Victoria Station for some zinc ointment to put on his lips. When he undressed his limbs felt like lead, his head throbbed. He was soothed by Janet, as she helped him, but half-asleep when the salve was rubbed in. Janet’s face was outlined against the electric light, which she had covered with a handkerchief to save his eyes from glare. It made her hair look radiant and her face soft and lovely.
When he woke up it was nearly ten o’clock.
Janet, in a dressing-gown, came in from the bathroom and the opening door disturbed him. He opened one eye; the other was stuck. He heard her exclaim. He tried to speak but his lips were far too swollen. Only after he had managed to swallow a cup of lukewarm tea and eat some porridge did he feel better in himself. Even then he had to admit that he would not be much good that day.
After twelve o’clock Janet brought in a lotion to reduce the swelling at his eye, which was badly discoloured, and his lips. Abbott telephoned to tell him not to come in. Later, he sent the two five pound notes from the ?1,000 which
Morgan had found in his bedroom to the Yard, with a note asking if they could be traced; he might learn something from them.
He kept going over the case of the man Cox, who had murdered his wife and buried her beneath the floorboards of the kitchen.
He persuaded Janet to let him send for the complete file of the December 13th case and spent the afternoon brooding over it. It was sordid, unpleasant and unremarkable. The motive had been greed — the man’s wife had been on bad terms with her husband and had hoarded several hundred pounds in the house. Relatives had first suspected that something had happened to her and the case had followed its usual course — once suspicions were aroused, and the body found, it had been a mere matter of routine. There seemed no possible mistake, certainly nothing which had not been disclosed during the course of the investigation.
Mark Lessing and Bill Tennant went out during the afternoon, too restless to stay indoors. Lois Randall stayed in; during tea, she seemed unable to remove her gaze from Roger’s battered face.
Abbott, showing a solicitude quite out of character, telephoned to say that there was no trace of Malone, who had left his home in Stepney, nor of his men, nor of Pickerell. There was nothing to report from the office of the Displaced Persons’ Society except — Abbott seemed ill at ease when he admitted this — that the offices had not been guarded all the time after the fire and there was evidence that Malone had visited the place and discovered the tape-recorder. The overeagerness of Cornish doubtless explained the lapse, for the office should have been watched. It was reasonably obvious that Roger had been seen to go to Mrs Cartier’s flat, and that Malone or Pickerell had guessed it was her tape-recorder.
In spite of the quiet day, Roger was glad enough to get to bed just after eleven o’clock. His face was much better and Janet said, optimistically, that the scars would hardly be noticeable in the morning.
To their mutual surprise she was right. The lotion had performed miracles and his lips had healed, although he still found it difficult to eat or drink anything hot.
He went round to the Yard and saw Chatworth and Abbott, as well as an enthusiastic Cornish — his eagerness unaffected by the slip at the Society’s office, and an “I-told- you-so-Handsome’ Eddie Day, as well as a number of sheepish individuals who took the opportunity to say that they had always been sure it would all prove a mistake. Chatworth gave him chapter and verse of the ‘case’ against him, including reports that he had been to visit Malone (until then hardly known to the Yard). Joe Leech had given categorical evidence that Malone had boasted that he had West in his pocket. Cornish had assessed Malone merely as a nuisance, before his transfer from the Division to the Yard, and the Division had continued to make that grievous mistake.
There was a report on the two fivers. Leech’s fingerprints were on them. Leech had often been suspected of handling stolen money.
On two occasions, in the past month Roger had gone to the East End on inquiries which had given him an opportunity to see Malone. On both occasions Malone had come out of the house he had visited after he had gone. Tiny Martin and Abbott had seen that for themselves.
“Oh, there was a case all right,” Roger said to Janet, Mark and Tennant. “Apparently Leech told Abbott that he had heard that Malone was bringing a packet of money to Bell Street and that he was going to put it in the bedroom. Thanks to Winnie Marchant, Pep Morgan had learned of it. The only established fact is that Leech was bribed to lie to Abbott and then killed in case Mark forced die truth out of him.”
“At least I’ve helped a bit,” Mark said.
“Do you think that’s certain?” Janet asked. “I mean why Leech was killed?”
“Malone was afraid he would crack under Mark’s interrogation,” Roger said. “Malone knew Leech well — so did most people in the East End. We at the Yard had rarely found him to lie to us. He’s been a reliable squealer, otherwise
Chatworth wouldn’t have acted as he did. But when Leech told a categorical story it made ‘em sit up and take notice.”
“We know one or two other things,” Mark pointed out, sitting back in a. winged armchair, gaily loose-covered, his austere face set in concentration. Tennant looked at him curiously. “Pickerell is not even in authority over Malone, but Malone isn’t running the whole thing. Whoever is, knows him.” He startled Tennant by beaming at him. “Any ideas ?”
“Never was an ideas man,” declared Tennant. When Roger and Janet laughed, he went on : “What’s so funny?”
“Not funny — refreshing,” Janet hastily rejoined. “It’s a relief to meet a man who doesn’t pretend that he knows everything ! I suppose”—she looked very thoughtful—”Lois didn’t say anything that might help?”
“Nothing at all. When I discovered how badly she was feeling I had the shock of my life.” Tennant stood up and stepped restlessly across the room. “This doing nothing is getting me down,” he went on. “If I could get at the beggars and put the fear of death into them it wouldn’t be so bad.” He was troubled as well as impatient. “If only I knew why Lois is so scared ! I can’t understand it at all. She’s got no close relatives, and as far as I know she hasn’t any close friends. But if Pickerell was blackmailing her, she must have —” he broke off.
“How long have you known her?” asked Roger.
“Just over a year. She was running a mobile canteen for the NAAFI.” Tennant ran a hand over his curly hair. “She seemed as happy as could be.”
