Battle for Inspector West (11 page)

 

Roger stood at the window of his room, tense and rigid, watching the men and the dogs in the grounds, the dogs barking and snarling, the men carrying guns. This had been going on for an hour now. His door was locked, and a man stood outside his window; and he still did not know what was happening.

Then he saw one of the dogs break free and go like a flash towards some bushes.

A small, dark-haired man ran desperately from the bushes, but in a moment he was surrounded by leaping dogs.

Roger saw what was nearly a miracle. The man flung one dog back, and it yelped and ran away. Another fell back, yapping, snarling. But there were too many of them.

 

It was impossible to watch any longer. Roger turned away, teeth clenched so hard that his jaws ached, nails biting into his palms. He did not know how long it was before he heard two shots, sounding a long way off because of the thick toughened glass of the window. He looked round again. The dark-haired man was being carried off, on a stretcher. The bodies of two dogs lay sprawled on the ground; and a man with a gun was turning away from them.

Carosi was there, now.

Then Julieta appeared.

Roger saw her running, hair streaming behind her, racing across the smooth grass towards the trees and the scene of the savage mauling. She looked as if she was berserk. Carosi tried to stop her, but she fended him off, then flung herself at the body of the first dog as a woman might fling herself at the body of a dead lover.

 

So Julieta was not empty of affection.

 

Carosi left her there for a few minutes, then gave an order, and two men pulled her off and led her away. She went submissively. But Roger saw the wildness in her eyes, and wondered if the paroxysm of grief had turned her mind. Then she was thrust out of his mind, for he saw the body of the man being carried towards a corner of the house. The light fell upon the dead man's face and lacerated throat, so that Roger could see clearly.

He recognised the dark-haired victim as one who had been jailed for a Carosi crime: a blackmailer named Dempster.

It looked as if Dempster had come to try to avenge himself.

But that wasn't all; that hardly mattered. If he knew Dempster as a Carosi man, so did everyone who mattered at the Yard. Gill, especially. If Dempster had been released from jail and come straight here, surely the Yard had arranged to follow him.

Roger looked towards the trees, as if he would see Gill and others coming through if he prayed hard enough.

The grounds emptied, and there was quiet again.

But his door was not unlocked, and he was kept in his room. He knew it was impossible to force it, he had tried too often; but he tried again, using a pick-lock fashioned out of a piece of wire from a lampshade which did not look damaged.

Poor raddled Maisie, with her gaudy make-up and lined face, her ducks and her dearies, brought him his meals, served as attractively as if this were a first-class hotel. She said very little today, and there was a scared look about her, as if the incident of the morning had frightened her.

Roger had no radio. The few books and magazines here bored him. He kept looking towards the trees, and knew that to set store by such hope was a sign of desperation. He had swallowed Carosi's bait, he had come just as he had planned, but now he was here he seemed helpless, could not even think and plan.

It was as if Carosi had sucked the vitality out of his mind.

This was a long, weary day.

The sky was beautiful in the evening, as darkness fell. Maisie came in with his dinner, drew the curtains, said: ‘Oo, that woman's terrible today,' and went out. The door was locked behind her. Roger ate slowly, for the sake of something to do, then tried to read, but instead found his mind filled with wild ideas of escape, reaction against the sense of futility. By eleven o'clock, all the main lights were out, as far as he could tell. But for the guards the household was asleep. He went to the door, but gave up; he had no chance at all.

He needed one of those discs …

But what good would it be to him if he had a hundred of them, and couldn't get away?

He went back to the window, caged and helpless, his nerves quivering and raw. Yet while he was here and alive there must
be
a chance; if he was alert every moment, one might come when he least expected it. If one came and he let it go, that would be the true failure.

He was awake and restless in the early hours when he heard a sound at the door. He was always locked in at night, but had never heard this before. He lay still, face turned to the door, eyes narrowed. He could see nothing, but there was a slight creaking sound, of the door opening. He expected to see a bright light beyond, but there was only a faint glow.

He saw a pale, ghostly figure.

He heard the door close, shutting out the light.

