Triumph For Inspector West

“Mum,” he said, earnestly, “you don’t think anyone would attack Dad, do you?”

“Of course I don’t,” Janet answered, firmly, but she caught her breath. “What on earth put that absurd idea into your head?”

“Oh, nothing,” Richard said, airily, but later, when they were alone, Scoopy whispered: “She is afraid of it, Fish.”

“Wouldn’t it be awful if anything happened to Dad?” Richard breathed.

About that time, Roger was fidgeting because there was no word from Brown, and hoping that Peel was watching Mark closely at Brighton.

The lounge of the Grand-Royal was the show place of a hotel which was a show place of the south coast. It was castlelike in its spaciousness. Deep armchairs and sofas, with down-filled cushions, were grouped about small tables which looked too beautiful to be used for glasses, cups, and tankards. Great chandeliers glistened with dozens of small lamps for it had been a dull, cloudy day, and outside it was already getting dark. A deep wine- coloured carpet, with a heavy pile, stretched from wall to wall. The furnishings were of dark blue, and burnished copper ornaments adorned the ledge which ran round the half-panelled room.

There were three huge fireplaces, and blazing logs sent flames leaping up the chimneys; the Grand-Royal boasted that it was the best and homiest hotel in England.

Only a few people were there at a quarter to five on that particular evening.

Mark Lessing had a table in a window, and was hidden from Raeburn and Eve by a massive ornamental pillar. By leaning forward, he could see them both. Raeburn’s handsome head was resting against the back of his chair; Eve sat on a pouf in front of the fire. The firelight danced on her face and arms and shone through her dark hair, and the mass of curls set off her slender neck and squared shoulders. She wore an exquisite cocktail dress of bottle green, cut daringly low.

Mark doubted whether they were really aware that anyone else was in the room, they were so absorbed in each other. A page boy came in with evening newspapers, and put three on Raeburn’s table, without being noticed. Mark beckoned, and bought the Evening Cry and the Star. He glanced at the headlines, shared between Raeburn and Mrs Brown’s fears, and his eyes lit up.

He read the story in both papers, looking from time to time at Raeburn, who had not yet opened his. Then he lit a cigarette, and grinned.

Eve leaned forward, and put a hand on Raeburn’s knee; he immediately covered hers with his. She spoke; he nodded, and Eve got up and walked to the door, knowing she was being watched. Raeburn stood until she was out of the room, studying her swaying hips. When he sat down, stretching out his legs and picking up one of the papers, he was sideways to Mark.

He started at the sight of the first story, then snatched the other papers.

“Not so good, is it, Paul?” Mark murmured.

Raeburn flung the papers aside, jumped up, looked round, and beckoned a page.

“When Miss Franklin comes back, ask her to wait here for me. I have to make a telephone call.”

“Yes, sir.”

Raeburn strode off, angry and aggressive. Mark put down his paper, and strolled after him. He reached the lift in time to see the doors closing on the financier. He glanced out of the front door, and saw that young Peel was there. He nodded to Peel, turned, and hurried up the stairs. Raeburn’s suite was on the second floor, and his door was closed when Mark reached it.

Mark tried the handle, but the door was locked. He heard Raeburn’s voice, and by straining his ears he was able to catch a few words; Raeburn was putting in a call to his Park Lane flat. The ting of the telephone sounded clearly when he replaced the receiver, and the sounds which followed suggested that Raeburn was pacing the room. Mark moved away, and tried the doors on either side of Raeburn’s suite, but both were locked.

His ears were strained to catch the sound of the telephone bell ringing; yet when he heard it, he jumped. He went back to the door and stood close, heard Raeburn’s sharp “Yes,” followed by a moment’s pause; next, Raeburn said clearly: “George, have you seen the evening papers ? “

Mark rubbed his hands.

“I won’t have it!” Raeburn almost shouted. “I tell you, I won’t have it!              Whoever is responsible must go at once. . . . Never mind what you’ve told me, fire him!”

There was another, longer pause. Mark stood, grinning almost fatuously, but before Raeburn spoke again, someone turned into the passage. Mark moved away. A man and woman walked past, and went into a room farther along.

Mark returned to Raeburn’s door just in time to hear the ting of the bell, as the receiver was replaced.

He went to the landing, and sank down on to a deep- spring sofa, lit a cigarette, and was smoking and leaning back with his eyes half closed when Raeburn came out, obviously still angry. He walked down the stairs. Mark took the lift, and reached the lounge in time to see Eve jump up from her chair to greet Raeburn.

She was startled. “Paul, what’s the matter?”

“Get your coat,” Raeburn said. “We’re going for a drive.”

“But, Paul—”

“Get your coat.”

His abruptness surprised the girl, but she began to hurry toward the door.

“That’s better,” thought Mark. “That’s much better.”

He went outside. Peel came up to him, and asked for a match. As Mark handed him his box, Peel asked: “What did you mean just now, Mr Lessing?”