* * * *
“You’ll send for Sloan?” she said quietly. He was standing by the cocktail cabinet, smoothing down his ruffled hair.
“Yes.”
“To-night?”
“If two attacks have been made on him, he isn’t likely to come at a mysterious summons after dark. He’d take the risk in daylight.”
“He must come by himself.”
“I can’t guarantee what he’ll do.” Roger poured drinks; champagne, which fizzed and bubbled and sparkled. His hands weren’t as steady as he would have liked.
The door opened, and Kennedy came in. His eyes were narrowed, there was the merest sliver of silver light in them. He grinned.
“What do I hear?”
Roger saw the flashing glance which she sent him, and read the triumph in it.
“Charles is going to send for Sloan,” she said, “and he’s made several suggestions . . .”
* * * *
“Good night,” Kennedy said, at the door.
Percy stood by the Daimler, outside.
“Good night.”
“I’ll see that you have the address for Sloan, early in the morning.”
“Thanks.” Roger hurried out to the car, Percy opened the door and looked at him without favour. Percy was never likely to become a good friend of Charles Rayner, there was instinctive animosity in him.
“I’ll walk,” said Roger.
“You won’t!” Percy snapped.
Roger turned away from the car and walked towards the end of the street. He couldn’t see Percy; guessed that Percy was sending an SOS to Kennedy, who was probably still at the door. At the corner, Roger turned. A man came out of the block of flats, walking swiftly, and turned in his wake. Roger affected not to notice him, and strolled on. It was a warm, friendly London night. He dawdled. The man who had come from the Mansions also dawdled, a little way behind him. He was still being followed when he reached Lyme Street, twenty minutes later. He stood at the doorway, lit a cigarette, and looked up and down; his shadower stayed in the doorway of a shop at the corner, appearing to take no notice of him.
Roger went upstairs, leaving the street door unlatched.
When he pulled aside the curtains and looked out of a front window the man was opposite.
Harry, quiet and unobtrusive as ever, asked if he wanted dinner.
“A snack will do.”
“Very good, sir.” Harry went into the kitchen. Roger put on some records; Wagner—Wagner suited his mood, the melancholy made a background to his thoughts. They were fragmentary. The clever cunning of it! The sugar coating over crudeness. The continued attempts to break down his resistance and corrupt his mind. Whether he got Sloan or not was to be a vital test; Kennedy might regard it as final. Succeed, and he would be close to the black heart of this affair; fail, and the woman in green—he did not even know her Christian name—would be able to say : “I told you so.” No use arguing with himself about that. Succeed, and Kennedy would lower most of the barriers. Fail—and die.
Fail—and take terrible risks with Janet and the boys.
He stirred in his chair, smoking, restless.
The woman in green was now with Kennedy, sure of herself, yet human and prone to mistakes. She had started to tell him what they were going to do that night and had broken off; and it was obvious that they were going out of town. Kennedy’s wife would probably be with them; Percy would almost certainly drive them. They probably wouldn’t be back that night. Kennedy was away from Mountjoy Square, then; and Percy, too. Kennedy’s wife? He couldn’t guess.
Kennedy was sure that he didn’t know the address at Mountjoy Square.
Kennedy and his sister were now sure that he would “play”; the shadow and this caution was routine. It was too big a thing on which to take a chance. He would be watched, everything he did until Sloan was caught would be noted, he had no real freedom of action, unless he took a desperate chance.
It would be the only chance, leading either to complete success or abject failure. It meant breaking into 27 Mountjoy Square. He’d need a skilled cracksman; he could find one, if necessary. He laughed-
If he held on, sent for Sloan and trapped him, then afterwards success would be much easier. On balance, he ought to wait; he’d gone so far, and Sloan would be the last man in the world to blame him for going on. Sloan was one of the few who would really understand what he had been doing, but—there was one incalculable factor.
If he caught Sloan, what would Kennedy do?
Use the other Yard man? Or kill him?
Could Kennedy use Sloan successfully? Hadn’t he all that he wanted, already?
Roger stood up suddenly. “He’ll kill——” he began.