There was a rustling sound, but that was not all; he could smell a scent which Julieta used. Still he did not move, but he could imagine her face as she had flung herself at the dog, the hideous tension in it; and he remembered what Maisie had said about her.

She was very near.

‘Roger,' she whispered, and he could only just hear the sound. ‘Roger, wake up.'

No one here had ever called him Roger.

Why did she?

 

‘Wake up,' Julieta repeated, and Roger felt her cold hand on his shoulder, then her fingers gripping his arm tightly; her nails dug into him. ‘
Wake up!
'

He started, as if suddenly awake.

‘Who is it? What—' He jumped up, and thrust her hand away as if in swift alarm. ‘
Who is it?
'

‘Make no noise,' she whispered fiercely, and suddenly she thrust herself against him, forcing him back, putting the weight of her whole body on him. The softness of her breast smothered him; unless he threw her off bodily he would choke.

She drew back …

‘If he finds me here he will kill me,' she said, and he was sure that she believed that to be true. ‘Be very quiet.'

He heard a different sound, the bedside light went on, and he saw her.

She wore a flimsy, almost transparent white robe, lacy and billowy and making her look quite beautiful. She had made up, as if for her lover. She was smiling at him, too, and her lips were taut, as if she was making herself smile.

Her eyes were burning.

‘Look at me,' she ordered in that passionate whisper. ‘Look at me! Am I different from other women? Tell me that, now. Has he destroyed me? Can I attract a man?
Can I?
'

She flung the robe back from her body.

She was the most beautiful thing he was ever likely to see: and there was madness in her eyes.

He knew that the chance he had prayed for had come, that the easiest thing would be to let it slip away. Give her reason to think that she had been rebuffed, and she would turn into a raging term agent. He must not take the risk, must soothe and delight her, must do anything to make sure that she did not turn on him. For about her neck hung a slim, golden chain, and attached to the chain, a red disc like the one he had seen before.

‘Well, am I so different?' She thrust her head forward, he could see the quivering at her lips. ‘Go on, tell me, am I so different from other women?'

Roger said in an unsteady voice: ‘Different? You are as different from other women as gold is from brass.'

There was a moment of terrible silence.

He did not know what she would do, did not know whether he had said the thing she wanted. Then he saw fierce delight spread in her eyes. She flung herself forward, and hugged him fiercely. He held her tightly while she uttered wild, unintelligible things. He was reminded of Richard, his younger son, when very young and frightened, behaving like this, and pouring out all the causes of his fears.

He soothed and encouraged her.

‘
He is a devil, twists me, makes me indifferent to men; he won't let me live my own life
—'

‘It's all right, Julieta, you will live your own life soon.'

‘
I hate him, I hate him, I'll hate him for ever.
'

‘He won't worry you much longer, Julieta.'

‘
He made them kill my dogs, my beautiful dogs; he ordered them to be shot.
'

‘It's all right, Julieta, he won't do that again.'

‘
He's a devil, he makes men do his devilry; if they won't he kills them, or he takes away their wives. He always gets what he wants, he removes anyone who tries to stop him.
'

‘That will soon stop, Julieta.'

‘
Why don't you kill him?
'

As she said that she drew back, seemed oblivious of her near nakedness. Then she thrust her face close to his, and spat the question out again.

‘
Why don't you kill him?
'

Was this the moment of revelation? Was he to learn everything he needed to learn now? Did she know what Carosi was planning to do?

Roger said, gently: ‘He mustn't be killed until we know what he is doing, Julieta. Then we can save a lot of people from great hurt.'

The fire faded from her eyes, she backed away a little, she looked puzzled as she asked: ‘Why should I save others? Are they so important?'

‘They will help you to become more normal, and—'

That was his undoing.

‘Normal!' she cried, and leapt at him and struck him across the face time and time again, then drew back and hissed words at him, in a low-pitched voice which seemed to be the voice of evil itself. The madness flared up in her eyes.

