would shrink from taking any action without Chatworth’s express wishes; Cornish was the only man to try, but Cornish had left. Accepting the inevitable, Roger asked for Abbott.
The Superintendent’s voice sounded far away.
“What is it, West?”
“I have the address of a man named Pickerell,” Roger said. Whatever else Abbott did he would take the message correctly. “He has admitted arranging for the payment of the money into my account, and using an employee to impersonate my wife. Pickerell has just escaped from his office. He might have gone to his home, at 81 Bligh Street, Lambeth. Is that clear?”
“Yes. But—”
“Thanks.” Roger rang off, giving Abbott no chance to ask questions, and hoping that he had forced an issue.
He heard men approaching and saw Cornish passing the open door. He called out, and Cornish hurried towards him.
“Much excitement,” said Roger, “but I’m afraid the bird’s flown.”
“Flown?” Cornish’s voice rose in disappointment.
“I’ve just phoned Abbott and told him where he might be, so you’d better stay here,” Roger said, “Abbott will probably resent it if you usurp his authority.”
“I don’t give a damn for Abbott!” said Cornish roundly.
Roger persuaded him to stay at the office of the Society. The fire and Roger’s and Morgan’s evidence were enough to justify Cornish making a search. Roger kept the address book and telephone list tucked under his coat. Eventually, Roger found that the two girls of the fire-fighting party had given Pep Morgan first aid. A bullet had entered the fleshy part of his thigh. When an ambulance arrived, the doctor said confidently that it would do perfectly until the patient reached hospital.
Roger saw the little private detective off.
“Got everything you want, Handsome?” Morgan asked as he was being lifted on to a stretcher.
“Everything,” Roger assured him. “I’ll look in before the day’s out, Pep.”
“Don’t you worry about me, you look after yourself,” urged Morgan. “Oh, there is
“I’ll go straight from here,” Roger promised.
Pep said “Ta!”, and the doors were closed on him.
Roger felt a strange independence in his freedom from the obligation to go immediately to the Yard and report — and he was appreciative of Cornish’s ‘forgetfulness’ in not telling him to stay long enough to make a full statement.
He found the cabby waiting nearby.
“Anywhere else, Guv’nor ?” he asked, and then eagerly: “Your pal copped it, didn’t he?”
“Oh, that was nothing to what might happen next. Shall I hire another cab ?”
“Don’t you leave me aht o’ this,” snapped the cabby with quick resentment. “I drove all through the blitz, didn’t I? What’s a little thing like this to the blitz? Where to?”
Roger said : “Clapham Common.”
Then he broke off. Looking along the street, he saw a Daimler limousine turn the corner and approach slowly. He did not know whether Mrs Sylvester Cartier was inside but recognised her chauffeur, the man with the name of ‘Bott’.
CHAPTER 11
AS ROGER stepped away from him, the cabby drew himself up to his full height, puffed out his chest and thrust forward his square, unshaven chin, narrowed his shrewd eyes and spoke with deep feeling.
“Guv’nor,
Roger took out a handful of silver, thrust it into the cabby’s hand, and said :
“Give me some change. Make it look as if I’m paying you off”.” He waited only for the man’s startled expression to change to one of understanding before going on : “Drive along the street and wait where you can follow the Daimler when it moves off. When you’ve finished that, telephone a report to my Chelsea house — Chelsea 0123. Keep the chase up all night if necessary.”
“Okay!” The cabby delved and found a penny. “There’s your change, Guv’nor!”
“I’m relying on you,” Roger said. “What’s your name?”
“Dixon.”
“All right, Dixon. I’ll make the job worth your while.”
The Daimler had drawn up and chauffeur Bott was standing, stiff as a ramrod, by the door. A man stepped out, tall, elegant, impressive-looking. He turned to assist Mrs Sylvester Cartier from the car, and the two of them, a fine pair, stood together eyeing the crowd which had gathered, the policemen and the evidence of a fire.
