The Reader Is Warned

you remembered Pennik's past behaviour, the most dangerous sign of all.)

Sanders looked up. 'Haven't you got any idea why I did it?'

'Me?' said H. M. 'Oh, sure. If s not insight I lack, if that needs any; it's the ability to prevent people doin' fat- headed things after I've expressly warned 'em not to. Pennik was waitin' for you. I hope you noticed that? But, oh no. Down went the gage of battle on the floor, and I hope you're feelin' proud of yourself. In spite of all the signs and warnings for five days -'

'But-'

' - you still couldn't take a hint. Why do you think that gal, Joe Keen's daughter, has been going about with Pennik and pampering his vanity so religiously? It's to prevent just exactly what happened this afternoon. It's to prevent Pennik from roundin' on you.'

The wheels of the train ratded and clacked under them.

'Do you mean that?' Sanders asked quickly.

‘Oh, son, do I mean it! Sure I mean it. I know it. Don't you realize Pennik wants you out of the way? Don't you know he's been waitin' for a legitimate excuse to show his claws? That's the trouble. Pennik, within his limits, is a perfectly honest man.'

Chief Inspector Masters made a noise.

H.M. looked at him.

'He is, though, Masters. You give me just one more raspberry, and I'll chuck this case straight back at you.'

'Now, now, Sir Henry! All I meant -'

'Pennik's got a conscience. I admit he can be pretty unpleasant at times. I've also got a suspicion he's going off his onion; and, unless somebody can right him, he'll go completely off it. But he honestly has got a conscience, that bothers him about Sanders. Little devil says yes. Conscience says no. Little devil says, 'Go on; soak him.' Conscience says, 'No; if you did that it would be out of pure jealousy of anybody who comes near her, and would show you were no superman.' Little devil says, 'It'd be in the interests of science.' Conscience says, 'Science my foot.' But now you've given him an excuse; and conscience goes overboard. He'll make you the next victim, if he can.'

Masters looked even more worried.

'Hold on, sir! Does that mean you think he will do it?'

'If he can,' repeated H. M. stubbornly. 'No, I don't go that far. I'll give you consolation. In point o' fact, I think Sanders is pretty safe -'

'Yes, sir, that may be all very well,' the chief inspector objected. 'But that's what you said about Mrs Constable too; and she's as dead as King Tut now.'

'You're a fine pair of Job's comforters, aren't you?' interposed Sanders, not without reason. 'A couple of damned old ghouls, if you will excuse the plain speaking. Would you like to order my shroud now, or can it wait until we get back to town?'

H. M. was soothing.

'Now, son, you're all right. You'll be quite all right if you-'

'I know. If I just trust the old man. Very well; consider the trust applied.' He brooded.

'All the same, up to now I always believed I lived in an ordered, ordinary world where nothing much ever happened. I rather envied Mar - that is, I envied people who could travel on voyages to Japan. In actual fact, nothing much has changed. I still eat and sleep as usual. All the wallpaper looks the same, and I don't get any more money. But I feel I've stepped over into a new kind of world where anything can happen.'

'That's what we shall all be feeling,' the chief inspector decided gloomily, 'if all this flummery about Teleforce is allowed to go on. Teleforce! Did you hear 'em back at the railway station? And that woman sticking her head out of the train window? And at the book-stall. I wish we'd had time to get an evening paper, though. We might see if we can get one when the train stops next.'

Obediently the train did stop, with a sudden flight and an equally sudden pull-up like a ballet dancer. Masters disappeared into the streaming dimness and returned with an armful of newspapers.

'H'm,' said H. M.

There was a brief, rustling pause after the train had pulled out again. 'This,' said H. M., 'is pilin' Babel on top of Pisa. The scientific swells have now weighed into the controversy. 'Professor Huxdane, interviewed, consented to say one word: 'Balderdash.' (That'll make Pennik foam.) Professor Trippletts, on the other hand, while admittin' the theoretical possibility of such a weapon, says that the idea is not new. (That'll make him foam still more.) Yes, good enough.' H. M. glowered at Sanders. 'If only you hadn't butted in! If only you had kept quiet in front of Pennik!'

Dr Sanders sat back.

'One question,' he said. 'Will you tell me why I am the villain of the piece? Why pitch into me? I've offered to call Pennik's bluff for you in the only possible way. Instead of giving me at least a word of thanks, you're going on as though I had spoiled some scheme of yours.'

'You have, son.'

'How?'

'That's the blinkin' awful cussedness of it,' said H. M. wearily. 'I was being crafty; I had everything all planned out. I was goin' to snaffle Pennik just like that.' He snapped his fingers. 'At least, I had a forty-sixty chance to do it, which is the most you can hope for in this world. Now you've reduced it to ten-ninety. Oh, my eye. That's why we're goin' down to Fourways in such a rush. I've got two more chances -'

'To get Pennik?' demanded Masters.

'That's right.'

'To get him when ?'

'To-morrow, if we're lucky.'

Masters eyed him. 'Well, you'd better not be too long about it, sir. Mind, I don't for a minute believe a word of all this rubbish. All the same, what if Pennik decides to polish off the doctor here before then?'

'No,' said H. M., shaking his head quite seriously. 'There's twenty-four hours' grace there. Pennik won't move until he makes his speech at Paris to-morrow night -'

'Ha, ha, ha,' said Sanders.

'Be quiet, will you?' ordered H. M. with austerity. 'You're not in this. And, as I was sayin', Masters, until he gets ready to bust his bombshell on the floor then. We're all right for the moment.'

'I hope you know what you're doing, sir. But I tell you straight. I'm beginning to think you're clean daft. You don't mean you're going to let him make that speech ? You can't mean that. I can think of half a dozen ways to stop him; easy ways, eh?'

'Tut, tut. Why stop him?'

Masters grew very quiet.

'Then there's another thing,' the chief inspector went on, his eye and brow darkening with suspicion. He held up a newspaper. 'Have you seen this? The Evening Planet?'

H. M. said, rather guiltily, that he hadn't. He asked what was in it.

'I'll tell you what's in it,' replied Masters. 'There are two pictures of me in it. 'Chief Inspector Masters as Himself.' Then, 'Chief Inspector Masters Disguised as an East End Tough.' The picture of me as myself looks about fifty times tougher than the one of me disguised as an East End tough.

But never mind that. I've been (as you would say) sitting and thinking, and blowed if I can remember more than one person who had a copy of that picture of me disguised. Did you give it to this paper?'

'Now, now.'

‘Did you?'

‘Just keep your shirt on, Masters.'

‘I'll try to. I've had a bit of an idea, too, that it was you who wrote that full-column letter in the Daily Wireless, Now I don't say you're as mad as a March hare, sir; I don't say it. But when they stick you in the House of Lords I only hope I'm in the gallery to see, that's all. And what are we doing now, going down to Surrey? What do you expect to find there?'

H. M. was stubborn.