‘You say I am not normal, you dare insult me, insult
me,
Carosi's perfect woman. Wait until I tell him this! Wait until he knows the truth! I have tried to save you, I have persuaded him to let you live, but now I will tell him I found you in my room. I shall tell him you came into my room, and you tried to—'

Her voice was rising, and was nearly a screech; it would soon be heard outside. She stood there shaking clenched fists at him, her body quivering, the filmy, lacy robe shaking like a cascade of water; and the red disc danced and quivered against her lovely skin.

He had to silence her.

He snatched at her wrist and pulled her down, clasped his left hand over her mouth to stifle the scream, and gripped her throat tightly. He pressed his thumb against the windpipe. At first she kicked and struggled, but gradually the struggle ceased, and she went limp. He took his hands away, and waited, but she made no sound or movement. He pushed her away, towards the foot of the bed, got up, and then felt for her pulse; it was hard to be sure about it, for he himself was breathing so heavily.

She was alive; of course she was.

He twisted the little gold chain round so that he could get at the fastener, undid it, and slipped it, together with the disc, into the pocket of his jacket which hung on the back of a chair. Then he flung his clothes on. Julieta was stirring when he was dressed, but not awake. He tore a strip off the diaphanous gown, and wound it round and round her face, gagging her, and then went to the door. If she could open it, then surely he could.

He opened it.

There was a faint light from the hall.

He knew Julieta's room, and stepped towards it, making no sound on the thick carpet. He could see a man sitting near the great front door; a guard, to make doubly sure that there was no escape. He ignored this man and went back to Julieta's room, went in, and switched on the light. Her bed had been slept in; she must have tossed and turned before coming in to him. He went back for her, laid her on her own bed, and drew back.

She was still unconscious.

If he killed her, she would not be found until the morning, when he might be far away.

Should he kill her?

When she came round, would she be demented enough to tell Carosi what had happened? Or would her cunning make her fear the consequences of that too much? If she told part she must tell all, and Carosi would know that Roger could not have got out of his room and into hers.

She had lost that pass.

Roger felt her pulse again, and judged that she would be unconscious for some time yet; and for a long time after that would not know where she was, or what she was doing.

Should he kill?

Could
he kill?

He turned away abruptly, and went out, closing her door very softly. Then he went down to the head of the stairs. The man was reading a book, and sitting so that he could see the foot of the stairs and the door; but until he looked up, he would see nothing.

Roger crept back to his room for a pillow, and then came back. For half the distance he could keep out of the guard's sight. He went down, step by step. The moment when he would be seen if the other glanced up, but the guard kept reading, as if enthralled. Roger went down, down, down, until he reached floor level. He moved to one side, now, so as to approach from behind.

He was out of sight when the man looked up, as if suspicious; and he was close enough to jump on the man and grip him round the throat, discarding the pillow as he went. He felt a convulsive heave of the man's body, but he choked the wild cry, and gripped with all his strength.

 

He heard a sharp crack of sound, and knew that he had broken this man's neck.

He let him go, then took the gun from his pocket and put it in his own. He made sure that the red disc was safe, then stepped to the door, and began to unfasten the chains, the bolts and the locks. One of them would have the electric switch built in; every moment was one of screaming tension, in case an alarm bell clanged.

It did not.

He opened the door and stepped into the grounds.

 

 

It was not often that Detective-Sergeant Gill saw the Assistant Commissioner alone, and Gill stood somewhat in awe of Chatworth. Yet during the past few days, normality had gone by the board at Scotland Yard, and after reading a report with more than usual interest, Gill got up from his desk and was soon at Chatworth's door, giving a tap which sounded peremptory because he was so nervous.

Chatworth looked surprised at the sight of him, but was affable enough.

‘Good morning, sergeant. What can I do for you?'

‘If you can spare me five minutes, sir.'

‘Yes. What's it all about?'

Greatly encouraged, Gill approached the desk.

‘I've just read that an old lag named Dempster came out of prison a fortnight ago, sir. Inside for putting on the black. Suspected of working for Carosi, too. He was a footman at Sir Mortimer Grant's house for a while. Do you remember him, sir?'

‘Vaguely,' said Chatworth. ‘What's he been doing?'

