hair.
Inspector Thompson had been aware that Colonel Verney had given most of his time before the last war to checking up on the activities of Fascists, and that since the war he had given most of it to checking up on those of Communists. What the Inspector had not known was that, as C.B. was responsible for keeping tabs on all groups which might be engaged in any anti-social activity, it had included a number of secret societies that practised Black Magic. The knowledge that he had gained of such matters was, therefore, considerable.
With a heavy sigh he put away the photograph. It was the marks on the legs that had first led him to suspect that Morden had been hung by his bound ankles from a stout peg between them, and now the particles of blood found in his hair confirmed that. Verney did not believe that the killing was the work of thugs in the dock area. In his own mind he now felt certain that Morden was the victim of a ritual murder, and had been crucified upside- down.
CHAPTER II A WIDOW SEEKS REVENGE
Colonel Verney lived for a good part of the year as a grass-widower. That was not because he was lacking in affection for his wife, but both of them had been over forty when they married and she had been loath to give up the charming little villa near St. Raphael, in the South of France, where she had made her home for the previous seven years.
During those years, as Molly Fountain, she had built up a reputation for herself as a very competent writer of adventure stories and her work brought her quite a comfortable income. Had that been added to the Colonel's - since in Britain the incomes of husband and wife are assessed as one for tax purposes - the result would have been that they would have been compelled to pay away a big proportion of their joint earnings in income and super tax. By continuing to be domiciled in different countries they were better off by at least a thousand a year, which more than paid for frequent trips by one or other of them between London and St. Raphael and, moreover, enabled Molly to go on writing her books in the sunny, secluded retreat where inspiration seemed to come to her much more easily than in a city.
The law allowed her to spend up to three months a year in England without becoming liable to tax, and Verney spent his leaves with her in France; added to which his work often necessitated his going to the Continent for consultations with his opposite numbers in other capitals, and sometimes she flew from Nice to Geneva, Paris, Rome or wherever it might be, to be with him. In consequence, a month rarely passed without their being able to have a few nights together or longer sessions of a fortnight or more; and for two middle-aged people, both of whose minds were largely occupied with their work, the arrangement had proved very satisfactory.
Verney, too, was particularly fortunate as by this arrangement he had not even had to forgo the benefit of leaving his bachelor quarters, for a London home where he was made much of. The same month that he had married Molly, her son John had married Ellen Beddows, and Ellen had just inherited a handsome fortune from her father. John was doing well as a junior partner in a firm of interior decorators, but it was Ellen's money that had enabled them to start their married life in much better style than he would have been able to afford.
They had bought one of the delightful new houses that were being built in Dovehouse Street, Chelsea; and behind it, at the far end of a pleasant little paved garden, it had another building which was virtually a self- contained flat. It consisted of a large, lofty studio with a small bedroom, bathroom and tiny kitchenette. As the house itself contained ample accommodation for the young couple, and they both adored C.B., they had insisted that he should come to live in the studio.
This proved an admirable arrangement, for he enjoyed all the amenities of a home without always being on top of them. Moreover, as he continued his old practice of dining two or three nights a week at his club, they could when they wished ask other young couples to dinner without having him too as odd man out; and when they had larger parties he was always happy to place the big studio at their disposal.
It had been on Monday, March 7th, that he had briefed Barney Sullivan, and on the following Sunday afternoon he had just settled himself down in the studio to read the papers, when John Fountain came across, put his head in at the door, and said: 'C.B., a young woman has called and is asking to see you. Her name is Mrs. Morden. What about it?'
With a sigh C.B. lowered the paper. He knew that it must be Teddy Morden's widow, and felt that an interview with her would certainly be most painful for them both, the odds being that she had come to upbraid him for sending her husband to his death; but he quickly resigned himself to it.
'All right, John. I'll see her.'
John gave him a wicked grin. 'She's quite an eyeful - a ravishing blonde. Poor old Mumsie. What's it worth to you for me not to let on to her that you've got yourself a lovely girl-friend?'
C.B. grinned back. 'That's quite enough of that, young feller. Bring her along.'
'O.K. Chief. But my silence will cost you a case of Moet N.V.'
Two minutes later Mrs. Morden stepped across the threshold of C.B.'s spacious book-lined sanctum. From behind her shoulder the irrepressible John winked at C.B. and made the V sign; then he quietly closed the door upon them.
Mary Morden was twenty-three and John had not exaggerated her good looks. A small black hat enhanced the gold of her ripe-corn coloured hair, which she evidently kept long, as it was done up in two thick plaits at the back of her head, leaving fully exposed two unusually pretty little ears. Her eyebrows were rather thick, and she left them like that because they were so fair that, had they been plucked, they would hardly have shown; but below them were two almond-shaped eyes of that deep blue colour which is most usually seen in combination with the dark beauty of an Irish colleen. Her nose was straight, her mouth firm and her pointed chin slightly aggressive. She was fairly tall with a good bust that nicely balanced her hips, and she carried herself well. C.B., who had an eye for such things, decided that her black and white check suit, although it fitted her well, was ready-made; but that her nylons were of fine quality. As she took the chair he placed for her, she crossed a pair of legs of which she had good reason to be proud, and he saw that they ended in small, neat feet.
He had seen her before on two occasions. The last had been at Morden's funeral, and there he had only bowed to her as a veiled, pathetic figure. The first had been when he had had to go down to her flat at Wimbledon to break the news of her husband's death to her. It had been a Monday morning; she had been busy doing the weekly washing, and so had come out from the kitchen with her hair tied up in a scarf, wearing a faded blouse, tight blue jeans and a pair of down-at-heel slippers. She had little make-up on now, but she had had none at all on then, and a wisp of hair that had got loose from under the scarf had given her a slightly sluttish appearance. He had been struck by her fine eyes but failed to realize that she was a beauty before the news he brought confirmed her fears for Teddy, who had not been home since the afternoon of Saturday; upon which she had buried her face in her hands and burst into a passion of tears. To make the horrible job he had to do a little easier, he had first sought out Morden's brother and sister-in-law, and taken them with him. Having told Mrs. Morden of her husband's death as gently as he could, and provided her with ample money to meet any immediate necessities, he had left her with her relations by marriage.
