr Prendergast is nervous because he expects an attack on his life. Mr Lessing promised not to tell you, until I arrived. But don’t let me detain you.’

  Harrington looked round.

  ‘How much of that is bally-hoo?’

  ‘No one here suggested that you should come. But if you want to know why he’s nervous –’

  Harrington came back into the middle of the room. Roger gave a résumé of the half-suspicions and Claude’s fears.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Harrington, when it was done. ‘So he thinks I’m here to murder him for his money. In point of fact, Cousin Claude ‘he sneered the name ‘I am not interested in Dreem profits. I make plenty of money as it is. I came here because I’d grown curious. The family’s been in the headlines a lot lately. I received a letter suggesting that I might be mentioned in one will or another, and that tickled my curiosity but not my greed. Prendergast money is dirty money by now, I should think. Didn’t you know that?’

  Roger ignored the comment.

  “Who sent you the letter?’

  ‘A solicitor named Gabriel Potter.’

  He must have seen that he had created something close to a sensation. Roger frowned. Mark said ‘Well, well!’ Janet sat down heavily on the arm of the settee. Claude exclaimed after a short pause: ‘Potter said you would be interested? Potter? That devil, he’s behind this. That’s why she took me to him!’

  Something ought to be done about Claude. Roger wanted a rational talk with Harrington, but was not likely to get it with Claude present. He saw the grey pallor spread over Claude’s cheeks, and believed that he was suffering from the strain that had affected him at Fulham. There was something unnatural about Claude. There was a beading of sweat on his forehead, and on his upper lip.

  ‘I can’t stand any more of this,’ he muttered. He passed a hand across his brow. The perspiration there surprised him; he stared at his wet hand in bewilderment, and then drew a deep breath. He was shivering. ‘I just can’t stand it. I feel ill. I don’t think I’m well.’ He leaned back in the corner of the settee and closed his eyes. Harrington glanced at Roger, puzzled, doubting.

  Roger said softly; ‘He is ill.’

  Mark reached the little man’s side.

  ‘You’d better go to bed. I’ll come up to your room with you.’ He eased the man up. Claude made no attempt to resist or to help himself, but staggered and grabbed a table for added support. His face was now a fiery red, and he kept licking his lips.

  ‘Gi-give me a drink, will you?’

  Roger was halfway towards the cabinet when Claude gave another exclamation. His knees bent and his legs doubled up. He fell so unexpectedly that Mark could only break his fall. He lay still, breathing torturously.

  ‘He’s passed out,’ Mark said.

  ‘He needs a doctor,’ declared Janet.

  Harrington neither moved nor spoke.

  6: Claude as Well?

  The Old manservant was able to tell them the doctor’s name and telephone number. The name was Tenby. Roger knew of him as the local police surgeon.

  Claude was carried by Harrington and Mark to his room. The servants fussed and scurried, taken by surprise like the three visitors.

  Roger went to the telephone.

  Dr Tenby promised to come at once when he heard that the call was from Delaware. Into his mind, Roger imagined, had sprung the same thought as to his, Mark’s, Janet’s and,
judging from their demeanour, the servants’; that the last of the Prendergasts was going the way of the others.

  The servants were all old or middle-aged, and had been with the family for years. He wondered how much they could tell of the history of the family and if it would be interesting. He would find out later. This was Lampard’s district.

  Roger telephoned the Guildford Police Station.

  Lampard was not there, but Roger was given the Guildford Inspector’s private number.

  He answered, curtly.

  Roger explained.

  ‘I’ll come over,’ Lampard said. ‘Thanks for ringing.’

  Janet came down with Harrington as Roger finished telephoning. The man was a head taller than Janet, and quite composed.

  Mark was staying with Claude, Janet said.

  ‘I’m beginning to think my cousin’s genuinely frightened, whether there’s any need or not,’ said Harrington. ‘That collapse wasn’t natural there was something odd about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger dryly, ‘There are a lot of peculiar things in this affair. Three accidental deaths in a row. A solicitor who doesn’t keep a client fully informed. A wife Claude’s who told her husband that he would be wiser to leave the Dreem tobacco business to a business man, presumably you. Have you been approached to take any active part in the company’s affairs?’

