Inspector West At Home

“Bill!” cried the girl.

Malone’s eyes narrowed. He moved forward, sliding his feet over the carpet and taking his hands from his pockets slowly. ‘Bill’ stood without moving, body relaxed, hands loose by his sides. Roger felt as if he were outside the situation; the girl had obviously decided that she was helpless now.

Malone stopped in front of ‘Bill’, stared at him for an appreciable time, then moved his right hand swiftly and snapped his fingers under Bill’s nose. Bill blinked. He did not move, he did not back away hastily nor raise his hands. Then Malone moved his knee up sharply towards Bill’s groin.

Roger went forward, expecting ‘Bill’ to be taken by surprise and stagger away. He did nothing of the kind. He swerved to one side so that Malone’s knee caught him on the thick part of the thigh. At the same time he raised his hands and struck Malone on either cheek, flat-handed blows with the reports like pistol shots. Malone backed away, dumbfounded. Dark red marks showed on his cheeks and into his eyes there sprang an ugly glitter, the evil look which Roger had seen before.

Malone whipped his right hand to his waistcoat and drew out a knife.

The swift movement would have deceived most men, but ‘Bill’ moved his right hand and chopped Malone’s wrist. The knife dropped to the floor. ‘Bill’ seemed to move his arm negligently and Malone gasped and went flying against the wall. He came up against it with a thud which shook the room and made his oily Marcel waves fall over his eyes and face. ‘Bill’ stepped forward and trod on the knife; the blade broke into several pieces.

“Would you like some more?” he inquired.

Roger chuckled, but no one took the slightest notice of him.

Malone. straightened himself up, brushed his hair out of his eyes and shrugged his coat straight. More wary and with the evil glitter in his eyes enough to frighten most people, he approached, crouching, his hands outstretched and fingers crooked, like, a wrestler. ‘Bill’ kept quite still, relaxed and yet giving an impression of latent strength.

“Come on,” taunted ‘Bill’, “I’m waiting.”

Malone flew at him, relying on speed of the movement to carry him backwards. Bill swayed to one side, gripped the man’s arm again and repeated the first manoeuvre. This time he did not stand back after Malone hit the wall, but grabbed his left wrist and brought it behind him in a hammer-lock. He dragged Malone upright, and for the first time acknowledged Roger’s presence.

“Open the door, will you ?”

Roger hurried to obey.

“Thanks,” said Bill, politely. He ran Malone forward, and the man could not stop himself. Roger watched them go out, saw Malone stagger down the first steps. ‘Bill’ was clearly determined to make a thorough job of it, for he pushed the Masher down the stairs, their footsteps echoed clearly and the heavy breathing of Malone could be heard.

The girl stood rigid in the centre of the room. Roger stepped swiftly to the window and drew aside the curtains. Malone was walking unsteadily in the road, obviously crossing to the opposite pavement to get further away from the human cyclone which he had released. His shoulders slumped and he was so dejected that Roger could not repress a chuckle.

“It’s not funny!” cried Lois. Her eyes were blazing with anger but she was close to tears.

“Miss Randall, your friend can look after himself very well.”

“You don’t know what Malone will do to him !” she cried. “He’ll never forgive him, it couldn’t have been worse. You — you’re a policeman, aren’t you? You’ve got to help Bill, you’ve got to make sure that he doesn’t get hurt! Malone won’t forget. He’ll—” she broke off.

“Go on,” Roger said, “what will he do ?”

“Oh, what’s the use of talking! I’ve warned you — why didn’t you stay away, why did you have to come here? I might have persuaded Bill to be sensible !”

“I doubt it,” said Roger. “Who is he?”

She stared. “Who? Malone?”

“I know Malone. I mean “Bill”.”

“He — he’s just a friend of mine.”

They heard ‘Bill’ coming up the stairs, running the last few steps and coming breezily into the room, smiling with deep satisfaction. He had eyes only for Lois, although he spoke to Roger.

“My name is Tennant, and I’m more than a friend of Lois’s, I am her fiance — although sometimes she doesn’t seem very sure about it!” He grinned, looking twice as confident as he had before Malone’s arrival. “Sweetheart, this has got to stop, you know. I can see you’ve been in trouble while I’ve been away but it can’t be as bad as you seem to think. Don’t let an over-dressed lout like Malone frighten you.

“Should you ?” he appealed to Roger.

“You certainly shouldn’t. Do I gather that you’ve been away and come back to find Miss Randall in this spot?”

“Yes. I’ve been up north for several months and had no idea that this was happening until—” he paused, as if doubtful whether it was wise to go any further. “But that’s none of your business. Do you mind leaving, so that Lois and I can go into things privately?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I don’t see why.”

“You will, in time,” Roger assured him. “Miss Randall has been persuaded to contribute one or two things towards ruining my reputation at Scotland Yard. I’ve a deep personal interest.”“

“I don’t believe it!” Tennant said. He looked at Lois with a puzzled expression in his eyes. He was more like he