Inspector West At Home

Abbott pinched his nostrils. “Well, West?” he said.

Roger was thanking the fates for sending Mark Lessing just then. Mark had given him time to realise that he would be wise to adopt a less hostile attitude. There was some absurd mistake, but it could be rectified.

So he forced a smile.

“I haven’t anything to say about it, Superintendent, except that I’m completely at a loss.” His attempt to be affable faded out in the face of Abbott’s cold stare. “Obviously you must have some reason for getting a warrant sworn for me.”

“You must know the reason,” insisted Abbott.

Roger fancied that the faint emphasis on the ‘must’ implied a query. Before he could speak again, however, there came from the lounge an astonishing sound — astonishing because of the previous quiet. It was the deep, throbbing bass notes of the piano. Almost at once Mark began to sing, more loudly than harmoniously. A suspicion entered Roger’s mind : that Mark was drunk.

“Is that din necessary?” Abbott demanded irritably.

“Is any of this necessary?” asked Roger, tartly. “I thought I was going to have a day off. I’m taking my wife to a show as I told you. Are you serious about executing this warrant?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

“Why did you get it?” demanded Roger.

He had to raise his voice to make himself heard for Mark was going wild. He crashed wrong note after wrong note and he was thumping so heavily that the piano frame was quivering and groaning.

“If you will stop that noise I will tell you,” said Abbott. He stepped to the door. Roger had to go with him. When it was open, the whole house seemed to be in uproar, and he heard a bump upstairs.

Then he pushed open the lounge door.

Janet was by the mantelpiece, doubled up with laughter, for Mark was playing with idiotic abandon. As he crashed his hands on the keys he bobbed his head and his dark hair fell over his forehead; after each note he raised his hand high into the air, flexing his wrist. His pale face was flushed and his eyes were glistening.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Roger demanded, striding across the room and grabbing Mark’s shoulder. “Stop it, you fool !” Mark continued, bobbing his head up and down vigorously. Boom! went the C sharp and then Mark played a run superbly. Boom! went the A, then G sharp, then C again.

“West, I insist that you stop this nonsense !” called Abbott.

Boom! went Mark. Then he took his hands from the keys and swung round on the piano stool, pushed his hair out of his eyes and glared at Abbott. Roger had never seen him look so furious.

“Nonsense?” he roared at Abbott. “Who the hell are you, sir? What do you mean by calling my playing nonsense? If you have no appreciation of good music, if your ignorance is so abysmal, I advise you not to declare it to the world. Is this what you would call nonsense?” He swung round to the piano, raised his hands and began to crash out Liszt’s Liebestraume.

Abbott stared, tight-lipped. Roger, at first irritated by Janet’s laughter, saw an expression in her eyes which gave him his first inkling that she knew why Mark was playing the fool. She began to laugh again as if she couldn’t stop, and Abbott looked about desperately; Roger thought he bel-lowed ‘madhouse’. He did shout loudly enough to be heard above the playing : “Stop him. West!”

Roger tried, half-heartedly, beginning to wonder whether Mark could possibly be making this din deliberately, as a distraction. Roger remembered the bump upstairs. His confusion grew worse but he made a good show of losing his temper. Mark stopped at last and rose, disdainfully from the piano. He brushed his hair back from his forehead and straightened his tie — and then he jumped, as if horrified.

At no time handsome, he was a distinguished-looking man with a high forehead, a Roman nose and a pointed chin; his lips were shapely and his complexion so good that it was almost feminine. About him there was an air, normally, of arrogance.

Just then his whole expression was of horror.

“My sainted Cousin Lot!” he exclaimed. “Superintendent Abbott! Why didn’t someone tell me? I am sorry. I’d no idea it was you.” He continued to stare into the Superintendent’s eyes while uttering abject apologies. Since he was not a policeman they were excessive, but he was known at the Yard as a friend of ‘Handsome’ West’s who dabbled in crime. “You know, Superintendent,” he went on in the same shocked tones, “I was absolutely carried away. I’ve been working hard and just felt like letting my hair down. Something powerful in the way of urges. And it’s Janet’s birthday. I remembered that this afternoon and rushed over to apologise for not having wished her many happy returns. I say, Jan, could you rustle up a cup of tea and a biscuit?”

“Of course,” said Janet. “Will you stay to tea, Superintendent?”

Abbott had listened to Mark’s protestations while gradually resuming a stony aspect. He turned to Janet, obviously ill-at-ease. Roger offered him a cigarette.

“Don’t get worried, Abbott,” he said. “All this will work itself out. Why don’t you have a cup of tea and talk about it?”

“What’s this?” demanded Mark. “Sticky business on the criminal stakes? Famous member of the Big Five flummoxed, Handsome West called in to get his nose on the trail?”

“You’re not going to take Roger away!” Janet protested. Abbott had the grace to cough in confusion.

Roger put him out of his misery.

“Not in the usual way, Jan, anyhow. I don’t know what’s gone wrong, but he’s turned up with a search-warrant. I must be credited with having broken open a till.”

“A search-warrant ?” gasped Mark.