Alibi

“One of our competitor firms has made a bid for our shares,” Artemeus announced. “It is a substantial bid, and our shareholders are likely to accept unless we can offer them something better. There are two other firms, as you know, who are of some importance in this field. If we took them over, we would be in a position not only to remain independent but also to buy out the main competitor in the field, the one who wants to buy us. Need I tell you how important the issues are?”

“You want a monopoly in the private security organisations,” Roger remarked dryly.

“Exactly.” Artemeus let a kind of shield fall over his eyes, hiding their hardness, and stretched a languid hand for an eclair. “In normal circumstances I would not have been so frank, Mr. West, but the situation is so urgent that I really have no choice. You will no doubt guess that the take-over offer came unexpectedly. It will be announced in the evening newspapers tonight, and you would have seen at once why we are so anxious to have your services.”

Roger said heavily, “Spell it out for me, please.”

“Very well.” Artemeus took a sip of tea, and leaned forward earnestly. “If you are with us, Mr. West, we can merge with the smaller companies. They are equally impressed with your importance, your account-pulling power. If you are not with us, then—” he shrugged his shoulders “—then we shall be taken over. This is really very simple; the ways of big business are usually simple.” When Roger did not answer at once, Artemeus went on, “There is another point of view which you would be well to consider. Your position. You are at this moment in a position to dictate terms. If you wanted double the money I offered, I think my board would be prepared to pay.”

His words seemed to fall on to deaf ears. Roger stared at him but did not speak. He believed that he could understand a great many things which had been obscured until he had come here: certainly he saw a glimmering of new and vivid light. But he wanted time to think, to check some facts—and he needed to keep this man in a good humour as he checked them. For as long as he thought that he might join Allsafe, Artemeus would be blandly pleasant and helpful.

Then, as if aware of uncertainty and tension, Artemeus went on, “If you have doubts, Mr. West, why don’t you talk it over with your wife? She sounded very charming when I spoke to her on the telephone this morning.”

Every muscle in Roger’s body went stiff, and for a moment Artemeus looked alarmed.

“You mean you told my wife about this offer?”

“I—well—I—yes,” said Artemeus, his voice suddenly unsteady. “I—er—I called the Yard this morning and—I —they said you were at home. So I called — West. What is the matter? What are you—”

Roger was on his feet and leaning across the desk. One part of his mind was aware of the cold rage in him and the need for self-control, the other was aware of the fear —the near-terror—on this man’s face. Roger forced himself to stand upright as Artemeus craned back in his chair, hands raised as if he expected physical violence.

“What did you tell her?” Roger grated.

“I—er—I simply said that circumstances enabled me to—er—improve substantially on my previous offer. Good God, West, don’t tell me you hadn’t told her! I took that for granted.” He broke off, swallowing hard. “I really had no idea—”

“You cold-blooded liar,” growled Roger. “You found out she didn’t know and you told her so as to put more pressure on me. You’re so anxious to make your miserable profit you’ll try any trick.”

He moved swiftly, rounding the desk in three strides. Artemeus rose in his chair, then dropped down again, for there was no room to pass. Roger gripped him by the shoulders and shook him to and fro, slowly, deliberately, menacingly. His fingers bit into the man’s fleshy shoulders, and Artemeus winced with pain.

“Are you behind the Globe’s campaign? Are you trying to get me thrown out of the Yard or forced to resign so that I have to come to you and take your filthy money? Is that it?” He shook the man to each of the words and Artemeus’s head bobbed to and fro. “Tell me the truth or I’ll shake your head off your shoulders.”

That was when the door near the desk opened, and Phillipson of the Globe came in. He closed the door quietly, and stepped towards Roger, who did not release his hold on Artemeus, just turned his head and glared.

“If you do that, West, you’ll have earned another big headline,” Phillipson said. “Let Artemeus go.”

Chapter Eighteen

THREAT

 

For a long time, it seemed, Roger stood unmoving, while Phillipson’s words echoed and re-echoed in his mind. Then he relinquished his hold on Artemeus, and the man fell back into his chair, gasping for breath. Phillipson, his calm and assured self for a few moments, gave him a sideways glance and seemed to become momentarily alarmed. Artemeus’s breath was coming in short gasps, and he was heaving, as if breathing were painful and shallow. Phillipson went closer to the desk, on the other side from Roger, and pressed a bell. Immediately, a woman said, “Yes, sir?”

“Miss Noble, doesn’t Mr. Artemeus have some tablets for his heart condition?” Phillipson asked.

“Yes, sir,” answered Miss Noble. “He keeps them in a snuff-box in his left-hand pocket. Shall I bring in some water?”

“There’s milk here,” observed Phillipson. “The next time I ring, I want you to play back that tape.”

Roger put his hand into Artemeus’s left-hand pocket and took out a small, flat box, silver-coloured. He opened this as Phillipson poured out some milk into Artemeus’s cup. Roger went behind the gasping man and gently eased his head backwards, while Phillipson put a small tablet to the parted lips, and ordered firmly, “Take this tablet, Ben.”

Artemeus opened his mouth and swallowed hard; the tablet disappeared.

“Now drink some milk.”