Triumph For Inspector West

“Why, Eve, aren’t you well?”

“I wonder if you will let Miss Franklin rest in your flat for half an hour?” Warrender asked. “The police have upset her badly again.”

“So that’s it.” The woman shot Roger and Turnbull a searing glance, and took Eve’s arm. “Come along, my dear, come and have a nice cup of tea.”

Turnbull whispered: “What is this?”

“Warrender is trying to establish the fact that we’ve been ill-treating the girl,” Roger answered as softly. “But let him think he’s got us worried. He’s got a witness; all he wants now is a reporter from the Cry!” He stopped as Warrender came back, and the door of Flat 4 closed on the two women.

“Is it not true that she locked herself in her room and that you forced your way in?” Warrender demanded.

“Yes.”

“I shall see that the matter is reported at once. It is outrageous that a young woman should be victimised simply because she has given evidence proving that the police fell down on a job.”

“Warrender, you’re riding for a fall,” Roger said, quietly. “Miss Franklin had a faithful boy friend. That boy friend was with her on the evening when she is supposed to have seen the accident. He was going to make a statement, but he died in mysterious circumstances.”

Warrender cried, as if genuinely astonished: “What’s that?”

“So you didn’t know,” sneered Roger. “The one witness needed to prove a case of perjury against Eve Franklin is dead. We can’t bring the case—yet. But if Eve and her dead boy friend were out together that night, someone must have seen them. We’ll find that someone. Once it’s proved that she could not have seen the accident, not all the Abel Melvilles, Ma Beesleys and George Warrenders will keep Raeburn out of jail. And remember this: if you ever stop me or my colleagues from carrying out our duties, I’ll detain you and charge you with obstructing the police. The charge would stick.” Roger turned to Turn- bull. “Inspector, tell Miss Franklin that we’re ready to take her to Scotland Yard for questioning.”

“You can’t do it!” Warrender cried but all his confidence had gone.

“Miss Franklin had the opportunity to make a statement here, and refused,” Roger said. “She will now have to come with me to Scodand Yard, and I shall not allow you to be alone with her before we leave.”

“Raeburn can break you over this, and he will,” War- render said savagely, and turned and went out of the room.

Eve was sullen, but she dressed and went downstairs to the car with Roger and Turnbull. Warrender was not in sight. The girl got into the back of the car, and Turnbull sat beside her. Roger drove towards the park, taking the long way round along Flodden Road. As they passed Brown’s apartment house, the girl glanced at it, then looked straight ahead.

When they reached Scotland Yard, she went up the steps in front of the men. In the doorway she stopped short. The big, round-faced solicitor, Melville, was standing in the hall.

Turnbull whispered: “They moved damned quick.”

“Didn’t you expect it?” asked Roger.

Melville was smiling expansively.

“Hallo, Miss Franklin, you’re in difficulty, I’m told.” The solicitor took Eve’s hand, and turned to Roger. “What is it you want from my client, Chief Inspector?”

Roger didn’t hesitate. “I want a statement from Miss Franklin about her meeting with her friend Tony Brown last evening.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be difficult. If you ask Miss Franklin nicely, I’m sure she will oblige. Brown was accidentally killed by gas poisoning, wasn’t he?”

“You might wait for the result of the inquest before deciding.”

“Now, now, Chief Inspector, we needn’t get heated about it,” protested Melville. “I’m only talking as a friend. Did Brown come to see you last night, Miss Franklin?”

“Yes, but he didn’t stay long,” Eve said, hurriedly. “He wanted to take me out, but I had another engagement, so I couldn’t go.” As the words spilled out, Melville’s man-in-the-moon smile grew broader. “He didn’t like it, and we had a few words, that’s all.”

A quarter of an hour later, she signed a statement, and flounced out of the Yard.

“Handsome,” Turnbull said, when they had gone, “they’ll try to take the skin off your back for that. You took a hell of a chance to make the girl crack, but it didn’t come off.”

“I’m looking forward to the Cry’s next edition.” Roger glanced at his watch, as he spoke dryly. “Do you remember the little man who left Eve’s house just before we arrived?”

“You bet I remember him.”

“Someone went to warn Warrender, and that little man was the most likely one,” Roger said. “Try to get tabs on him, will you? Melville smiled and Warrender blustered, but they were scared in case Eve talked too much.”

Turnbull, known as the toughest man at the Yard, said deliberately: “I’m getting scared because she didn’t. Watch your step, Handsome.”

For the second time Roger saw his own photograph staring up at him, this time with a caption: THE MAN RESPONSIBLE. The Cry had not spared him; the term third degree was freely used, and Eve was built up as a victim of police persecution. It was wholly scurrilous, but one inevitable consequence was that his personal stock would fall.

Next morning, two other newspapers took the same line as the Cry. It was difficult