“What about the girl he employed?” Chatworth asked.
“What girl?”
“Didn’t you see one there?”
“There was a receptionist, yes.”
“Oh,” said Chatworth. “West, what were you doing at that Society office ?”
“Making inquiries, sir, on my own behalf.”
“Don’t ignore the circumstances,” Chatworth warned him.
“I’m not likely to, sir,” said Roger coldly. “Good night.” He replaced the receiver and looked into Sam’s narrowed eyes.
“Comes to something when your own boss don’t trust you,” said Sam, with unexpected understanding; “they must be crazy, Handsome! Well, where are we going?”
“I’ve another call to make,” Roger said. “You have a look in the London Street Directory for Bonnock House, will you? Cornish might not be able to tell me where it is offhand.” He dialled the Yard again and spoke to Cornish, who did not know where the house was but promised to find out and to call Morgan’s office. Meanwhile Maude, a cigarette drooping from her lips and a smear of ash on her soiled woollen jumper, leaned back and jerked the telephone directory from the shelf.
“ ‘S’matter with looking at that ?” she demanded.
Roger stared, then smiled.
“Never overlook the obvious — you’re right, Maude!” He turned the pages over, came to the ‘CAR’ columns and ran his forefinger down the ‘Cartiers’. There were several in the book and he found three entries immediately beneath each other.
Cartier, Sylvester, River Lodge, Weybridge . . . 021 Cartier, Mrs Sylvester, River Lodge, Weybridge . . . 29 Cartier, Mrs Sylvester, 11, Bonnock House, Hampstead . . . 54012
Maude was contemplating Roger as he closed the book.
“Got what you want?”
“Yes, thanks. It’s all right, Sam,” he said as the latter looked up from the Street Directory. “What’s the time?” He glanced at a large clock on the wall and saw that it was a quarter to seven. He frowned.
“Ready?” Sam demanded.
“It isn’t quite time to go.” Roger tapped against the desk thoughtfully. “We’d better get some food, Sam, we might be working late.”
“Want anything more from me?” asked Maude.
“Not tonight, thanks.”
“Watch your step, Handsome,” said Maude; more ash fell from her cigarette.
As he walked down the stairs with Sam — the lift had stopped operating at half-past six — Roger found himself oddly affected by the attitude of the girl and the lanky fellow beside him. He had expected to find them gloating over the discomfiture of a Yard man; instead, their sympathy, cloaked by an air of indifference but nevertheless sincere, was heartening.
“Sam, you haven’t a gun, have you?” Roger asked suddenly.
“I been thinking about one,” Sam told him, earnestly. “I got one at home, Handsome; I didn’t think I’d need it, but if Pep’s been holed maybe I ought to get it.”
“I think you should,” said Roger. “Where do you live?”
“Fulham Road,” said Sam. “Not far. I can have some supper with my missus and tell her I’ll be late, as well as pick up the rod. Does that suit you ?”
Roger considered, then said : “Yes, that’ll do fine. I’ll be at the entrance of Bonnock House in Hampstead, at eight- fifteen. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okey-doke,” said Sam, “I’ll take a car — no limit to expenses, I hope ?”
Roger walked towards Fleet Street.
There was a small restaurant near the Cheshire Cheese where he could get a good meal, and where he might find one or two crime reporters of the London dailies. They would probably be helpful. He did not doubt that they had heard of his suspension and, when he entered the smoke- filled ground floor room he saw two men look up at him with evident surprise.
One pushed his chair back and approached him, dabbing at his lips with a handkerchief.
“Why, hallo, West! What’ll you have ?” He was a middle- aged man, nearly bald and rather shabby. He was one of the best crime reporters on the Street and was reputed to have more enemies in the East End than anyone outside the police force.
“Hallo, Charlie,” Roger said. “I won’t have anything except some food. Is there anything good on tonight?”
“Might be in time for some roast beef,” said Charlie Wray and turned to stare coldly at a younger man. He had close- cropped black hair which rose in a quiff above his forehead, a broken nose and a wide mouth with a most engaging grin. He walked with a pronounced limp. “That’s if Tamperly hasn’t had it all.”
“Share and share alike,” said Tamperly, swallowing the last of a mouthful. “I was coming to see you, Handsome.
I thought—”
