Triumph For Inspector West

balloon.

“Ma!” Warrender gasped.

“Lend Mr Warrender a hand, Maud,” Ma said, as she crossed to Raeburn’s door and tapped on the panel. “It’s all right, Paul,” she called. “You can come out.”

Raeburn had been hiding from the danger!

Warrender realised this, as Maud helped him to his feet and into a chair. He was sitting down, his head in his hands, when Raeburn’s door opened.

In a blue silk dressing-gown, his hair tousled and his face pale, Raeburn stood staring, for once neither poised or suave. “What the hell’s all this? I heard shooting.”

“You heard shooting, all right,” Ma Beesley agreed. “I wounded one of the pair, too.”

“Wounded?”

“That’s right,” Ma said, and held up her gun. “George thought he could be a hero and deal with them with his bare hands, but I didn’t take any chances.”

“Who—”began Raeburn, hoarsely.

“Thieves,” Ma Beesley interrupted quickly. “Just thieves, Paul, there’s nothing to worry about. Maud, dear, go and make some coffee, will you?”

The maid went off, closing the kitchen door behind her. Ma stood looking from one man to the other, her fat face wreathed in smiles, as if all this were a huge joke.

“Thieves, I don’t think,” she said. “Someone came after you, Paul. They were trying to get into your room. I have been wondering lately whether you oughtn’t to have a bodyguard.”

“But who was it?” demanded Raeburn, no longer a great man. “Who would want              V

“That’s one of the things we’ll have to find out,” said Ma, smoothly. “We’d better stop discussing it now; someone is coming up the stairs. It’s another story for the Cry, anyway. Paul. Isn’t it a pity you can’t blame West for it?” She chuckled, then hurried towards the door, to find a porter in the doorway.

The telephone bell rang in Roger’s ears and he stirred, without at first realising what it was. He felt Janet move. The ringing persisted, and almost on the instant he became wide awake. He stretched out his hand, and lifted the receiver from the instrument by the bed.

“What is it?” began Janet, drowsily.

“You go to sleep,” said Roger. “Hallo?”

“Hold on, please,” came a man’s voice.

Roger hitched himself up more comfortably, and glanced at the window. It was still pitch dark, except for a faint glow from a street lamp. The illuminated dial of his watch showed up on the bed table. It was nearly half past three.

Then the night-duty Superintendent at the Yard spoke: “Handsome, there’s been a burglary at Raeburn’s- flat, just been reported. Thought you’d like to know. Here’s a chance to look round.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Roger said, very softly. “Do me a favour and call Turnbull, will you?”

Roger was wide awake when he got out of his car outside the block of flats in Park Lane. A policeman told him that the lift was waiting at the ground floor; he hurried inside, and found another constable on duty at the lift.

The front door of the flat was standing open, and light streamed into the passage. A porter was outside, whispering to a third policeman; the Yard DI, who was in charge, had left nothing to chance. Inside the flat, men were talking, and Roger paused in the doorway, looking into the study where Raeburn, Turnbull, Warrender and Ma Beesley were gathered. Turnbull, always a fast worker, lived only a minute’s drive from here. On the desk was a silver tray, and the whole group was drinking coffee.

Roger Went in. “Good morning,” he said, briskly.

Raeburn, standing opposite him, saw him first. There was only hostility in his eyes, but he smiled and raised a hand. “Good morning, Chief Inspector.”

Warrender’s right eye was puffy and nearly closed up, and his lips were swollen. Ma Beesley, in a blue dressing- gown, overflowed from an upright chair, her grey plaits hanging over her huge bosom, her bright little eyes turned towards him.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Roger.

Turnbull winked.

“I hope it isn’t serious,” Raeburn said. “In fact I wouldn’t have worried you, Chief Inspector, but the porter thought it necessary to send for the police. I’m sorry you’ve been brought out in the early hours.”

“It’s happened before,” Roger said, dryly. “Is anything missing?”

Ma Beesley heaved herself up. “You must have some coffee, Mr West. I’ll get another cup.” She waddled out at once, deliberately leaving the men together.

“Now, let’s have it,” said Roger.

“We’ve already told Detective Inspector Turnbull everything,” Warrender growled. “Two men broke into the fiat. I caught them red-handed, and was attacked while I was trying to detain them. Mrs Beesley got out her gun and frightened them away. Nothing is missing.”

“Quite sure?”

“They didn’t have time—”began Warrender.