John Creasey - Inspector West At Home

“I think you owe me an explanation. I have no idea what this is all about.”

Abbott did not immediately answer and before Roger could speak again, still shocked by Abbott’s announcement, a second knock came at the front door and Janet’s footsteps followed. He paid little attention to what was happening outside, but looked into Abbott’s narrowed eyes and tried to quieten the heavy thumping of his heart.

CHAPTER 2

A Policeman Under a Shadow

“IT is not a pleasant task for me to present this warrant and X I think you should stop pretending that you know nothing about it,” said Abbott.

“I tell you I haven’t the faintest idea,” insisted Roger.

“Hallo, Jan !” cried a man from the hall. Roger recognised the voice of a close friend, Mark Lessing. Abbott was so surprised that he looked towards the door and Mark continued: “How’s the birthday party going?” There was a smacking sound and then, in a gasping voice, Janet said :

“Mark, you ass !”

“Now what is a kiss between friends on a birthday?” demanded Lessing. “Especially on the twenty-first — it is your twenty-first, isn’t it?”

Abbott pinched his nostrils. “Well, West?” he said.

Roger was thanking the fates for sending Mark Lessing just then. Mark had given him time to realise that he would be wise to adopt a less hostile attitude. There was some absurd mistake, but it could be rectified.

So he forced a smile.

“I haven’t anything to say about it, Superintendent, except that I’m completely at a loss.” His attempt to be affable faded out in the face of Abbott’s cold stare. “Obviously you must have some reason for getting a warrant sworn for me.”

“You must know the reason,” insisted Abbott.

Roger fancied that the faint emphasis on the ‘must’ implied a query. Before he could speak again, however, there came from the lounge an astonishing sound — astonishing because of the previous quiet. It was the deep, throbbing bass notes of the piano. Almost at once Mark began to sing, more loudly than harmoniously. A suspicion entered Roger’s mind : that Mark was drunk.

“Is that din necessary?” Abbott demanded irritably.

“Is any of this necessary?” asked Roger, tartly. “I thought I was going to have a day off. I’m taking my wife to a show as I told you. Are you serious about executing this warrant?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

“Why did you get it?” demanded Roger.

He had to raise his voice to make himself heard for Mark was going wild. He crashed wrong note after wrong note and he was thumping so heavily that the piano frame was quivering and groaning.

“If you will stop that noise I will tell you,” said Abbott. He stepped to the door. Roger had to go with him. When it was open, the whole house seemed to be in uproar, and he heard a bump upstairs.

Then he pushed open the lounge door.

Janet was by the mantelpiece, doubled up with laughter, for Mark was playing with idiotic abandon. As he crashed his hands on the keys he bobbed his head and his dark hair fell over his forehead; after each note he raised his hand high into the air, flexing his wrist. His pale face was flushed and his eyes were glistening.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Roger demanded, striding across the room and grabbing Mark’s shoulder. “Stop it, you fool !” Mark continued, bobbing his head up and down vigorously. Boom! went the C sharp and then Mark played a run superbly. Boom! went the A, then G sharp, then C again.

“West, I insist that you stop this nonsense !” called Abbott.

Boom! went Mark. Then he took his hands from the keys and swung round on the piano stool, pushed his hair out of his eyes and glared at Abbott. Roger had never seen him look so furious.

“Nonsense?” he roared at Abbott. “Who the hell are you, sir? What do you mean by calling my playing nonsense ? If you have no appreciation of good music, if your ignorance is so abysmal, I advise you not to declare it to the world. Is this what you would call nonsense?” He swung round to the piano, raised his hands and began to crash out Liszt’s Liebestraume.

Abbott stared, tight-lipped. Roger, at first irritated by Janet’s laughter, saw an expression in her eyes which gave him his first inkling that she knew why Mark was playing the fool. She began to laugh again as if she couldn’t stop, and Abbott looked about desperately; Roger thought he bel-lowed ‘madhouse’. He did shout loudly enough to be heard above the playing : “Stop him. West!”

Roger tried, half-heartedly, beginning to wonder whether Mark could possibly be making this din deliberately, as a distraction. Roger remembered the bump upstairs. His confusion grew worse but he made a good show of losing his temper. Mark stopped at last and rose, disdainfully from the piano. He brushed his hair back from his forehead and straightened his tie — and then he jumped, as if horrified.

At no time handsome, he was a distinguished-looking man with a high forehead, a Roman nose and a pointed chin; his lips were shapely and his complexion so good that it was almost feminine. About him there was an air, normally, of arrogance.

Just then his whole expression was of horror.

“My sainted Cousin Lot!” he exclaimed. “Superintendent Abbott! Why didn’t someone tell me? I am sorry. I’d no idea it was you.” He continued to stare into the Superintendent’s eyes while uttering abject apologies. Since he was not a policeman they were excessive, but he was known at the Yard as a friend of ‘Handsome’ West’s who dabbled in crime. “You know, Superintendent,” he went on in the same shocked tones, “I was absolutely carried away. I’ve been working hard and just felt like letting my hair down. Something powerful in the way of urges. And it’s Janet’s birthday. I remembered that this afternoon and rushed over to apologise for not having wished her many happy returns. I say, Jan, could you rustle up a cup of tea and a biscuit?”

