Inspector West Alone

every waking moment, until Kennedy was finally convinced of his goodwill.

He began to think, dispassionately, of how he could send word to Janet and the Yard, and if he found a way, whether he should do it. Janet, when vexed and sharp-voiced if he’d worked too late, had a trick of gibing: “You’re a policeman first, man second.” There was truth in it; never more truth than now. The battle was on—a strange, tenuous, bitter battle.

*     *     *     *

He was asleep when Marion came to him. For a moment, he thought it was Janet. He started up. Only the dim light was on, and she sat on the bed, looking fragile.

“What is it?”

She said : “I’m terribly frightened.”

“You’re frightened!”

“Yes.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

She asked: “Who are you?”

Beware the traps.

“Don’t you know?”

“I thought—you were Arthur King.”

“Aren’t I?”

“He called you by another name.”

“Who? The doctor?”

“No. Kennedy.”

“When?”

“I heard you talking in here to-night.”

She might have; much more likely she was in the plot and came as an agente provocatrice from Kennedy.

“Forget it,” he said roughly.

“Please! Don’t raise your voice. I want to help you, if you’re in trouble. I saw a photograph——”

“I’m ill. You know that.”

“But are you?” She gripped his hands tightly. She wore the woollen dressing-gown, and it parted at the neck; her nightdress was of pink silk. “I’ve been unhappy about you, you seemed so rational at first, not like the others. I thought——” She paused, and her fingers pressed hard enough to hurt.

“Well?”

“I thought it was because I—liked you.”

“That’s happened to me before.”

“Oh, please. Tell me the truth. If you’re someone else I can get a message sent for you. It would be a hideous crime to keep a sane man here. Perhaps I could tell your friends, or the police. I have time off to-morrow, and can go into the village—to London—anywhere. I want to help you.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Then let me get some sleep.”

She drew back, as if he had struck her, and her eyes seemed filled with pain. Could any woman act like that?

She went slowly towards the door; for the first time, her shoulders drooped as if the vitality had been drained out of her. She opened the door; there was still time to call her back.

He let her go.

*     *     *     *

The safety razor felt unfamiliar in his hand, but he didn’t cut himself. When he looked into the mirror afterwards, he saw that the last traces of the scratches had all but gone.

The male nurse brought him a Daily Cry. There was a little paragraph about the nation-wide hunt, and more about him, with a larger photograph, and the words:

Reliable reports say that Inspector West was last seen on Monday evening, in the Guildford area. Anyone who saw him after six-fifteen that night should communicate at once with Scotland Yard or the nearest police- station.

*     *     *     *

That was placed close to the murder story; so, slowly and reluctantly, the Yard was allowing him to be connected with that affair.

He put the paper down as the door opened. Kennedy came in with a little sparrow of a man. The newcomer had a beak of a nose and beady eyes, a fresh complexion and tiny, bloodless lips. He stood hardly higher than