Triumph For Inspector West

“I can’t go all over London looking for Tenby,” retorted Warrender, “and just now I’m keeping in the background. How did you know about the attack on Lessing?”

“I picked him up after it was over.”

“Oh, God!” Warrender gave a twisted smile. “Well, that ought to appeal to Tenby’s sense of humour. But he’s using hired men at Barnes and down here, while he’s been sitting pretty, eating his blasted chocolates. I tell you, he’s got too big for his boots, and he knows a damned sight too much.”

“What will it take to buy him off?” Raeburn asked.

“I don’t know,” Warrender answered. “I don’t even know whether he can be bought.” He smoothed down his oily hair, and hesitated before going on: “Then there’s Eve—and don’t jump down my throat just because I mention her name. She knows a sight too much for my peace of mind. She nearly cracked when West called on her.”

“That was because he told her about Brown,” Raeburn defended her.

“All the same, if I hadn’t arrived, she might have told the lot,” Warrender said. “The police are watching her all the time, and if West ever got tough with her, she’d talk. Paul, Ma and I have been working on this problem most of the day. It’s a big one, and you’ve got to face it. The only way to make sure you’re safe is to get rid of Tenby and Eve. They’re witnesses who could damn you, and it’s no use pretending they’re not dangerous.”

It was a long time before Raeburn spoke. Then he said very tensely: “If that’s the way it has to be, that’s the way it will be.”

Warrender moved slowly to a chair, and sat down. He did not smile, but the tension had gone from his manner. He smoothed his hair again, finished his drink, and put the glass on the floor by his side.

“That’s more like it,” he said.

“But nothing is to be done without consulting me,” Raeburn ordered, sharply.

“It won’t be, Paul. This is the way I see it,” Warrender went on, smoothly. “Tenby can prove you ran Halliwell down deliberately, and as we can’t pin much on Tenby, he’s got the upper hand. Eve would have to admit to perjury, but she might, if the pressure was hard enough. Right?”

“Yes.”

“We could put them both away, and have West and the Yard after us every minute of the day—or we could be more cunning, Paul.”

“How?”

“Kill Eve, and frame Tenby for it, so that Tenby would know he hadn’t a chance, once the police got him. His one hope would be to get out of the country,” War- render went on. “So we’d fix his passport and his passage, and he’d never dare open his mouth.”

He stopped, stood up, and poured himself another drink.

“Can you fix it?” Raeburn asked, abruptly.

“Yes.”

“Who are you going to use?”

“I’m not using anyone any more. I’ll do it myself,” Warrender said, very steadily. “That way, it’s safe, and there’ll be no one left to talk.”

There was a long pause, then:

“When?” asked Raeburn.

“Soon. You’d better be recalled to London tomorrow or the next day,” Warrender answered. “Paul, I know you hate this like hell, but we can’t avoid it, and there are plenty more floozies. The police won’t let up until they’ve got someone, and the truth about Eve’s evidence is bound to come out. You’ll be safe if we can fix it all on Tenby. You won’t back down?” He was anxious.

“I won’t back down,” promised Raeburn.

In spite of his swollen face and tender lips, Mark went in to dinner that night. His table was some distance away from Raeburn’s, but he could see the couple clearly. Eve was wearing a royal blue gown, backless and almost front- less. Raeburn was in a dinner jacket. They were drinking champagne; whatever had passed between them during the afternoon, peace was quite restored. Eve appeared to be almost deliriously happy, and Raeburn was being the real gallant.

“So it is love,” Mark marvelled.

Fog had descended on London during the night, and the newspapers had not arrived by the time Roger was ready to leave for the Yard, next day. The boys had left early, and Janet called anxiously from the kitchen door: “I think it’s getting worse.”

“I’ll take it slowly,” Roger reassured her.

It was a trying drive, but when he reached the Yard a pile of newspapers was on his desk. The story of the ‘badly injured’ woman in hospital, asking to see her husband, must now be known in nearly every household in the country; and, in each story, Raeburn’s name was mentioned. Pictures of Eve were in several papers, and two had photographs of Tony Brown.

There was a cheerful note from Mark, and details of the attack from Turnbull who had added a note: ‘Looks like R. is getting desperate, and we’re worrying him.’

“Could be,” Roger said to himself, and added grimly: “Better be.”

The telephone bell rang.

“West,” said Roger.