‘He's the only man who ever had any dealings with Carosi whom we've been able to trace lately. I arranged for a special watch—there's a chance that he'll try to contact Carosi pretty soon. And he's gone to Ireland—arrived there late last night on the last 'plane from Croydon. Batten, the man following him, managed to get on the same 'plane. Dempster hired a car in Dublin, and drove through the night to Killarney. Batten's just telephoned from there, sir. He couldn't follow by road, but managed to get a morning 'plane to the Shannon airport, and then went on by road. He had a word with the Civic Guards, who knew Dempster was in Killarney early this morning but don't know where he went.'

‘Dempster got any relatives or association with Killarney?' Chatworth demanded.

‘None that I can trace, sir,' said Gill.

‘Hm,' said Chatworth. ‘Very long shot to think he might have gone to Carosi, but you're even more desperate to find him than I am. Bad thing about West. His wife—' Chatworth broke off. ‘Well, we mustn't miss a chance. Think Batten is lonely at Killarney by himself?'

‘I don't think he ought to be left on his own,' said Gill, ‘and I thought you would like to ask the co-operation of the Civic Guards—they're very touchy over there.'

‘So would I be if they came here!' said Chatworth. ‘I'll speak to Dublin police right away. It's a bit thin, but we don't want Batten being chivvied across Eire.'

‘No, sir. There's one other thing. Dempster was released on the same day as Willie the Squealer, who—'

‘Even I know Willie the Squealer,' said Chatworth.

‘He and Dempster were in the same squad at Parkmoor,' Gill explained. ‘You know how it is in stir, sir—they talk much more freely than they do outside. Dempster might have talked to Willie. So I thought if I tackled Willie—'

‘Let me know what he says,' said Chatworth. ‘And what about Mrs West, Gill?' He was very gruff. ‘Would it help if I went to see her again?'

‘She'd appreciate it, sir, and she's taking it on the chin. Nothing will persuade her that Handsome—that Mr West is dead, sir.'

 

Divisional DO's picked up Willie the Squealer in his single-room ‘apartment' in a dark hovel near the Hundred Arches. Willie protested whiningly when he was taken to the Wapping Police Station. He was going straight. Why, he hadn't lifted a finger since he'd come out.

He looked surprised to see the massive Gill, who stood in the charge-room at the Wapping Station, a very different man from the nervous sergeant at Scotland Yard.

The other detectives went out.

‘Now what's this?' demanded Willie edgily. ‘I haven't done nothing and I ain't got anything to say, you needn't think I have.'

‘We're not trying to pin anything on you, Willie, take it easy,' said Gill. ‘Anything you say is for my ears alone—that's why I sent the others out. I'm at the Yard now.'

‘You never deserved promotion,' muttered Willie.

‘You don't deserve this,' said Gill, offering cigarettes, ‘and you ought still to be inside, but here you are, free as the air. Meet any nice boys in jug?'

Willie lit the cigarette.

‘There ain't none,' he declared.

‘Not even you, Willie? Some are worse than others, though. Hear anything about Carosi?'

Willie's face twitched.

‘Oo?'

‘Carosi. Chap who was causing some trouble before you went in,' said Gill casually.

‘Never 'eard of him!'

‘Haven't you?' asked Gill, softly. ‘Dempster had his knife into Carosi, didn't he?'

‘
What?
'
screeched Willie. He jumped up, dropping the cigarette, tried to save it from falling, and burnt himself. ‘Dempster always said—now, listen,' he added, bending down to retrieve the cigarette, and refusing to meet Gill's eyes. ‘I don't know nothing about Carosi. Forget it.'

‘Willie, you're a poor liar,' Gill said. ‘You were working at the same bench as Dempster. Carosi shopped him, and Dempster went to get his own back.'

‘It's no use,' declared Willie stubbornly. ‘I dunno a thing.'

