Sundays?”
“Policemen never have any time off.”
“Come in and relax,” said Roger. He wished the lights weren’t so bright; putting all on had been a mistake. It was easy to understand mistakes which crooks made, now, the list of possible slips was a mile long. He felt a tug of the tension he had experienced when Sloan had first come here, and when he had seen Janet and Mark.
Sloan looked round and tossed his hat into a chair.
“You do yourself well.”
“I’m a successful business man. Have a sandwich.”
“Thanks.” If Sloan had a weakness, it was for food. “You’re very affable to-night.”
“I’ve been enjoying myself,” Roger said, and grinned. “You like these unofficial visits, don’t you?”
“I never pay calls when I’m off duty, you can call me the man who’s always on the job.”
“What will you drink?” asked Roger.
“Beer, if there is any.”
“Other people besides policemen drink beer.” The conversation was too slick. Roger hadn’t any idea whether Sloan had come because of the Brixton job, but as his mind roamed restlessly about the possibility, he didn’t see where he could have slipped up. He poured beer into a glass tankard and had a gin for himself; gin, because as Roger West, he had never drunk it. He kept his voice hard and spoke with little movement of his lips; he was more afraid of his voice than of anything else, when with Sloan. “What do you want?” he asked.
“That’s a leading question. Been places to-night, do you say?”
“A nice little girl,” Roger said dreamily. “Sweet and innocent, no intelligence, no questions, a nice little healthy little pleasant little animal. They still grow like that. Suppose you tell me why you want to see me.”
“I hope you’re in a more talkative mood than the last time.”
“You’ve discovered all you want to know about me, haven’t you?”
“Not enough. I don’t know all your friends.”
“The Kennedy one?” Roger laughed.
“Wrong name, right initial. Remember Mr. Kyle?”
Roger said, “Kyle, Kyle?” He stood his ground, but wanted to sit down. “Kyle—oh, the little crook who came to see me just before you arrived that day. Yes, I remember.”
“You’ve a good memory. Heard from him lately?”
“No.”
“Surprising,” said Sloan, and grinned. “He carried a slip of paper round in his pocket, with a different name on it, care of the Strand G.P.O. When he was brought in last, that piece of paper turned up. I went and collected a letter addressed to the alias from the Post Office. There was nothing written inside, but there were ten pound notes. Are you a philanthropist?”
“Not yet.”
“Did you send that money to him?”
“No. Ask him.”
“Don’t you know what happens to your friends?”
“He wasn’t a friend of mine. He——”
“Friends of yours are liable to die suddenly, aren’t they? By accident?”
“So he’s dead!” said Roger, and frowned. “What do you expect me to do? Cry about a man I’ve only seen once in my life, and didn’t want to see again ?”
“What about the girl?”
Roger poured himself out another gin, refilled Sloan’s tankard, and hoped he was as casual as he ought to be. “I don’t follow? The girl I’ve just left——”
“No, not her. Marion Day.”
Sloan’s approach was puzzling. He was giving more away than a good policeman should. He had chosen to come on a Sunday night because it was the least likely time for a detective to call, and that was good tactics—but apart from that, he was being too clever.
Roger said slowly: “Marion Day ? No, it doesn’t ring a bell.”
Sloan laughed, spontaneously; there was nothing at all sinister about it.
“Ringing a bell is good.” He took a photograph from his pocket—of Marion. He thrust it forward under Roger’s nose. “Have a good look.”
Roger said : “I’ve seen her before, somewhere, but I don’t remember where, just now. I don’t know her well.”
“You will, if you ever join her,” said Sloan cryptically. “Either someone is storing up a lot of trouble for you, or you’re storing it up for yourself.” He came forward and looked hard into Roger’s eyes. “There was a telephone number with that alias of Kyle’s—Temple Bar 89511. Your office number. There was a telephone number in that girl’s handbag—T.B. 89511. Can you explain either?”
“Kyle, possibly because he’d been here, and might have wanted to try again. The girl——” Roger shook his
