“I want and intend things to happen my way,” Raeburn declared. He opened the cabinet and poured out drinks, and when he turned round he was his smiling self. “Don’t worry so much, George. Take a week off, and enjoy yourself.”
“I don’t trust you on your own,” Warrender said, flatly. “I daren’t go.”
“All right, I’ll take a week off, too,” said Raeburn, briskly. “I’ve got to make sure you get a break, somehow; you’re building this thing up too much. You’ll see I’m right when you realise that, in the public eye, I shall figure as a defender of the rights of the people.”
Warrender took the drink. “So that’s it!”
“That’s it,” agreed Raeburn.
“You see yourself as a great public figure.”
“I do, George! This country’s never had a real strong man. Moseley tried, but—”Raeburn broke off. “But we mustn’t run before we can walk! Whatever it leads to, I also see you as my right-hand man.” Raeburn pressed his shoulder. “When I ran Halliwell down, I did myself more good than I realised. Instead of going to prison, I raised my stock sky-high. I don’t want to quarrel with you or Ma, but I’m going to do things my way. You just stand by to pick up the pieces. Drink up, George, and forget it!”
Warrender said, flatly: “I haven’t finished telling you about Tenby. He was tailed home tonight. A Yard man was trying to get him to open up in a pub, but Tenby was too quick for him. He dropped a tablet of nicotine into his beer.”
Raeburn looked amused.
“I’m getting really fond of Tenby.”
“He’s got a high opinion of himself,” Warrender said. “I don’t like men in his position who get ideas.”
“So you suggest that we get rid of Tenby now? George, don’t let yourself get carried away. If the Yard is showing an interest in Tenby, just send him away for a while. He won’t mind a holiday, even if you do.”
“You personally can’t take a holiday from police attention unless you go abroad,” Warrender insisted. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. And I’ve already told Tenby that if he does anything else without consulting me, there’ll be real trouble.”
“I’m quite prepared to leave him to you,” said Raeburn, carelessly. “Send him some chocolates!” He finished his drink and stifled a yawn. “George, I’m getting tired of this. Let’s call it a day.”
When Warrender was in his bedroom, undressing, there was a tap at the door. He called: “Come in,” and Ma Beesley plodded in. “So it’s you,” he remarked, glumly. “I wondered where you’d got to.”
“Most of the time I was outside the study door,” said Ma.
“Think that surprises me?”
Ma gave a little clucking laugh, crossed to the bed and sat down, patting his cheek as she passed him. It was a bleak room with ultra-modern furnishings in black and cream, and against that background Ma looked old- fashioned. Her long skirt spread out over the bed; on her plump little ankles were rings of fat caused by shoes that were too tightly laced. She took some pins out of her hair, and two long plaits fell over her shoulders.
“Paul is right about one thing—you worry too much,” she observed. “But you’re right about another: he must be stopped from going about with Eve.”
“What’s made you change your mind?”
“Paul has,” said Ma Beesley, simply. “He’s getting much too fond of her; he isn’t just amusing himself any longer. I thought he was, until I saw him after she’d left tonight.
“How do you propose to stop her?” inquired War- render.
“I thought we might put her in a compromising situation with another man,” cooed Ma Beesley. “I’m sure Paul wouldn’t stand for that.”
After a long pause, Warrender began to laugh, and to look less worried than he had all evening.
“You old devil!” he said. “Ma, you do me good!”
She gave her little clucking laugh, and patted his cheek again as she passed him.
“Just a minute,” Warrender went on, as she reached the door. “Paul said something about going away for a week. D’you know whether he was serious?”
“I’ve already booked a suite for him and a room for her at die Grand-Royal, Brighton,” answered Ma. “He says he wants to be alone.” She winked. “We’ll let him have this week to enjoy himself, and then we’ll look after him.” She went out, closing the door softly behind her.
The luxury flat was quiet. All was quiet outside, too; only occasionally did Warrender hear a car change gear. He lay awake, looking at the faint light which shone from the street on to the ceiling. It made the darkness a ghostly grey, and he found no comfort from it. He felt wakeful and restless, and kept going over the talk with Raeburn.
Raeburn’s overeonfidenee worried him, and his overriding ambition worried him even more. Did he really see himself as a kind of dictator? Or the real power behind the political and economic scenes? Was he mad? Or was he simply drunk with success?
The stimulus of Ma Beesley’s visit had faded; as always, she had been ready to pour oil on troubled waters, soothing and flattering, so as to make everything run smoothly. Warrender could not be sure that she had meant what she said, was not even positive that she would not tell Raeburn that he was so agitated. He was never sure that he could trust Ma.
Probably no one knew Raeburn as well as she did; she was always at his side, suggesting, prompting, even influencing his thoughts. Had she the same grandiose dreams? She seldom left the flat, and never failed to appear
