Triumph For Inspector West

that policemen have time to be ordinary family men.” The admiration in his eyes was certainly not forced, and his gaze was bold but friendly; he hardly glanced at Mark.

“Is Roger so ordinary?” inquired Janet.

Raeburn chuckled. “I don’t know him well enough to answer that, Mrs West.” He glanced towards the band, which began to play at once, stubbed out his cigarette, and asked: “May I ask your wife to dance, Mr West?”

“By all means.”

Janet seemed to hesitate, and then turned away with Raeburn, while in her corner Eve sat like a beautiful image, and Warrender sat stony-faced beside her.

Mark sat down and said: “I think I need a drink.”

“Have two, I’m in a generous mood,” said Roger. “My chief hope is that he’s so swollen with conceit that he’ll overreach himself. Warrender knows it, too.”

“The chap with Eve, pretending to be happy?”

“Yes,” Roger said. “I know him better than I do Raeburn, and he’s very clever. He and a woman named Beesley look after Raeburn’s private affairs, and a lot more. With Abel Melville, they make a powerful team, and they’ll aim high.”

“How high?”

“Too high,” Roger said. “I’ll bet Raeburn’s trying to pump Janet, and he’s got as much chance as I have of getting information out of Warrender or Ma Beesley. If I had to choose between dealing with Warrender or Beesley, I’d take Warrender every time,” he added thoughtfully. “Ma’s like a great fat slug; you can push as many pins into her as you like and she won’t notice.” He stood up suddenly. “Sauce for the goose,” he said obscurely, and made his way over to Warrender and Eve. He saw a glint of interest, perhaps of nervousness, in her eyes.

Warrender jumped up. “Why, Mr West!” His bright smile failed to hide his alarm. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I bob up all over the place,” Roger said, and his eyes lit up as he turned to the girl. “Hallo, Miss Franklin, I had a feeling we’d meet again.” He saw her flinch, and recognised the anxiety in Warrender’s eyes. “Would you care to dance?”

“I—oh, I’d love to!” She was overeager to get up, and fear and uncertainty did not affect her dancing; she was like quicksilver, her movements had a natural rhythm, and as she grew bolder, she drew closer. If she gave Raeburn this treatment, it was easy to understand why he liked her around.

“I’m ever so glad we had a chance to meet socially,” she said, as the music stopped.

“We never know when we’ll meet next, do we?” Roger asked.

She wasn’t quite sure how to take that, so she giggled.

Roger took her to her table, where Warrender was all false smiles, then went to find Janet with Raeburn and Mark.

“Your wife is a delightful dancer,” Raeburn said, as if he meant it.

“I have luck in some things!”

Raeburn chuckled, and wished them goodnight, all with easy courtesy.

“I trust you didn’t bounce off that creature too often,” Janet said coldly, when he was out of earshot.

“Only when we turned the corners,” Roger said. “Was Raeburn a brilliant conversationalist?”

“I don’t know,” sakd Janet. “I talked all about the boys and their examination, and how big Scoopy is, and how Richard thinks you’re the best detective on the force. At least he knows I think you’re wonderful.”

“Did he try to pump you?”

“As a matter of fact, all he really said was that he hoped you wouldn’t waste your talents,” Janet said, and she was a little uneasy. “I had a feeling that he was really asking me to warn you that if you didn’t stop working against him, you’d get hurt. He didn’t put it into words, but—”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Roger squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, sweet. Mark’s on our side now, Warrender is scared, while the little lady was positively jumpy.”

“If she’s a lady—”Janet began.

“How about dancing with your husband for a change?” Roger suggested.

“You are taking Raeburn seriously, aren’t you?” Janet asked, when they were in bed that night. “I had a feeling that he would try to squash anyone who got in his way.”

Roger didn’t say: “As he squashed Halliwell,” but he knew exactly what she meant.

At nine o’clock on the dot next morning, Roger entered his office. He looked at his laden desk, grinned, rubbed his hands and sat down, glad that no one else had arrived. He opened the files and started running through the cases —all concerned with routine matters.

The visit to the Silver Kettle had given him a bigger fillip than he had realised. Warrender’s jumpiness and the girl’s unease might be encouraging straws in the wind.

The door opened.

“Morning, Eddie!” greeted Roger.

“What, you ‘ere?”

“All fresh for the fray,” said Roger. “Why the look of astonishment?”