fastened with thick rubber bands. One lot of paper was stiffer than most— like photographs. He slipped the band off and saw that these were lithographed prints of the dossiers taken from the Yard.
He felt sick with hope and anxiety.
He unfastened another roll, and found sheet after sheet of paper with names and addresses and a few remarks against each. Dozens of the names were familiar; they were people with whom Rayner & Co. dealt, who supplied the short-supply goods—and the type of goods supplied was noted in the remarks column.
Another roll unfurled; more names and addresses, none of them in England—there were several sheets of paper for each country on the Continent. He’d seen some of these names before, too—when he had studied the case against Delaney. So Kennedy had been behind that. Another list of names followed, with a familiar look about them; peers of the realm and—
There were many more, but Roger didn’t look at them. Kennedy kept his records here, that alone mattered. The Delaney contact would give the Yard sufficient to hold him on, and there were other things that would give them the excuse he wanted. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and turned away.
Kennedy’s wile sat in her chair, her eyes wide open, staring at him. Harry’s eyes were closed.
He said: “You’ve had your run. It’s all over.”
She didn’t speak.
He went to Kennedy’s desk, glancing at the papers which littered the floor, picked up the telephone and began to dial WHI-
“Don’t do that!” Kennedy’s wife called. “Don’t do it. You’re throwing everything away.”
“Some will go as far as the gallows.” He dialled two numbers—1-2. The last time he had called Scotland Yard was to make that silly inquiry about Sloan, to give Sloan plenty to think about. Where was Sloan now?
“You can be so wealthy——”
“I’m sick of riches.” He finished dialling with another 1-2. He heard the ringing sound. He hardly knew what he felt or thought, except that he was tired—not exhilarated or excited, but tired. He could see Harry’s pale face and closed eyes and didn’t think he could see any sign of breathing.
“This is Scotland Yard. Can I help you?”
Roger drew in his breath.
“Can I help you?”
“1 am speaking for Detective Inspector Sloan. He wants Squad cars at twenty-seven Mountjoy Square, at once. Also, an ambulance—a man has been shot and badly injured.”
“Is Mr. Sloan there?”
“He’s busy. Hurry.”
“Very good, sir.” The operator didn’t go away. “What is your name, sir?”
West!
“My name is Rayner, Charles Rayner. Will you please hurry?”
“Yes, sir, I’m calling the Squad Room on another line. Let me make sure I have it right, sir. Twenty-seven Mountjoy Square, and you are Mr. Charles Rayner.”
“That’s it.”
Roger put down the telephone. The woman hadn’t moved; nor had Harry. It was deathly quiet in the room. He brushed his hand over his forehead, and it came away filmed with sweat. He didn’t smile or feel like smiling— and he didn’t know why. The Squad Room always moved fast, cars and ambulance would be here in ten minutes. In ten minutes it would be all over, except the proving. He’d taken the chance, and it had come off. There were risks still; to Janet, the boys, and Sloan. How could he persuade the Squad cars to move off as soon as the police were here, so that no one would warn Kennedy, when he arrived. How——
The door opened.
Kennedy came in, with the woman in green behind him.
CHAPTER XXIV
KENNEDY had a gun in his hand.
He stepped into the study quietly, and looked round— and although it was Kennedy, there was something different about him. What? The woman’s automatic was in Roger’s pocket. He put his hand to his pocket, and Kennedy said: “Don’t.” The gun covered Roger, and there would be no warning when this man fired.
Kennedy’s wife said: “He’s just telephoned Scotland Yard, Ray.” She was breathless. “Hurry!”
The woman in green walked across the study, stood in front of Roger for a moment, and then struck him across the face. It was a blow as savage as the blaze in her eyes. But she didn’t speak. She put her hand into his pocket and drew out the automatic, then backed away.
What was the difference in Kennedy? He was the same man, yet not the same man!
His eyes: they weren’t orbs of silver fire, they were ordinary eyes, with nothing remarkable about them. It
