declared that Roger amazed him, so rarely did good looks and a keen mind go together.
“What time must we leave?” Janet asked.
“We shouldn’t start later than six,” said Roger, “the curtain rises at a quarter past seven and I don’t suppose we’ll be able to get a cab.” He reached out for his cup and then sat upright, hearing footsteps on the front path. The lounge was at the front of the house.
The footsteps were heavy and deliberate.
“Darling, why are you on edge so?” demanded Janet. “It’s probably the laundryman.” She put the lid over a dish of toasted crumpets and hurried to the front door. Roger glanced towards the hall, not knowing himself why he felt so worked up, until he heard Abbott’s familiar voice.
“Good afternoon,” said the Superintendent, “is Inspector West in, please ?”
“Yes, he’s at home,” said Janet, her tone reflecting the keenness of her disappointment.
“Ask him to be good enough to spare me a few minutes, will you? I am Superintendent Abbott of New Scotland Yard.”
“Yes, I know,” said Janet. She asked Abbott into the hall, then came to tell Roger, who was standing up and sipping his tea.
“Shall I ask him in here?”
“Yes, you’d better,” said Roger, reluctantly.
“I suppose I’ll have to offer him some tea,” said Janet. She made a moue and then went out into the hall again, but she sounded brighter as she invited Abbott to come into the lounge.
“It is a private matter, Mrs West. I would rather see him alone,” Abbott said.
Roger went into the hall with a manner which could hardly be called inviting.
“Wouldn’t a phone call have done as well?” He was on surer ground in his home than at the Yard. He saw Detective Sergeant Martin standing by the gate, looking gloomier because it was raining harder. Drops fell from the turned-down brim of his trilby. Roger frowned and added more sharply : “What is it?”
Deliberately, Abbott wiped his feet on the door-mat and shook the rain from his hat into the porch before putting it on the hall-stand. Janet closed the door. Abbott did not take off his mackintosh as he said :
“I’d like a word with you, West, alone.”
Feeling angry, Roger led the way to the dining-room. He stood aside for Abbott to pass and the Superintendent sidled in.
Roger waited as Abbott regarded him with narrowed eyes; he was a spare man with a curiously fleshless face and lips which were almost colourless.
“Well, what is it?” Roger’s exasperation got the better of his discretion.
“I think you know why I’ve called,” said Abbott.
“I certainly don’t,” Roger said. “And I hope it won’t take long. Is it the Micklejohn case?”
“It is not,” Abbott said. “West, I don’t wish to make this more unpleasant than I have to. You know why I’ve come and your aggressive attitude won’t help you.”
Roger stared. “Aggressive attitude?” he echoed. “If you mean a reasonable annoyance at being visited at home when I’m off duty —”
“I mean nothing of the kind,” said Abbott, and sighed, as if what he had to say was extremely distasteful. “I’ve come, of course, to search your house.”
Roger looked at him stupidly. “You’ve come to —” he began, then stopped abruptly. He was no longer angry, but was simply puzzled. “I wish you’d tell me what all this is about. It’s got past the joking stage.”
Abbott pushed his hand into his coat and drew out a folded slip of paper. There was something familiar about it; it was an official search warrant. Even when it was upside down he recognised the flourishes of the signature of Sir Guy Chatworth, the then Assistant Commissioner at the Yard, but until he had read it he did not really believe that it authorised Abbott to search
“I think you owe me an explanation. I have no idea what this is all about.”
Abbott did not immediately answer and before Roger could speak again, still shocked by Abbott’s announcement, a second knock came at the front door and Janet’s footsteps followed. He paid little attention to what was happening outside, but looked into Abbott’s narrowed eyes and tried to quieten the heavy thumping of his heart.
CHAPTER 2
“IT is not a pleasant task for me to present this warrant and X I think you should stop pretending that you know nothing about it,” said Abbott.
“I tell you I haven’t the faintest idea,” insisted Roger.
“Hallo, Jan !” cried a man from the hall. Roger recognised the voice of a close friend, Mark Lessing. Abbott was so surprised that he looked towards the door and Mark continued: “How’s the birthday party going?” There was a smacking sound and then, in a gasping voice, Janet said :
“Mark, you ass !”
“Now what is a kiss between friends on a birthday?” demanded Lessing. “Especially on the twenty-first — it