  ‘No.’ Harrington was vehement. ‘I should have turned it down if I had been, anyhow. I’m not interested in Dreem. The company stinks.’ That was his second denunciatory reference to Prendergast, Blight & Company. Harrington lit a cigarette, flicked the match into the fire, and said: ‘I came here because I was puzzled by several, things. I had no idea that the Prendergasts even knew I existed, but they dug me out somehow. I had a letter from this woman Claude’s married, and one from Potter. The implication of their conversation when I saw them was that I could expect to play a large part in Prendergast, Blight & Company.’

  ‘Did you talk as bluntly to them as to me?’

  ‘No,’ Harrington admitted. ‘I stone-walled. It was no business of theirs, anyhow, but I was intrigued. Why should a solicitor and a woman just married into the family approach me, but not Claude? I decided to see Claude.’

  ‘Natural enough,’ said Roger. ‘Did you see Potter and Mrs Prendergast together?’

  ‘Yes. At the solicitor’s office. The woman was like a tart with an expensive clientele.’

  ‘Who did the talking?’

  ‘Mrs Prendergast. Potter nodded a lot and looked like a cold fish. Is he always like that?’

  ‘When he wants to be,’ Roger said. ‘Was anything in the way of a clear-cut proposition put to you?’

  ‘No.’ Harrington threw the half-smoked cigarette into the fire. ‘That’s what intrigued me most. They hinted at my taking an interest in Dreem, pointing out that Claude was the only member of the family left, and that he had no head for business as well as no desire to enter it. I had a feeling that some kind of bribe was round the corner, but they didn’t get round to it.’

  ‘When was this meeting?’

  ‘Yesterday morning.’

  ‘How did you know where to find Claude?’

  ‘I’m working at Kingston,’ said Harrington. ‘I rang up the London house, thinking I could go there to see him. He wasn’t there, but they gave me this as his address. It’s not far from Kingston, so I decided to come on the off chance. I found Claude and your friend Lessing, who was very amiable but not informative, and they told me that you’d be able to explain more than they could. I was getting pretty tired of the mystery business before you arrived. It looked to me like another attempt to involve me.’

  It all sounded reasonable, and Harrington mode it seem convincing.

  The door opened, and the old servant announced Dr Tenby. Tenby was a short and stocky man, florid of face and abrupt in manner. He nodded to Roger and Harrington, bowed to Janet, and went upstairs. Soon afterwards, Mark came down.

  As he came into the room, a scream broke the near silence. It went through Roger like a knife, and Janet jumped wildly.

  It was high-pitched; obviously from a woman; and came from above their heads. Roger broke into a run for the door. Harrington beat Mark to it by a foot. Janet stayed by the fire, white-faced, fearful of a repetition.

  There was none, but someone was crying near the landing. Hurried footsteps thudded. Roger was halfway up the stairs when he saw one of the servants, her hands over her face.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What’s the matter?’

  She took her hands away, and stared at him, so pale that she looked bloodless.

  ‘A man,’ she gasped. ‘The study –’

  ‘Come on!’ said Harrington.

  He was ahead of Roger when they reached the landing, then turned and hesitated.

  ‘Second door on the right,’ Mark called.

  Claude’s room was to the left. From it Dr Tenby showed himself. He disappeared from sight again when he saw the others. The old servant hovered about the landing as Roger turned the handle of the study door.

  He thrust it open, stood aside for a moment, then ducked and ran in. The others followed in a rush.

  The study window was open wide. The light was on. They saw the top of a man’s head above the window-sill, and a pair of hands clinging on to the sill. Harrington went forward with Roger at his heels, but before they could touch the hands the man had dropped from sight.

  ‘Got a torch?’ demanded Harrington.

