Inspector West At Home

The man seemed relieved.

“Now be sensible and go away. I suggest a long holiday in the country. I think I can assure you that when I have finished my job you will have nothing to worry about. The truth can be told afterwards, and you will be back at your desk without a stain on your character !”

Roger said : “You’ve made one mistake.”

“Bluff will not—”

“It’s nothing to do with bluff,” said Roger. “You’ve assumed that only I heard your conversation with Miss Randall. Someone else did, too. My word might not be sufficient but the testimony of two people will. When Miss Randall realises that her evidence will be rebutted she’ll see that the only way out is to tell the truth.”

The man seemed to stiffen.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Roger raised his voice.

“Pep, are you there? Be careful, this man’s armed.”

“I’ve rung the Yard, Handsome,” came Pep’s voice. “They won’t be long.”

The girl gasped. Pickerell backed to his desk and, keeping the gun trained on Roger, the girl and the door, who were all in line with one another he pulled open a drawer and took out some papers. He felt inside the drawer as if to make sure that it was empty, then stuffed the papers into his pocket.

Then he took out a box of matches.

Roger guessed what he intended to do, but the threat of the gun kept him still. Clumsily with one hand, Pickerell broke two matches before one ignited. He held it to the corner of a paper on the desk. It flared up. He set light to other papers. Smoke and flames rose up and began to spread.

“Don’t do it!” Roger cried.

“Stay where you are!” ordered Pickerell. He moved towards a door leading to the passage as the flames took a fiercer hold. A ring of them ran along the cable of the telephone and a draught from the open window sent two pieces of burning paper sliding along the desk where they caught others; the desk and its contents were soon ablaze, and the smoke was beginning to make Roger cough. The girl turned towards the window but Pickerell ignored her. Step by step, he reached the passage door, took a key from his pocket, inserted and turned it.

“Pep!” Roger exclaimed, moving forward, “he’s —”

Pickerell stretched out a leg and kicked a chair, standing near the wall. He pulled the door open and stepped swiftly into the passage. Morgan’s voice was raised and Pickerell fired. The gun had no silencer and the shot echoed loudly, followed by a sharp exclamation from Morgan. Roger leapt over the chair and reached the passage in time to see Pep leaning against the wall, holding one foot off the ground, and Pickerell disappearing down the stairs. He ran past Pep and might have caught the man up when the ‘Inquiries’ door opened and Lois Randall appeared. She got in his way, blocking his path by accident or design. He pushed past her and sped on, calling :

“Put that fire out!”

He could not see Pickerell when he reached the street. The stocky cabby was lounging against his taxi, staring towards the Piccadilly end of the street.

“Some people!” he was saying. “Swore at me just because I said —”

“Did he get a cab?”

“Yers. “Arf way up the road.”

“You didn’t hear where he was going?”

“Nar what do you think I am?” demanded the cabby, with a vast, triumphant grin. “A human walkie- talkie?”

“One day you’ll learn when to be funny,” Roger said savagely. “Telephone Scotland Yard from the nearest call- box, ask for Inspector Cornish and tell him that West — have you got that, West?”

“Yes.”

“West says that he should send men to this address at once,” Roger said. He turned and hurried upstairs, wondering whether he was too late to stop the fire from spreading. He had been forced to attempt too many things at once. There was no sign of the girl, but Pep Morgan was disappearing into the end office, from which smoke was billowing in great choking gusts. Roger hurried after him, to find him wincing as he dragged himself towards the desk, the top of which was all ablaze. He picked up a heavy ledger with one hand, and began to beat at the desk.

“All right, Pep,” said Roger, “I’ll get a fire extinguisher.”

He was surprised to see no one else on that floor; he called out for help. Someone had smelt the fire and was on the landing below; he hurried up. He was a middle-aged man, followed by two girls and an old lady; all of them sized up the situation quickly and began to help. A cloakroom was handy for water, and within five minutes the evil smelling foam from the extinguisher covered the desk while the two girls were going round the office, beating out little fires started by the burning paper which had blown off.

Pep was sitting on a chair against the wall with his right leg stuck out in front of him. Roger turned to help him but Pep shook his head and pointed to the other door. Roger went into the room where Lois had been working. He ran through the papers on her desk, picking up an address book and a telephone index. He pushed them under his coat, and made sure there was nothing else of interest. He opened a small account book and saw that the pages were headed with copperplate handwriting, admirably executed in black drawing ink. The entries were not all the same, some being in a neat hand which he imagined to be the girl’s, but others, in drawing ink, had exactly the same characteristics as the letter from ‘K’.

“So I don’t need to look much further for him,” he muttered.

He looked through the address book, found the name ‘Pickerell’ and an address in Lambeth. He picked up the telephone, dialled the Yard and asked for Chatworth. He was told that the AC was not in. He knew that Eddie Day