the
The Night Editor, in his office off the newsroom of the
The door opened, and a boy entered bringing him pulls of a new set-up of the front page. He stretched out his hand to take them, and as he did so the telephone rang.
“Put ‘em down,” he said, and lifted the receiver. “Night Editor . . . Who? . . . Oh, yes, put him through at once.” His voice grew sharper and he pressed a bell- push. “Yes, Mr Raeburn? . . .
Five minutes later he rang off. By then the Chief Subeditor was lounging about the desk, a cigarette drooping from his lips, an eyeshade covering his tired eyes.
“Barney, put the UN story on an inside page. We want space for a new one on the front. Raeburn’s flat has been burgled, and West’s on the job. Build up the story this way: is the Yard wise to give this case to this particular man? Is there a risk of personal antagonism and consequent inefficiency? Then case off a bit, and be conciliatory. It could be a chance for West to make a comeback, as it should be a simple job. We look to him to make an early arrest. Got it?”
The Chief Sub-editor said: “Yes. But—”
“There isn’t any time to lose.”
“This won’t take a minute. Sam, how long are we going to keep needling West and the Yard? You’re going to build up so that if he doesn’t pull the burglars in quickly you’ll be able to smack him down hard. I know Raeburn’s the owner, but we keep sailing pretty close to the wind.”
“You may be right,” said the Night Editor, “but write up the story from these notes and make sure we catch the late editions. We can’t argue, and it might even give West a break. If he does make an arrest, we’ll have to give him a good write-up. One day Raeburn might cut his own throat; but, if he did, where would our jobs be? Better hope he’s the winner!”
“I see what you mean,” the Sub-editor said.
CHAPTER XI
REPORTS ABOUT car movements between two and three o’clock were reaching the Yard from all parts of the West End and neighbouring districts, when Roger arrived at his office. The chief interest centred on three: a large Austin, a Fiat, and a Hillman Minx, all of which had been seen in Park Lane about the time of the burglary. This was established by half past four. At a quarter to five B Division rang through to report that a Hillman Minx had been found stranded in a side street in Brixton. “Go over that car with a fine comb,” Roger urged. “We hardly need to,” said the Divisional man at the other end of the line. “There’s blood on the floor, and blood on the inside of the near-side front door. That means there was a passenger who was probably wounded in the left arm.”
Roger’s heart leaped. “Nice work! Was the car stolen ? ““We’ll tell you as soon as we know.”
“Turnbull will come and have a look,” Roger said, and grinned when he saw that Turnbull, as lively as by day, was slapping a trilby on to his thick auburn hair.
At half past five, it seemed certain that the Hillman had been stolen from a private car park at a hotel in Tooting. By six o’clock, this was proved. Late in the morning, a man who had seen the Hillman driven off was found. He was a nervous little man who claimed to be a waiter in a Soho restaurant; he had missed the last bus and walked home.
“I was just turning the corner when the car came out of the park,” he said. “Nearly knocked me down, it did. I shouted at the driver to be careful.”
“Did you see him?” asked Roger.
“Clear as I can see you,” the waiter declared. “There’s a street lamp on that corner. I’d recognise him again if I saw him. I’m sure of that, but—”
“But what?”
“I don’t want to get no one into any trouble,” the waiter said, uneasily. “It was only chance that I saw him.”
“You won’t get anyone into trouble unless they’ve asked for it,” Roger said. “How many people were in the car?”
“Two men.”
“Did you see them both clearly?”
“I only got a good dekko at the driver, a little dark bloke, he was. He didn’t half give me a nasty look, too.”
“Which way did the car turn?”
“Clapham Road, toward Brixton,” asserted the waiter. “It wasn’t ‘arf moving, too; the road was quite clear. You—er, you won’t put me in the box, will you?”
“Not if I can help it,” Roger promised.
C Division, which controlled the Tooting area, worked at high pressure, and fragments of information brought in were quickly piece together. The movements of two men seen walking near the car park were checked. Turnbull discovered a policeman on his beat who had seen two men leaving a house in Hill Lane, Tooting, at about one in the morning; they had returned there at about four o’clock.”
“Anything definite known about them?” Roger asked.
“We haven’t found anything yet,” said Turnbull, “but there’s one queer thing.”
