“I’d like to know more than we do now, before we have another publicity splash,” Roger said to Turnbull. “I think we’ll ask for a second eight days in custody.”
“Brown won’t object, that’s certain,” Turnbull said.
“We’ve found the connection between Brown and Raeburn; we can prove that Joe attacked Brown, so what we need most is a connecting link between Raeburn and Joe,” Roger went on.
“Very original,” Turnbull jeered, and smacked a fist into a thick palm, exasperatedly. “I never seem to be able to get my teeth into the job; it’s like nibbling at an apple on a string with your hands tied behind your back.” He paused, and then his voice grew louder. “Here, Handsome, we’ve been slow as tortoises!” His eyes positively blazed.
“Which way this time?”
“We ought to take Tenby along to see Joe,” breathed Turnbull. “It would tear them apart if they know each other.”
“Good idea, and I’ll fix it tomorrow,” Roger said, and grinned. “Tonight I’ve promised to take Janet to the pictures.”
“If anyone needs a night off, you do,” Turnbull agreed, unexpectedly.
Roger was feeling more cheerful and relaxed, when he walked home with Janet from the cinema. They went the long way round by the river and, in spite of a chilling east wind, stood watching the lights of the bridges and the south bank reflected on the water. A fleet of barges moved slowly up-Thames, and the waves from their wake splashed lazily against the embankment.
“I’m told that Raeburn’s just bought a coastal shipping line,” Roger remarked.
“Oh, forget Raeburn!” Janet exploded.
Roger chuckled. “Perhaps he’ll drown himself,” he said, tightening his grip about her waist. “It’s getting cold, sweet, let’s get going!”
They turned the corner, and saw light streaming from a doorway halfway along Bell Street. Someone was standing at a gate, peering in the other direction, and as they drew nearer Janet said sharply: “Roger, that’s Scoopy!”
She broke into a run, calling, “Scoop! Is Richard all right?”
“Course he is,” said Scoopy, scornfully. “It’s an urgent message for Dad, that’s all. A man rang up three times for you, Dad, and the last time gave me the message: ‘Look after Eve’, he said, and said you’d know what he meant.”
CHAPTER XX
‘LOOK AFTER EVE’
THERE WAS the message, written on the corner of a newspaper in Scoopy’s clear hand. The first call had come at a quarter to nine, the second at half past, and the third at five minutes to ten, when the man had left the message.
“You’re sure it was a man?” asked Roger, urgently.
“Well, it sounded like one,” Scoopy said. “I suppose it could have been a woman with a deep voice, now I come to think of it. I didn’t know what to do. Old Fish was tired; he’s asleep, I think.”
“You did fine,” Roger said. “I’d better check on Evie. Make me some tea, pet, will you, and a few sandwiches.”
Janet started to say: “Must you?” but checked herself.
Turnbull was still at the Yard when Roger telephoned. “Who’s watching Eve tonight?” asked Roger.
“Allen and McKinley,” Turnbull answered. “Allen’s at the front—McKinley’s the younger, if there’s any climbing over garden walls, he’s the one for it. Shall I double the watch?”
“Yes, and we’ll go there ourselves,” said Roger.
“This may be a hoax,” Turnbull pointed out.
“I don’t think that anyone in this business is likely to play that kind of hoax,” said Roger. “Have you got a report on where Eve has been tonight?”
“Just a minute—”said Turnbull.
He was away from the telephone for some time. Janet came in, and stood in front of the mirror, poking her fingers through her hair.
“Hallo, Handsome,” said Turnbull at last. “She’s been with Raeburn to the Silver Kettle, but left early. She reached her apartment at eleven-fifteen—that report was sent in twenty minutes ago. Nothing else.”
“Get all reports checked,” said Roger. “I’ll come right away.”
He reached the Yard at midnight, and found that Turn- bull had made a full summary of the night’s reports. He studied them closely. Ma Beesley had not left Park Lane, and Warrender had not arrived at the flat until after ten o’clock. Tenby
“This might be interesting.” Turnbull tapped the report.
Tenby had been at The Lion until half past eight, when he had left and boarded a Number 11 bus at Sloane Square. The detective watching him had not been able to board the bus, so had reported and gone back to The Lion; Tenby had not returned. His boarding house was being watched, but there was no news from the man who was stationed at Fulham Road.
“The Number 11 passes Raeburn Investments office,” Turnbull remembered, “and Warrender may have been there, as he arrived home late.”
“Let’s check the report on Warrender again,” said Roger. “H’m—it’s not Peel’s; it’s from the man on duty at Park Lane. Peel was watching Warrender tonight, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And no report.”
“He hasn’t had much time,” Turnbull said. “He may have gone home; there wouldn’t be any need to hurry about a routine report. Shall I ring him?”
Roger nodded.
Turnbull put in the call, then replaced the receiver. They went over the reports again, very carefully, and Roger answered when the telephone bell rang.
A woman with a frail voice spoke from the other end. “Hallo?”
“Is Detective Officer Peel there, please?”
“No, sir, he isn’t,” answered the woman. “I’m getting just a little worried; he said he would be in by half past ten tonight, or else let me know. He hasn’t rung up.”
“I’m afraid he’s been kept working late,” Roger said, reassuringly. “Who is this speaking?”
“Why, his mother, Mrs Peel.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs Peel. If he does come in during the next quarter of an hour, ask him to ring the Yard and ask for Chief Inspector West, will you? . . . Thanks, very much.” He put the receiver down, frowning, and remarked: “I don’t like that.”
“He might have dodged off on some line of his own,” said Turnbull.
“Wouldn’t be like Peel,” declared Roger. “I think I’ll go to see Eve. You take a man with you, and have a look round the outside of Raeburn’s offices. You’d better have a word with the City Police first.”
“Mustn’t tread on their corns, eh ? Okay,” Turnbull said.
* * * * *
The City of London was quiet as Turnbull drove through it with a detective officer by his side. They passed three policemen at different points, but the streets were practically deserted. The tall buildings were in darkness, and the narrow alleys leading off the main streets were invisible.
Turnbull saw two men standing at a corner, and pulled up. One was in uniform, and the other in plain clothes; they were two City policemen who had arranged to meet him on this corner. Raeburn Estates offices were in a modern building which had been damaged during the last war; one part was still uninhabitable, with gaping windows and crumbling walls.
“Hallo, Mr Turnbull.”
“Hallo, Wray.” Turnbull was hearty. “Anything for me?”
“I’ve had no report of any trouble about here, although we’ve been keeping a close watch,” Wray answered. “Your man, Peel, was here until half past nine.”
“Sure?”
If Tenby had come here, he would have arrived about nine-fifteen.
“He was last seen when the rounds were made at nine,” said Wray. “That means he was here between nine-ten and nine-twenty.”
“Where did “he stand?”
“In the bombed-out front,” said Wray, leading the way along the street. “He had a word with my man, and said he was going to finish some tea he had in a flask; it was pretty nippy.” They reached the gaping window of the damaged office; beyond it, piles of rubble were just visible in the light of a street lamp. “He wasn’t here when my man went round next time,” continued Wray, “but he was due off duty at ten o’clock, wasn’t he?”