‘Willie,' murmured Gill, ‘there was a little bit of bag-snatching in Mile End Road three days ago. You were seen near the incident. And you've just come out, so you're stranded. I don't say j'ou did the job. That's up to the court. But you'd have a job to prove you—'

‘You ruddy, lying copper!' snarled Willie. ‘I wasn't anywhere near, wouldn't touch anyfink with a bargepole; you can't pin it on me!'

‘What did Dempster say?' asked Gill.

Willie drew a deep breath, and then capitulated.

‘S'matter o' fact, 'e did 'ave it in for Carosi,' he muttered. ‘Said 'e knew where to find 'im, an' as soon as 'e could get enough ready together, 'e'd be arter 'im. But I told 'im 'e was a fool, 'e'd never get nowhere with Carosi.'

‘And you'd never heard of Carosi, hadn't you?' asked Gilt, with heavy sarcasm. ‘All right, Willie, scram.'

 

Gill was met at Rynnenna airport next day by a huge, red-faced Captain of the Civic Guard, who rejoiced in the name of Mulloon, a tremendous thirst, and a professed admiration for any and everything English, including the representatives of Scotland Yard. And he had a car – what a car! It was a huge glistening Chrysler, and roared along the poor road from Rynnenna to the south.

Mulloon told story after story of the villainies of the English. Whenever he spotted a ruin, he would stop the car and invite Gill to gaze upon it, and remark that it was the finest ruin in the whole of Kerry, and if it hadn't been for the man Cromwell, now, it would still be a fine castle.

‘'Twould and all,' said Mulloon. ‘The damage that man did, ye'd never believe.'

‘I didn't know him,' remarked Gill, blandly.

‘Och, it's no use pretending ye wouldn't do the same today if ye had the chance,' said Mulloon, ‘but don't mistake me, Sergeant, I like the English—och, yes, I like the English, they're the finest creatures on God's earth if ye forget the Irish. And the Americans. And maybe one or two others of the lesser races—come, man!' He slapped Gill across the shoulders and started the car off again. ‘It's only jokin' that I am. A fine time I've had with your man Batten.'

They tore into Killarney.

It was market day, and the three main streets were still crowded with people and cattle. Soon they drew up outside the Great Southern Hotel, near the railway station. Mulloon jumped out as soon as the car stopped, and rested a hand'on Gill's arm.

‘'Tis a fine hotel ye're coming to, Sergeant, the finest in all Ireland!'

He led the way across a large hall and then to a gloomy staircase; next across a large hall into a large double room with twin beds, where big and burly Detective-Officer Batten was poring over a map spread out on a small table.

Batten jumped up.

‘Anything Dick?' asked Gill.

‘Not much,' said Batten. ‘I've marked a dozen big, private houses, but they all seem to belong to Americans!'

‘That needn't worry us,' said Gill. ‘Carosi would probably call himself an American. Any with dogs?'

‘Now, what would a man in a big house be doing if he hadn't some dogs to keep him company. If it's a greyhound ye want, I've a friend who has the fastest—'

‘Alsatians,' said Batten.

‘I wouldn't be trusting the brutes,' said Mulloon.

‘Does anyone near by have a private aeroplane?' asked Gill.

‘Well, now, if there aren't three or four,' said Mulloon. ‘'Tis a fine country for flying, they tell me, and only a step across the water to America itself. Alsatian dogs, now. And aeroplanes. And what else would ye be looking for? This Carosi man. If so, it's the wrong place ye've come to, Sergeant; we wouldn't have a wicked criminal like Carosi in a fine part of Ireland like this. Would we, now?'

‘Well, I don't know,' said Gill. ‘You had Cromwell.'

Mulloon's big eyes rounded, his full lips parted with a hiss. There was a moment of utter stillness before he roared with laughter, slapped Gill boisterously on the back, and went off into another paroxysm.

When Mulloon recovered, he said weakly: ‘Sure and that's the finest crack I've heard from an Englishman in all me nach'ral, Sergeant. It's a smart man ye are, and ye'll get everything from Pat Mulloon that he can give ye. Och, we had Cromwell!' He went off into another paroxysm of laughter, while Batten watched him exasperatedly. ‘Now where are we?' he demanded at last. ‘'Tis a man named Carosi with an aeroplane and Alsatian dogs ye're looking for, and it's the glamorous Inspector West who is alive if he isn't dead.'

