Alibi

“Are you afraid your father might commit suicide, too?”

“No,” she said, a little more strongly. “He would stand and fight. He will fight.”

“Did you know that there was a plot to set up a rival organisation to the established police forces, one which could take over if there were a coup?”

“No,” she whispered, “I didn’t know—but I feared it. I — I couldn’t bear to investigate. So—I came to you. I believed if anyone could find out, you could.”

It would be easy to say that she should have told him, that earlier knowledge might have saved not only trouble but lives, certainly Phillipson’s life. But what good purpose could be served? Wouldn’t her conscience torment her enough as the days passed?

“I doubt if I would have seen the truth so quickly if it hadn’t been for you,” he said. “But even with your help, if the other security companies hadn’t started to gang up on Allsafe, thus making Phillipson and Artemeus pressure me too hard, I might not have realised what was going on.”

“And you don’t like being pressured,” she remarked. The faint smile at her lips was a good sign.

“Not in court or out of it! Rachel, do you know what actually happened between Rapelli and Verdi?”

“I didn’t,” she answered, “but I do now. I told you I had an enquiry agent at work, but in fact this was a member of the firm’s staff. He knew that Mario was a very right- wing politician who worked for my—my father, whose activities were nearly treasonable, even to the point of conspiring with Phillipson and Artemeus to overthrow the government and establish a new government by thinly disguised dictatorship.

“This member of the staff knew that Verdi suspected Mario Rapelli’s part in the conspiracy. He and Verdi used to work together at rallies and demonstrations, but Verdi discovered they were planning a coup, and he threatened to tell the police. Mario killed him to keep him quiet. Maisie had no idea what was going on, but Fogarty had. And when Hamish Campbell found out, he switched sides because of his right-wing sympathies. They all panicked,” she added helplessly. “When you went to Fogarty’s room they thought you would find some documents and literature there that would give the game away, and Campbell tried—Well, you know what followed.”

“It was quite an extravaganza,” Roger said. “But I am beginning to understand it. They were so desperate that they took wild chances.” He frowned. “Do you know who killed Maisie, and why?”

“I think I know,” Rachel said. “After Maisie learnt that Fogarty had killed Smithson she wouldn’t have anything more to do with him. I think she was beginning to put two and two together, and they thought she knew more than she actually did. The only person she’d speak to was Rapelli, and I think someone went to her flat pretending to be Rapelli, and attacked her before she had time to find out who he really was.”

“One thing you should know, sir,” Danzion said later. “They found a section of a thumbprint on the hammer handle, the hammer used to kill Maisie. We shall get him.”

“Check it with Fogarty’s,” Roger ordered.

They learned, soon, that it was Fogarty’s print.

•     •     •

“So I killed Smithson,” Fogarty said hoarsely. “And I’d kill you, Rachel Warrender and the whole gang of hypocrites who support the bloody system we live under. We’ve got to have a change, don’t you understand? And we can only get it by revolution.”

“There are some things that make me feel murderous, too,” Roger said, tautly. “Such as Maisie’s death.”

“But I didn’t want to kill Maisie,” Fogarty cried. “She was the mother of my son—sure, she had a son, that’s what she always wanted money for, she paid a foster mother to look after the kid. I didn’t want to kill her! ” he cried again. “But she learned too much, she could have brought disaster on everything and everyone I believe in!”

Roger left him and went to the Yard, where he studied the latest reports on Rapelli. Only this afternoon, since he had looked at the film, was there any reference to Rapelli’s political activities. “He is a member of an extreme right-wing underground group which used the Doon Club as cover.”

“We should have discovered that earlier,” Roger reproached himself. And it was no consolation to know that he would have come round to it sooner or later.

He went straight from the Yard to Brixton Prison. Soon, Rapelli was brought to see him, and obviously the man had heard something of what had happened. He was edgy, his lips twitched occasionally, he clenched and unclenched his hands.

“I’ve just come from Fogarty,” Roger said coldly. “And I know why you attacked Verdi.”

Rapelli said in a hoarse voice, “Is it true that Phillipson of the Globe killed himself?”

“Yes, and it is true that after a study of papers found in his office and in Artemeus’s office we know both men were involved in a plot to overthrow the government and impose one on the country. We also know you were involved, that Verdi found out and refused to go along, and—”

“You can guess what you like,” Rapelli interrupted. “I admit nothing, do you understand? Nothing.”

•     •     •

Roger telephoned Rachel Warrender at her Hampstead flat, and told her what he had said to Rapelli. Very slowly she answered, “It’s one thing to be a Fascist, another to be a cold-blooded murderer. But I’ll go and see him in the morning, Mr. West.”

“I hoped you would,” said Roger.

“I’m sure you did,” said Rachel in a very emphatic way. “You’ re one of the rare human beings who would help