He looked hard at Roger, as at a man he was seeing for the first time. To Roger, it was a moment of screaming tension, but—Sloan did not recognize him.
Roger said: “Well?”
“Mr. Rayner? Charles Rayner?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry to worry you, Mr. Rayner.” That was perfunctory, Roger couldn’t mistake Sloan’s hostility, as he pulled up a chair and sat down. He took out his cigarettes, in a familiar yellow packet.
“Smoke?”
“No. Who are you?”
Sloan lit up and took out a card and held it forward. Roger glanced at it.
“You may be a policeman, but you don’t own the world.”
“I just help to keep it clean,” said Sloan. “You had a visitor just now. A certain Mr. Kyle, who spent a lot of time behind bars.”
“So he told me.” The dictaphone picked that up, so Kennedy would learn about Kyle’s visit.
“What did he want?”
“Work.”
“Did you give him any?”
“No.”
“Why did you see him off?”
“To make sure he left the premises.”
“So you’ve got all the answers, Mr. Rayner.”
“That’s right.”
“I hope you’ve some more answers up your sleeve, Mr. Rayner.” Sloan was heavily sarcastic. “This is an informal call. Can I take it that you’d swear in court that you’d never seen Kyle before?”
“Yes.”
“What business do you transact, Mr. Rayner?”
“I’m a commission agent.”
“That covers a lot of—things.” The pause made the words an accusation. “How long have you been in business here?”
“I haven’t.”
That startled Sloan. “This is your office.”
“I open here next week.”
“Did you have another office, before this, or have you just started in business, Mr. Rayner?”
“You’ve a lot of men to help you find out things like that.”
“A peculiar attitude to adopt, Mr. Rayner.”
“If there’s anything peculiar here, it’s your manner.”
“I see.” Sloan read the obvious into that—the obvious that wasn’t true, and which made Kennedy’s failure to give a briefing almost a tragedy. “So you don’t intend to help the police, Mr. Rayner.”
“When I know how I can help, I will.”
“Is this a new business?”
“How will the answer help you?”
Sloan said: “People who are awkward with the police often regret it. Don’t forget that.”
“Policemen who come on their own aren’t entitled to all the answers.”
“So you’re clever, too. Where do you live?”
“This is my address.”
“Morning, noon, and night?”
Roger said slowly, heavily: “Inspector, I don’t like your manner. I don’t know the man who came here just now. Don’t blame me if he’s a crook. I’m not. Next time you want information, don’t start by accusing me of being a liar. Now I’ve work to do.”
“Who for?” asked Sloan. “Kennedy?”
* * * *
It was like looking at the world from the moon; he knew what lay behind every word, was familiar with every inflection of Sloan’s voice. He’d had a split second of warning that a bombshell was coming. He hadn’t known what, and the “Kennedy” came out with shattering effect, but he kept a poker face.
“Who’s Kennedy?” he asked, blankly.