“Of course,” said Janet. “Will you stay to tea, Superintendent?”

Abbott had listened to Mark’s protestations while gradually resuming a stony aspect. He turned to Janet, obviously ill-at-ease. Roger offered him a cigarette.

“Don’t get worried, Abbott,” he said. “All this will work itself out. Why don’t you have a cup of tea and talk about it?”

“What’s this?” demanded Mark. “Sticky business on the criminal stakes? Famous member of the Big Five flummoxed, Handsome West called in to get his nose on the trail?”

“You’re not going to take Roger away!” Janet protested. Abbott had the grace to cough in confusion.

Roger put him out of his misery.

“Not in the usual way, Jan, anyhow. I don’t know what’s gone wrong, but he’s turned up with a search-warrant. I must be credited with having broken open a till.”

“A search-warrant ?” gasped Mark.

“ What? ” cried Janet.

Roger thought that they put a shade more emphasis than was needed, although he might have gained that impression because there was obviously something afoot between them.

Abbott appeared to think their amazement understandable and sincere; he coughed again.

“You can’t be serious !” exclaimed Janet.

“I am afraid I am, Mrs West,” said Abbott. “I really must not waste any more time.” He shot a quick, almost furtive glance at Roger. “Information has been lodged to the effect that you received, today, a sum of money intended as a bribe in consideration of withholding action when you knew that action was required.”

Roger stared, blankly.

“Let’s be serious,” said Mark. “A joke is a joke and I like one with any man, but this —”

“It is no joking matter,” Abbott assured him. “But for the peculiar circumstances, I would not have made the statement in this room. However, you appear to wish your wife to know, West. That is your responsibility.”

Janet stepped to Roger’s side.

“ Is he serious, Roger?”

Roger forced a smile. “Yes, he has a warrant, but it’s coining to something when he adopts this method instead of a straightforward approach. I suppose he could have come while I was out instead of while I’m here, but apparently that’s the extent of the consideration I can expect.” He seemed almost amused. “It’s all quite fantastic. It explains why Martin was dogging me, anyhow. He’s probably been making sure I didn’t pass the bribe on to anyone else!”

Abbott regarded him coldly.

“I can see nothing amusing in the situation, West.”

“I suppose not,” said Roger, dryly. “Hadn’t you better start searching? You’ll want to begin on us, but that doesn’t include my wife.”

“If it is necessary to search Mrs West — and I hope it will not be — I hardly need tell you the proper measures will be taken. Will you be good enough to call in Martin and the others ?”

“Others?”

“ There are two detective-officers with him.”

Roger nodded curtly, went to the front door and called the sergeant and his men. One of the plainclothes men was obviously embarrassed, but that didn’t stop him from doing his job properly.

The police finished downstairs and went up. Roger heard the heavy movements of the men upstairs and thought how often he had been on exactly the same quest.

He had searched with a thoroughness which had brought the tension of the people waiting in another part of the house to breaking point. He had worked with a grim determination to find some evidence of complicity in crime and to break his victim’s resistance. After the search, if it proved successful, came the arrest, the charge, the magistrate’s court, the gradual collection and piecing together of evidence, the final day of the assize trial. That last stage was often absurdly short in view of the weary weeks of preparations which had preceded it. Jury, judge, sentence — and prison.

He could not really grasp that this was happening to him. Instead of being the Apostle of Gloom, Abbott became the Apostle of Doom. For with every minute which passed one thing became more obvious. The Superintendent would not have come here, and Chatworth would not have signed the warrant, unless they felt reasonably sure that they would find evidence that he had accepted bribes.

He lit a cigarette and stared at Janet helplessly. Her lips curved in an encouraging smile.

The men were still moving about upstairs and time was flying — it was a quarter past five. Every minute worsened the suspense.

Janet turned restlessly towards the window.

“How much longer will they be?”

“Not long,” Roger said.

Mark broke in, reassuringly.

“After all, no news is good news. If they’d found the alleged evidence they would have come down by now.”

Almost as he spoke, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

The three turned towards the door, and only the plainclothes man seemed indifferent. All of the search party appeared to be coming and Roger, feeling a curious mixture of relief and tension, stared at the door handle. Someone spoke in a low-pitched voice but the handle did not turn. The front door opened and footsteps scraped on the narrow gravel path.

Roger muttered a sharp imprecation, stepped towards the door and opened it. Abbott was standing at the foot of the stairs.

“Well?” The word almost choked Roger.

“I want you to believe that I’m really sorry about this,” Abbott said. His lips moved so little that he looked incapable of feeling. He glanced towards the open door, and Roger, following his gaze, saw a woman approaching with Sergeant Martin. He recognised the newcomer as a tall, round-faced, jovial policewoman, one of the few female detectives at the Yard. Her purpose was only too apparent. He turned back to Abbott and spoke in a low-pitched, angry voice.