‘That's right,' said Gill, quietly.

‘Och, we can't have men going about Ireland, with a famous English detective as a prisoner, it wouldn't do at all. Pat Mulloon looks a bit of a fool, no doubt, but he knows what goes on in Killarney. It's an idea I'm having. Ye wouldn't be liking Michael O'Leary.'

Batten stirred restlessly.

‘No, that man Michael O'Leary had a great-great-grandfather whose great-great-grandfather owned a castle which became a Cromwell ruin, that's the truth as I'm standing here,' Mulloon declared. ‘And Michael O'Leary is the fine upstanding officer in charge at Kerry. A great one for talking, is Michael O'Leary, for all he's a man with a remarkable keen sense of observation, and only a week ago he was talking to me. “Pat,” he said to me, “ye've heard me talk of the American millionaire who bought Kinara?” “Yes, Michael,” I said, and I didn't remind him I'd seldom heard him talk of anything else; this American was a great man who bought Kinara five years ago, or would it be six? I'm trying to think of his name, now.' Mulloon struck an attitude of deep concentration. ‘Och, that is it, Pyne!—Jacon C. Pyne, as ever was, and so rich you would never believe. He bought Kinara, the house and the grounds and the wood, and all, did ye ever see such woods? In a circle they are, surrounding the grounds of the house; och, they must stretch for miles. And the old Earl of Kinara had a great high wall built around it, and oak trees planted both sides of the wall; 'tis a lonely spot and haunted by the Devil himself, if ever there was such a place in all of Ireland. And Michael O'Leary was telling me that this Pyne has a private aeroplane, och, yes I And the grounds stretch down to the coast into the bargain. All manner of boats he had, from yawls to yachts and steam-launches and—were ye saying something, Sergeant Gill?'

‘No, no,' said Gill, hastily. ‘You go on, Captain.'

‘There isn't much more to tell ye,' declared Mulloon. ‘Michael O'Leary never wearies of telling me how often the man Pyne goes up in his aeroplane; why, 'tis even suggested he has a pair of them. And 'tis said that the shopkeepers never go inside the grounds, they deliver everything at the lodge, and I
have
heard talk of big dogs.'

‘Dogs!' cried Batten, unable to restrain himself. ‘Now, don't get excited,' cautioned Mulloon, ‘'tis well known that the Irish often exaggerate. But there's another small thing, maybe it will help ye. By the strangest coincidence I spoke to O'Leary on the telephone early this morning. “Mike,” said I, “I've a fine, powerful Englishman from Scotland Yard taking the air at Killarney, who says he came after a man named Dempster who left Killarney early yesterday morning; a little dark-haired fellow, this Dempster. Did ye see the like of him near Kinara?” I asked, and would ye believe it, Mike O'Leary said to me: “There was talk of a dark-haired man who didn't look like an Englishman and went towards Kinara yesterday morning, and climbed the great wall—and after that he wasn't seen again.”'

Batten exclaimed: ‘We've got him!'

‘Now don't get excited, me boys,' cautioned Mulloon again. ‘'Tis an English habit to get excited when there's no reason and to go to sleep when they've every cause to wake up. This Pyne isn't your Carosi. According to the description in the newspapers, Carosi is a short, square kind of man, and Pyne is tall and thin. If ye take my advice, ye'll consult O'Leary and make arrangements with him to visit Kinara, and if ye take my advice again,' added Mulloon solemnly, ‘I'd telephone Scotland Yard and have Scotland Yard telephone Dublin and have Dublin telephone O'Leary, to tell him what to do, or he won't do it. And if this Mr Pyne is giving sanctuary to your Carosi, it would take a small army to raid Kinara. I'd be very careful if I was you.'

 

A hundred eyes seemed to be watching Roger that night, but he reached the pitch-darkness of the nearest oak tree without an alarm being raised. He looked back. All he could see was the dark outline of the great pile – there was no crack of light anywhere.