“I didn’t think a policeman’s job was so dull !”
“Tell Mark I’ll have you relieved at half past ten, will you? And then perhaps you’ll come to my place and sleep there ?”
“If it’s all right with you, it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Tennant.
Roger returned to his taxi and his good spirits gained the ascendancy. Nothing could go wrong on such a morning.
He paid off the cabby outside his house and hurried along the path, whistling. He opened the front door, stepped through and closed it, then frowned, because the house was in darkness. He groped for the hall switch and pressed it down; still there was no light.
“The bulb’s gone!” said Roger. He went forward a step and put his hand inside the lounge door, pressing that switch down. This time the light made him narrow his eyes, and blinded him with its flare. Then his features stiffened and he stared about him in growing stupefaction.
Against the wall, the piano was in pieces, gaping open, every string broken and hanging loose. The carpet had been slashed across and across, and left in little strips. An armchair had not only been ripped open but the wooden framework had been chopped to pieces. Everything breakable was broken, everything tearable was torn, pictures were down, the wallpaper was covered with great daubs of red paint. It was a scene of such devastation that at first he did not realise its significance.
Then Malone spoke from behind him.
“How do you like it, copper? And what do you know?”
CHAPTER 21
ROGER STARED round at the man.
Malone wore a suit of a blue that was bordering on heliotrope. His marcel waves were dressed with great precision and the grease from his hair made his forehead glisten. He stood with his hands in his pockets and the winged shoulders of his coat were so wide that they nearly touched the door posts on either side. His thin red lips were set in a sneer which he doubtless considered intimidating.
Roger saw all that vaguely.
Far more vivid in his mind’s eye was Janet — a composite picture of her gaiety that morning, her joy, the happiness with which she looked forward to coming home, and an imaginary picture of her when she saw the chaos in the lounge. He wondered whether the other rooms had been wrecked; Malone had probably made a thorough job of it.
“Keeping your mouth shut won’t help you,” said Malone.
A wave of cold anger passed through Roger, visible in his expression. The sneer faded from Malone’s face and was replaced by a wary look.
“Listen —” he began.
Roger said : “Malone, I charge you with causing wilful bodily harm to a number of persons, with conspiring to defraud, with theft and looting. I arrest you in the name of the law and warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence. Do you hear me ?”
Malone said : “You’re crazy!”
“You’re under arrest,” Roger said. “Anything you do now will be an attempt to resist arrest. I don’t know whether we can get you for murder, but even if we can’t, be very careful. Next to murder, violence to a policeman will be the most serious charge on the calendar.”
“You’re off your nut,” Malone said, still very wary. “You can’t do a thing, West.”
“You poor fool!” said Roger, scathingly. “You really think you can get away with it? Every policeman in this country is after you. You haven’t even a hope of keeping away from them for the rest of the day. Whatever you do will only make it worse for yourself. If you give yourself up and make a statement, you might get a lighter sentence. It’s your only real hope.”
“Shut your trap!” snapped Malone, “I didn’t come here to listen to talk from you.”
“I’m not interested in why you came,” said Roger. “I’ve told you the truth and if you like to play the fool, that’s up to you. I don’t know how many men you’ve got with you —”
“I brought plenty,” Malone said, his eyes narrowed. “Quit the spieling, West. No one can touch me. How much do you know?”
“As much as everyone at the Yard knows,” Roger said. “We’ll be moving later in the day.”
Malone said thinly : “West, I reckon your wife will be coming here soon. Once before, I took her away to warn you what would happen if you stuck your head out too far. Now it’s coming. If you don’t talk, I’ll deal with her different.” He kept his hands in his pockets, where Roger sus-pected that he had a knife, perhaps a gun. Mention of Janet brought a revival of the cold fury; it made him tremble from head to foot and he had to fight against throwing himself at the gangster — the one fatal thing to do. “You saw me deal with that Cartier dame,” Malone continued, “that was nothing to what I’ll do to your wife. Tell me what you know.”
“Why Cox killed his wife,” said Roger.
Malone moved.
His trick of ending immobility in a sudden cyclonic movement succeeded in taking Roger by surprise. He backed away but caught his foot against a part of the broken chair and staggered against the mantelpiece. Malone struck him with the flat of his hand. It did not account for the sharp, stinging pain in Roger’s cheek nor the warm trickle of blood. He saw the man’s hand in front of him, a razor blade held between the middle and index fingers. He knew that Malone would gladly batter him as he had the room; yet he was less afraid than angry.
