Marino was quick; very quick.
“What makes you think so?”
“It just occurred to me, I guess. And to Lissa. It occurred to Lissa first. She said that she didn’t believe that you’d told us everything you’d been thinking. Lissa thinks you’re good, Roger — more than good, she thinks you’re red-hot She says you’ve a mind that jumps twice as fast and twice as high as the next man, and being English, you don’t talk much. I’ve known her for a long time, and she isn’t often wrong. What are you keeping to yourself?”
Marino spoke amiably enough; and waited patiently for an answer.
“A guess,” Roger said, and stood up. He glanced towards the door again, but it didn’t open; Lissa wasn’t coming. “We know that a child was taken to Ganda early yesterday morning, we know he was small for his age and thin, we don’t know that it was Ricky Shawn. It could have been a stooge. You, everyone in the hunt, would jump to the States as the likely place for them to take the boy. Gissing, of McMahon, or unknowns, would know which way we’d jump, give us plenty to jump after, and plant the boy somewhere else. With Mrs Clarice Norwood in Paris, perhaps. Or somewhere in England. We’re still getting reports at the Yard of all the boys around that age who left the country from three am. yesterday morning, and we could be fooled even if we do get word of them, because they could have dressed Ricky as a girl.
“Tony, you’ve got to give way over the secrecy,” Roger went on grimly. “We’ve lost too much time already. Never mind what Shawn wants, never mind protecting him and his wife from hurt, stop wet-nursing them. I want Ricky Shawn’s picture in every English newspaper in the morning. Every American paper, too — every newspaper in the world that will print it If it’s as vital as you say, then you want quick results, and secrecy won’t get them, it will only slow us down. All I’ve been holding back from you and Lissa Meredith is that I don’t like the hush-hush. It could kill your chance of finding that child quickly. You may throw away any chance of finding him at all.”
He talked quietly, standing by the desk, looking down on Marino; and Marino gave no indication of what he felt. It was some time before he spoke.
“I don’t think it can be done,” he said.
“It’s got to be done. Or I’ll tell Hardy that I’m just wasting my time, and ask to be taken off the case,” Roger said. “Look.” He took an envelope from his despatch-case, opened it, pushed a picture of Ricky Shawn in front of Marino, waited until the man had looked at it, drew out another. He held it out. “Now look at this. That’s Ed Scammel. That’s what his throat looked like, after these people had finished with him.
They are the same people who hold Ricky Shawn. At the moment they’ve got us scared. Use enough publicity and they’ll be the ones who are scared. When are you going to realize that?”
9
“REST” BY NIGHT
Marino took the photograph of Scammel, placed it by the side of that of Ricky, and studied each closely without looking up. His big, pale hands did not move. Roger lit a cigarette, and blew smoke over Marino’s head. The faces of Presidents looked down on him.
Marino glanced up.
“I will do what I can,” he said. “I am not the big man.” He looked very bleak. “Thank you, Roger. Even if they agree, it will take an hour or two. Call me in two hours, and I’ll have the answer.”
“Do you mean that you’re going to need Shawn’s permission?” Roger demanded.
“I mean I’ll do all I can.”
“If Shawn holds it up, let me handle him,” Roger said.
Marino chuckled, unexpectedly. Roger smiled and relaxed, accepted another drink, and asked without tension:
“Where is Lissa?”
“With David Shawn. Now that he’s cooled down a bit, she can cope. He won’t throw her out of any window. There are two or three of our men down there, you have no need to worry. We’re trying to make sure that if Shawn gets a message, he won’t keep it to himself. The most likely one he’ll talk to is Lissa, so she will stay closer than a sister. Unless you need her for something else, that is.”
“I should hate to think she wasn’t doing something useful,” Roger said lightly. Gaining his point with Marino had given j him brief but sweet satisfaction, and he didn’t actually miss Lissa now. “I won’t call you about sending that photograph out, I’ll have Bill Sloan do that. If you give the go-ahead, he can fix everything.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First I’m going home,” said Roger. “I’ve a wife and family. Afterwards, I’m going to Clarice Norwood’s house.”
“Why?”
“The lady’s left it empty, and Gissing might be planning to use it Obviously he might have wanted her out of the way in case we trace the Austin to the house, but why should we take that for granted? Ask me again, and I’ll say I’ve got a hunch!”
“I told you,” Marino said. “Lissa can pick men.” He tapped Scammel’s photograph. “Be very careful.” To emphasize the words, he took a small automatic from his pocket and held it out. “I know you Yard men don’t carry guns without special permission. I talked Hardy into agreeing that you should. Use this until you can collect yours from the Yard.”
Roger took it. “I will,” he said. “Thank you.”
The tapping of Marino’s finger seemed like a warning of disaster; the little gesture, so deliberate and full of meaning, hovered in front of Roger’s eyes as he went out into the welcome cool of the evening. The gun made an unfamiliar weight in his pocket. He drove to the Yard but did not trouble to collect another gun. He went to the canteen with Sloan, had supper and made plans, as carefully as if he knew that Gissing would go to the house. After eight-thirty, when dusk was falling, he turned into Bell Street, Chelsea, where he lived. He would only have a few minutes, for he wanted to be at “Rest” by full darkness, but it would be better than nothing. The street looked friendly and pleasant in the fading light, and neighbours waved. He pulled up alongside the house, and walked up the path as Janet opened the front door.
