another serious slip of the tongue.
The moment Kennedy suspected what was being planned, he would kill.
Roger picked up his hat and went downstairs: one difference between Charles Rayner and Roger West was that Rayner always wore a hat, and West had always gone hatless; trifles, which mattered. He found the” Daimler waiting, and got in. The usual trick with the blinds wasn’t played; they didn’t go to Mountjoy Square but to a block of flats behind Oxford Street—a small, luxury block.
“Number 15,” said Percy, showing no sign of grievance.
Roger nodded and went inside.
Kennedy himself opened the door. He was dressed in morning coat and striped grey trousers; he looked as if he had been poured into them. Except for his eyes, there wasn’t much to remind Roger of the man he had first glimpsed coming away from Copse Cottage. Why had Kennedy appeared in person in that job?
The flat was small, but the living-room was big and luxurious. It struck him as being a woman’s fiat. Drinks were out, which didn’t suggest a fiery interview.
Roger said: “Another little pied a terre.”
“I hope you like it. What will you drink?”
“Whisky, thanks.”
Kennedy poured out, offered cigarettes, and for him was a long time getting to the point. He sipped, and eyed Roger through his lashes, as if he wanted to hide those glittering eyes.
“Your friend Sloan is tough,” he said.
Roger stiffened. “I told you——”
“That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about,” said Kennedy mildly. “You’ve forgotten to forget your past. You’ve too much of a conscience. Sloan is tough, and Sloan isn’t a fool. He’s got to go. Two attempts were made on him yesterday. Both failed. I don’t know whether he suspects what happened or not, but he might, and he’s not safe.”
Roger said: “I won’t stand for it.”
Kennedy laughed.
“Won’t you?” He turned to a table, picked up a photograph that was lying face downwards, handed it to Roger. “Recognize them?”
Two smiling faces and one grave, stared up at him. Scoopy and Richard, dressed in Red Indian finery—and a girl whom he didn’t know, small, big-breasted, wearing a skirt much too short for her. He didn’t spend any time looking at the girl at first, just stared at the boys. Wearing those feathers and waistcoats was one of their great joys.
His teeth clamped together.
Kennedy said: “I’ve told you before that I don’t want to injure the kids, but you’ve got to understand that they don’t belong to you any more—and that any of your onetime friends who get in our way, have to go. Sloan’s one. I can lift up the telephone, and give orders to that girl to walk out of the house taking the kids with her. How would a certain widow like that?”
Roger felt sick.
Kennedy said: “I hoped you’d got past the worst stage. Rayner.” He turned from the drinks, went to the window and stood looking out. “I think you have—this is just a sentimental hangover. Sloan only spells danger to you. Don’t you enjoy your new standard of living?”
Roger said: “It has its points.”
“You can become a much richer man. You can do what you like and go where you like. I haven’t wasted my time when having you watched. This new life fits you like a glove. All you nave to do is forget, and everything is yours.”
Roger said: “I’ve warned you not to do anything to Sloan. The fact that he was a friend of mine is one thing. There’s much more. He’s bristling with suspicion. Do anything to him, and you’ll have the Yard down on you like a pack of hounds—and I mean like a pack of hounds. They’ll tear you to pieces, strip you of everything. This place. Your home. Your money. Your future. You’re a fool if you go for Sloan.”
Kennedy said: “He’s got to go, soon.” He moved to a writing-desk, a beautiful walnut piece, and picked up a book, a large diary with a lock and key. “Recognize this?”
Roger gulped.
“Sloan’s note-book?”
“He’s done a lot of ferreting. He’s proved you’re right —the police are better than I’d realized. If he talks about this, it might be very bad indeed. Yes, Sloan has to go.”
“So Banister——”
“Banister was exactly the right man. He’s done this kind of thing before, on a smaller scale. I’ve had dossiers and records photolithoed this afternoon, and know everything that the Yard knows. You’ll study it, point out the weakness and the strength, and decide how best to counter what they’re doing. But there’s nothing in those records half as dangerous as Sloan’s private note-book. Sloan must go.”
Roger helped himself to another whisky and soda.
“Have you been working long enough now to know how valuable you are to me?” Kennedy demanded.
“I’ve an idea.”
“We’ve hardly started.” Kennedy grinned. “When we get at the big stuff, you’ll wallow in money. Where does Sloan live?”
