Inspector West At Home

“Are you trying to frighten me ?”

“I am giving you notice of my intention,” said Roger. “That’s more than anyone did for me.” He paused but Chatworth simply sat back and stared at him; the desk-lamp shone on his polished cranium.

Looking at a man who had often been friendly and with whom he had worked for several years, one whom he had almost regarded with hero-worship, Roger felt a quickening tension. Until then, he had thought it just possible that Chatworth had deliberately planned to smear him so that he could work surreptitiously. The last hope should have died when he had found ‘K’s’ note, which was proof of evil intent.

Now he saw the situation for what it was — absurd but highly dangerous. Chatworth was not an ogre, but a reasonable human beneath his gruff manner. Roger stepped forward and planted both hands on the desk.

“I know that you must have strong reasons for what you’ve done,” he said. “You might at least give me the chance to answer the allegations. My record at the Yard should entitle me to that. The case must be more serious even than the seriousness of accepting bribes, or you wouldn’t have been so arbitrary. And Abbott’s visit doesn’t make sense.” He saw Chatworth going even redder. “If I were guilty, I wouldn’t be fool enough to keep evidence in my house.”

“That’s enough, West,” said Chatworth in a more reasonable tone. “Sit down.” That was a ray of hope. So was the way Chatworth pushed a box of cigarettes towards him. He lit up, and Chatworth bit the end off a cheroot. “For the first time I’m beginning to think I might be wrong,” Chatworth went on. “Why do you want four weeks’ leave?”

“To investigate this affair for myself.”

Chatworth unlocked a drawer in his desk and drew out a manilla folder. Roger leaned back and drew on his cigarette. The office was quiet except for the rustling of papers, until Chatworth glanced up and said sharply : “How do you account for seven payments of two hundred and fifty pounds paid into your account at the Mid-Union Bank, Westminster, during the last three months? Cash payments, always in one-pound notes. Where did you get the money?”

Roger was stupefied. “It’s not true!” he protested.

“Now, come. I have seen the account, talked to the cashier and the manager. Your wife made the payments.”

“Nonsense!” said Roger.

“Are you telling me that you don’t know what money there is in your account?”

“I use the Mid-Union bank only for occasional transactions,” Roger said. “It’s a supplementary to my main account at Barclavs, Chelsea. I’ve sent no credit to Mid- Union for at least six months. Nor has my wife.”

Chatworth said :

“Look at that.”

He handed a bank paying-in book across the desk. It was a small one, with half the pages torn out, leaving only the counterfoils. Roger saw that the first entries were in his handwriting — the book was undoubtedly his. He glanced through it, seeing a payment of fifty pounds which he had made in the September of the previous year. From then on — beginning in the middle of January — there were the payments which Chatworth had mentioned. The official stamp of the Mid-Union Bank with initials scrawled across it was there and the name at the top of each counterfoil was his.

Roger turned the counterfoils. The first shock over, he was able to study the writing and he noticed the regular lettering, it was almost copperplate writing, such as the man who had signed himself ‘K’ might have written.

“Well ?” demanded Chatworth.

“And my wife is supposed to have paid these in?” said Roger. “No, sir, it didn’t happen that way. The money has been paid in, all right. They’ve taken a lot of trouble to frame me, haven’t they?” He smiled, looked almost carefree. “I suppose someone representing herself to be my wife made the calls?”

“The description of the woman in every case is identifiable with your wife,” Chatworth declared.

“The description of any attractive, average build dark- haired woman with a flair for dressing well would do for that.”

“You seem remarkably pleased with yourself,” said Chatworth, sarcastically.

“I’m greatly relieved, sir! This is obviously one of your main items of evidence. My wife didn’t visit the bank and the bank’s cashiers will say so when they see her. You’ll arrange for several cashiers to see her, won’t you?”

“Yes,” said Chatworth. He leaned back and closed one eye. His pendulous jowl pressed against his collar, only half of which was visible. “You’re remarkably smug,” he remarked. “You could have sent another young woman.”

Roger laughed. “Aren’t you letting yourself be carried away, sir?”

“What did you say?”

“If I were to advance a theory like that, without evidence, you would tell me not to go out on a limb,” Roger said. “Someone else paid that money into my account and whoever it was can be found. When she’s found we’ll have the answer to all this. May I ask what other evidence you have?”

Chatworth said in a strained voice : “West, are you a consummate liar or do you seriously suggest that you have been framed?”

“Obviously, I’ve been cleverly framed,” said Roger. “You can’t have any unanswerable evidence or you wouldn’t have waited so long before acting. You can’t charge me or you would have done by now. May I have that four weeks’ leave of absence, sir?”

“I don’t know,” said Chatworth. “When did you arrange for Morgan to break into your house?”

With anyone else, Roger might have given himself away. For years he had been used to such unexpected