  Roger, peering out and down, saw the figure of the man darting towards the big lawn, just visible in the yellow light. Roger climbed out, lowered himself gradually as the intruder had done. It was second nature to notice that the study had been ransacked. He saw a torch in Mark’s hand, and Harrington heading for the window. Then Roger hung from the windowsill. He didn’t know how far it was, but he dropped.

  Soft soil took his weight, and flower stems broke. His knees doubled but with little or no jar. He turned at once. The light was bright enough to show the man disappearing into a shrubbery perhaps thirty feet away.

  Roger plunged after him.

  He heard the rustling in the shrubbery, the cracking of twigs, the swish of shrubs. He reached the bushes, while the noises were still audible, but then his own progress made listening difficult, and muffled other sounds. Near the drive a torch light was shining; Lampard’s policeman?

  There was a patch of uneven meadowland between him and the road. Harrington caught him up, lighting their way with the torch which he had obtained. It was difficult going. Hollows and mounds made them stumble from side to side. Their progress was fairly quiet now, and occasionally they could hear the man in front.

  They heard him padding along the hard surface of the road. Roger realized that he was heading for the gate through which he and Janet had driven. Breathing heavily, he and Harrington turned left as they reached the road. Suddenly their quarry came into view, for a faint glow of light showed ahead of him.

  ‘Car,’ gasped Harrington.

  The car was coming along the road. Its headlights picked out the white-painted gates, and the running figure of a small man. Roger felt acutely disappointed because it was not Charlie Clay; Charlie could do a lot of things, but not make himself as small as that.

  There had been two men at Mark’s place last night.

  The car itself did not appear in view. Its engine was loud enough to deaden the sound of their footsteps as the fugitive reached the gates and ran across the road. The car engine revved and roared.

  ‘My God!’ cried Harrington. ‘Look out, look!’

  The car came into sight. Its radiator struck the running man, and sent him flying, not sideways but downwards on to the road. There was a sickening, crunching sound. The car lurched, and then went on. A scream, that echoed high and wide about them, drowned the whine of the engine as the car gathered speed.

  It was out of sight when Harrington and Roger reached the hideous remnants of what had been a man.

  Ex
periences of London in the blitz had hardened Roger; but the suddenness and the deliberate brutality of the crime sickened him. Harrington switched off the torch, and said in a shaky voice: ‘I’d like to get my hands on that driver.’

  ‘Will you go back to the house and telephone the police? The local Inspector is on the way, but you’ll find someone at headquarters.’ He gave the number. ‘You all right?’

  ‘If you’re worrying about me, don’t,’ Harrington said. ‘Your friend Lessing should be here in a moment.’

  The shock had made Roger forget Mark. Now he looked about him, but there was no sign of anyone. Roger borrowed Harrington’s torch, and began to examine the area. The smashed body was in the middle of the road. Nothing could pass.

  ‘I’ll have to move him,’ Roger said. ‘Shine your torch, and then keep it pointing down the road to stop anyone who comes along.’

  ‘We’ll hear them coming,’ Harrington said. ‘I’ll help you.’

  Before they had started, the whine of a car came out of the quiet, and the twin orbs of sidelights and a single headlamp masked according to regulations came into sight, on the shortcut from Guildford.

  It was Lampard, with a sergeant. They were shaken by the killing, and talked in low voices as the body was moved, on a car rug, to the side of the narrow road. Soon the sergeant drove along the road to fetch the policeman on duty. He came back with two. Lampard stationed one with a torch to divert traffic at the actual point of impact. No other cars arrived until a squad of men summoned by telephone, came out from Guildford.

  It grew cold. A wind which had been gentle at first soon stiffened. Flashlights lit up the hedges and trees as photographs were taken, a floodlight was run from a police car. Roger stamped his feet against the cold, and wished Mark would show up. Harrington returned to the house with Lampard’s sergeant, with orders to have the study door locked until Lampard and the photographers arrived.

  Roger began to suffer a kind of delayed shock. He had no doubt that the car driver had waited for the fugitive, and run him down in cold blood.

  Lampard made little comment, beyond: ‘We’ll get the swine.’