But—oh, I’ve tried to tell myself that it will work out all right, but if Roger were alive, he’d have got in touch with me, somehow.”
Sloan didn’t speak—but glanced at the door. He heard a slight sound there, and thought he saw the handle turn. Scoopy liked to listen to conversations, but if it had been Scoopy he wouldn’t have come to the door so silently. Imagination ?
Janet said: “Bill, it’s no use, we just have to face the facts. Either Roger is dead or he has had something to do with—crime. That’s the only choice we have. And you know he hasn’t had anything to do with crime, so he must be dead.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Have you any reason at all for saying that?”
Sloan stood up and took out his cigarettes, moved casually across the room without making a sound and without looking at the door. He said:
“No real reason, Jan. But we know the identity of the girl who was killed at Copse Cottage now, that’s the line that’s opened. I’ve left my matches in my overcoat pocket —won’t be a moment.”
He opened the door.
Grace was moving away, back towards him, heading for the stairs. She didn’t look round. He went to his overcoat and pretended to take matches from it, returned to Janet who was leaning back with her eyes closed. She’d noticed nothing unusual.
Sloan left, three-quarters of an hour afterwards, hearing the boys shouting in their bath, and Grace talking to them cheerfully. Janet was, if anything, a little brighter. He got into his car, waved and drove towards the other end of Bell Street and then to the Chelsea Embankment. He wanted to go back to the Yard.
The woman, Grace——
A car swung out of a side turning towards him. He wasn’t on guard, because he was concentrating on the woman, Grace. But his sixth sense, awareness of danger, worked as he saw the car. He wrenched the wheel. The other was a powerful Buick, big enough to crush his own car like matchwood. He felt the crash, but the Buick only hit the near-side wing. He lost control of the wheel, and his car swerved across the road. The Buick leapt along the Embankment and swung left, over the bridge.
Sloan regained control. People ran towards him. He wasn’t hurt, beyond a bruise or two.
* * * *
Peel was at the Yard when he arrived, and reported that the Chelsea police were looking after the man with the muddy grey Morris, and being ca’ canny. When Sloan told him of the crash, Peel said :
“I told you so.”
Sloan shrugged and said:
“Yes, we’ve got to keep our eyes open all the time. But it’s coming to a head. Peel.”
“Think so?”
“Roger West would call it a hunch. All right, call it a hunch. And here’s another job, to do very carefully. Check on the nurse, Grace Howell, at the West’s home.”
Peel went off.
Sloan began another report; an official one, for which he didn’t need his private note-book. So he didn’t look for it. But he wanted the Copse Cottage murder file, and sent a constable to get it from Records. The man was gone a long time, and Sloan looked up impatiently when he came in, empty-handed.
“What’s the matter—needing a rest?”
“Sorry, sir, but it’s not in its place. The Assistant Commissioner had it earlier to-day—he may still have it.”
Sloan said. “All right, thanks.” He managed without the Copse Cottage file, and went home a little after seven o’clock.
Nothing happened to him on the way. He didn’t tell his wife about the two attempts to run him down.
CHAPTER XX
IT wasn’t possible for Roger to telephone Pep Morgan that day. He was followed wherever he went, whether by a Yard man or Kennedy’s, he didn’t know. He preferred not to take a chance.
Next day, he wasn’t watched. He didn’t waste time wondering why. He had an appointment in the Strand with a manufacturer of nylon stockings, left before noon, and called Morgan from a kiosk.
* * * *
Morgan said: “Mr. Raymond Hemmingway, twenty-seven, Mountjoy Square.”
“Thanks, Pep,” said Roger.
As the “Pep” came out, he realized the mistake. Not many people knew the private agent as “Pep”.
Morgan appeared not to notice the nickname.
“It’s still dear at fifty pounds, Mr. Brown.”
“I may have something else for you to do later. Not now. Thanks very much.”
