Inspector West At Home

Hampstead.

It was already dusk when the cabby found Bonnock House. One or two uncurtained windows in the big block of flats looked very bright in the gloom. He saw Sam by the drive but did not speak to him. Sam patted his pocket. One flat on the top floor of the mansions was lit up, a beacon of light which could be seen for miles. The house was a massive edifice of concrete and looked ugly and forbidding in the half-light. There was a drive-in and ample space for a taxi to park but Roger sent his man to the end of the narrow street — which was on the edge of the common — then went on foot to the house.

Number 11 was on the first floor.

The flats were obviously in the luxury class. The corridor was carpeted, the lighting was concealed, the decorations were in keeping with the general atmosphere. All the doors were painted black, the walls were of cream mottled paper which showed up clearly in the lighting immediately above it.

He rang the bell at Number 11. The door was opened by a tiny maid, neat, faded-looking and reminding him, for some reason of Mr Pickerell.

“Is Mrs Cartier in?” Roger asked. “My name is West.”

“Yes, sir. She is expecting you.” The maid stepped aside and, as Roger entered, closed the door. It might have been accidental but it seemed to Roger to close with a decided snap. He glanced sharply at the maid, but she was walking sedately towards one of the black doors at the far end of the entrance hall. She tapped on it and entered. That door, also, closed with a snap.

“I’m being a fool!” Roger muttered.

He meant that he was being foolish to let himself think that there was anything even remotely sinister about the closing of the doors and the manner of the maid, but was he a fool for being here? Was Sam a sufficient cover? It was nearly half past eight, and Janet was not to call the Yard until ten o’clock.

An hour and a half suddenly appeared a very long time.

The maid came out.

“Mrs Cartier will see you now, sir.”

‘Mrs Cartier’, reflected Roger. A well-trained maid would have said ‘Madam’.

But his fears and forebodings soon faded.

Mrs Cartier rose from an easy chair in a room which set off her tall figure, perfectly gowned in black and gold. The room was pale blue, the luxurious chairs upholstered in maroon-coloured mohair, the furniture Louis-Quinze, and the carpet thick and muffling his footsteps. Roger took the extended hand, resisting an absurd temptation to bow over it, then looked into the smiling face of the woman.

“I’m so glad you came,” said Mrs Cartier. “I have so much to tell you. But first — have you forgiven me for pretending to wish to see your wife when I called ?”

CHAPTER 15

Mrs Cartier is Helpful

“I CERTAINLY haven’t forgiven you,” Roger said. “I beg your pardon.”

“Mrs Cartier, we haven’t time to fence,” Roger said. “I haven’t forgiven you for coming to me this morning with half a story. I might easily have been murdered; a friend of mine was in fact badly wounded. Had you told me what to expect that might have been avoided.” He thought that she was as shocked by his attitude as Malone had been by Tennant’s unexpected versatility. “I hope you’ll tell me much more than you have so far. A great deal is at stake — but you know that.”

“You mean your reputation ?” Mrs Carder’s voice was soft and her smile faintly mocking.

Roger looked at her steadily.

“I really don’t think that remark was worthy of you,” he said.

She threw back her head and laughed; her slender throat was flawless, her teeth very even and white.

“Come and sit down, Inspector ! I shall like you, I thought from the first that I would.” She lifted a carved wooden cigarette box from a table at her side and flicked a lighter into flame for him, but did not smoke herself. There was a small ashtray on the arm of the settee, kept in position by weights. She was still smiling, but there was a more sober expression in her eyes and she no longer gave the impression that she was hoping to influence him by her beauty.

“I can help you, Inspector, if you will help me.”

“So it’s conditional?”

“First, I want you to understand what has happened. My Society — and although you may not believe it, I have its interests very much at heart — has been used to conceal serious criminal activities. I discovered that just over a week ago. You can understand how shocked I was and how anxious to adjust the situation ?”

Roger did not speak.

“I should explain that I went to the office without telling Pickerell to expect me. He was talking with the girl receptionist — so charming, don’t you think?”

“I hardly noticed her.”

“Then you must take my word for it, Inspector. Lois Randall is a most charming girl!” Mrs Cartier went on. “She speaks several languages, which has made her invaluable, and her manner with those who come for help is extremely gracious. I should not like you to think badly of her.”

“Why should I ?” asked Roger.

“Because she has been going to your bank, calling herself your wife and making things so unpleasant for you,” said Mrs Cartier, softly.