Triumph For Inspector West

The sounds of the chase were growing fainter.

Roger’s torch slipped from his hand, hit the ground and went out. He picked it up, and when the light shone out again swung it round. The beam caught a thick clump of bushes ten yards away. He moved slowly toward that. He could see a gap in the bushes; there was room for a man to squeeze through. He stood in the gap, and shone the torch about.

Katie Brown was lying there, skirt rucked up, and still as death.

Roger shouted for help, then bent down over her. She was unconscious, but still alive.

The man who had attacked her got away.

Katie Brown was able to speak to Roger next morning. There were dark bruises on her neck, and she looked haggard from strain and shock, but she was eager to talk. She shivered when she recounted what had happened, and Roger helped her to make it as brief as possible. Before he left the hospital ward, she promised fervently that if she heard from her husband she would send for the police.

“I really will, this time, I mean that.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Roger, dryly.

“Have you—have you found the man?”

“Not yet.”

“If only I’d been able to see his face!”

“You heard his voice,” Roger said. “Whatever you do, don’t forget what it sounded like. One day you might hear it again, and you must be ready to recognise it.”

“I—I’ll never forget that voice.” She leaned forward, and touched his hand. “Mr. West—”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t got Bill, have you?”

“If we do pick him up before you leave here, I’ll bring him along to see you,” promised Roger. Suddenly his eyes gleamed, and he rose to go. “Don’t worry too much, he’ll be all right.” He patted her hand, and hurried out.

He drove much faster than usual to the Yard, and reached there just before twelve; with luck he would get Chatworth’s approval for a new approach to reach the evening papers. He left the car to be parked by a constable, strode up the steps, and made for the lift.

“Handsome looks more cheerful than he has for weeks,” a passing man remarked.

Chatworth was in his office, and was gruff.

“Now what’s on your mind?”

“A new line on this job, I think, sir.”

“I thought we were supposed to have tried everything.”

“All conventional methods, sir; this is offbeat,” Roger said. “Why not use newspapers to hit back at him? A lot of them hate his guts. We’ve plenty to go on, too, and a remark from Katie Brown put the idea into my head, and —”

“You might get some newspapers to run a campaign against anonymous criminals, but they’ll never risk libel against Raeburn,” Chatworth interrupted, “Still, let’s have it.”

“The first shot would be in tonight’s evening papers; just the full story of the attack on Katie Brown, and the fact that we want to question her husband in connection with the burglary at Raeburn’s flat,” Roger said. “That will bring Raeburn in smoothly enough.”

Chatworth nodded.

“Then tonight or tomorrow morning, we’ll produce an angle the press will jump at.” Roger felt absolutely sure of himself. “We’ll tell them that Katie Brown’s condition is serious, and she keeps asking for her husband. We can say that she’s terrified in case anything has happened to him, and stress the fact that it’s because of what happened to his brother. We can let the press do the rest; they’ll ram it home. As Tony Brown was engaged to Eve Franklin, that will bring Raeburn in again. One or more of the papers are certain to run a story about the mystery of the Browns—with a suggestion that they’re being persecuted. We’ve only got to indicate the general line, and they’ll jump at it.”

Chatworth conceded: “You may be right,” and ran a hand over his tanned, bald patch.

“We can’t lose anything, and at least we’ll make Raeburn uneasy,” Roger urged. “We may make him do something silly, and at the same time bring Bill Brown in. I’ve a feeling that when BroMi knows that his wife’s in the hospital he’ll give himself up, so that he can sec her. If the papers say she wants to see him—”

“All right,” interrupted Chatworth. “See who’s in the Press Room now.”

Roger was in a better mood at home that night; he had Janet, as well as the boys, laughing.

Not one paper, not even the Morning Cry, failed to give the story front-page headlines. Only the Cry mentioned that Mr. Paul Raeburn was in Brighton.

There was no word from Turnbull or from Mark, but Roger believed that the next move would be when Brown gave himself up.

Janet was sitting in the living-room that afternoon when the boys came in, unusually solemn. They were helping to get tea ready when Richard, a head shorter than his brother and much younger in some ways, stopped in front of Janet, his eyes looking enormous.