Then Cornish and two or three plainclothes men came in with a rush. Tennant drew back. Roger could not look at Cornish, only at Tennant, to see the way he relaxed, the sudden fading of the glitter in his eyes, and the half- ashamed smile which curved his lips.
“It looks as if I lost me temper,” he said.
“Temper!” gasped Cornish.
Roger drew a deep breath. “What brought you?” he demanded.
Mark sauntered into the room, looking pleased with himself.
“Malone sent one of his men to see Oliphant,” he said. “I recognised him from the ‘Saucy Sue’, and we had a little talk with him on the Embankment — Tennant didn’t take long to make him open his mouth! He said Malone was waiting here -for you or Janet so I phoned the Yard.”
“You see, it was simple,” said Tennant. He looked into Malone’s face. “I hope I haven’t killed him,” he said. “I’ve been giving unarmed combat lessons for two years and as I haven’t fought in earnest yet, I thought Malone would do for some real practice!” He put his hands into his pockets and then, for the first time, seemed to notice the chaos of the room. “By George!” he exclaimed. “What a mess!” His eyes widened and he stared at Roger. “What have you done to your face ?”
Roger fingered his slashed cheek, surprised to find blood on his fingers.
“I’d better wash this off,” he said, and went to the bathroom. As he dabbed at his cheek, which kept bleeding, and while Mark began to dress the cut, things began to take on a proper perspective. ‘Simple’ was the operative word. He remembered seeing the vaguely familiar man near the Em-bankment and remembered that he had been at the Carders’ flat, but for once Mark had had the better memory for faces. By sending Mark and Tennant to Oliphant he had done the right thing, after all. No one at the Yard would have recognised the messenger.
“Feeling better?” Mark asked, when sticking plaster was in position.
“I’m all right,” Roger said. “So we’ve got Malone.”
“The other rooms !” snapped Roger.
Two minutes later, he had been in every room in the house and felt better, for only the lounge had been touched. He even found himself wondering whether it would be possible to make Janet come in the back way so that she would not get the full force of the shock that the lounge would be bound to give her. He looked at Mark, and explained what had suddenly preoccupied him; at that moment a Black Maria drew up outside. There was a crowd of people waiting and staring, a few dogs at the heels of the crowd, some schoolboys and two or three uniformed men. Masher Malone’s party was taken to the van, handcuffed together in twos. Malone, only just able to stagger, went last. Two plainclothes men climbed in, the driver started the engine and the van moved off.
“Any more for any more ?” boomed Tennant.
“You’ve had enough for one day,” Mark assured him. “Don’t ever take a dislike to me, will you?”
“That depends,” grinned Tennant. “Well, what
“Who did you leave to watch Oliphant?” Roger demanded.
“Now come off it,” said Mark. “We had our work cut out to rescue you from a dreadful fate, we had to take a chance somewhere. Shall we go back there?”
Roger said : “No.” He looked at the silent, rather subdued Cornish and there was a faint smile on his face. Cornish probably felt grieved because he had missed the fight. “It’s time I remembered I’m a policeman and worked by regulation.”
“You mean, interview Oliphant yourself?” Mark asked.
“Yes. I’d better have a word with Abbott first,” said Roger. “Mark, will you stay up until Janet arrives?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks,” said Roger. “I think I’ll get the car out,” he went on. “You’d better stay around for a bit, Corny.”
“All right,” said Cornish.
Roger went out by the back door. The police had forced a window but Cornish had entered using the back door key which had been replaced in the tool-shed by Morgan’s man. There were signs of the struggle when the police had first entered but the kitchen looked in perfect order compared with the lounge. Roger scowled as he took out his keys, yet realised he had a great deal to be thankful for; when he thought of Malone he touched his cheek.
A single slip had finished Malone. It was difficult to believe that the man was on his way to the police-cells, that the striking arm of the Pickerell-Oliphant organisation had been paralysed. The quicker he interviewed Malone the better; not that he expected the man to squeal, although probably some of his gang would. Roger forgot his anxieties and the disappointment awaiting Janet in a sudden burst of confidence. If anything puzzled him at the moment he opened the doors of the garage, it was that Tennant had behaved in a peculiar way, to say the least.
The garage doors were wide open when he looked inside. His car was there, bonnet towards him. Sitting at the wheel, eyas wide open and mouth hidden by a scarf tied very tightly, sat a man with a peaked cap pushed to the back of his head, and with his hands tied to the steering wheel.
CHAPTER 22
IT WAS Dixon, the missing taxi-driver.
He could not speak even when Roger removed the scarf, and his mouth would hardly close; great red ridges showed on either side. His hands were so stiff that Roger had to prise them from the steering wheel. He had called for help, and Mark and Cornish, Tennant and two other policemen were outside the garage.
