Inspector West Takes Charge

Inspector West Takes Charge by John Creasey Page A

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Authors: John Creasey
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usually gets in about half-past six,’ said Garielle. ‘Can I give him a message?’
    ‘I’ll wait, if I may.’ Roger hesitated and said nothing more until she stepped aside for him to enter a tiny hall which appeared to have no furniture but a rug and a hat-stand. ‘My name is West. Roger West.’
    Garielle appeared disinterested; he watched for any reaction which might suggest that Harrington had talked to her of the happenings at Delaware, but if she had heard of Roger West before she didn’t say so.
    ‘If you’ll wait in here,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell him as soon as he comes in. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m preparing supper.’
    She smiled; her blue eyes were lovely.
    For some minutes he did no more than look at the deep crimson paint of the door of the room into which she had shown him. The fact that it had once flashed through his mind that the WAAF visitor might be Garielle Transom had made the encounter more of a shock.
    He lowered himself to an easy chair. It was so well sprung and deep that he went further than he expected and hit his head against the back, which was soft and yielding; a chair made for comfort and nothing else.
    The room was large, and the far end held a dining table, sideboard, and four chairs.
    There were no pictures on the walls, but there were three delicately painted masks, all women’s faces. The outlines were thin and severe, there was no beauty in them except the colouring; this was a place for Mark rather than Roger. In one corner of the lounge was a baby grand, in inlaid walnut; the general effect was one of luxury. The rest of the furniture was also of inlaid walnut. The radiogram in the corner nearest the fireplace was what a salesman could say with honesty was a ‘handsome piece’.
    Two vases on the mantelpiece made Roger widen his eyes; through Mark, he knew enough about pottery and china to know that they were no ordinary pieces.
    A set of bookshelves on one side of the fireplace was equally instructive. A leather-bound set of Conrad was almost the only approach to anything light. There were some text-books on rubber; there was a Livy, a Rise and Fall, Seven Pillars of Wisdom.
    Roger was looking at these when the door swung open, and Harrington appeared. His face was set.
    ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he said with deliberation.
    Roger said: ‘A la Maisie Prendergast? What have you been drinking? Absinthe?’
    ‘I’ve no time to waste with you. I don’t propose to be harried by you or all the policemen at Scotland Yard. I’ve had too many asking questions at my factory as it is. What do you want?’
    ‘Finding out that you and Miss Transom were acquainted was only a matter of time. Why be so upset?’
    ‘That’s my business.’
    ‘And Dreem business.’
    Harrington glowered; his hands were bunched by his sides. Roger passed him. Gabrielle Transom approached from another room. He could smell grilled bacon.
    He admired the grace with which the girl walked. She unfastened a towel from her waist, one that had served as an apron.
    ‘Bill,’ she began, ‘don’t you think –?
    ‘No, I don’t,’ growled Harrington. ‘I’ve had enough of the blasted police force. They’ve been watching me all day, putting impertinent questions to my workers and neighbours, and generally asking for a pain in the neck. If West doesn’t make himself scarce quickly, he’s going to get one.’
    ‘Not a pain in my neck,’ said Roger. ‘Just a headache thinking about you,’ It was cheap but might make Harrington worry, later. He inclined his head to Garielle, and went out of the front door. He had a feeling that Harrington was urged to kick him, but he forced himself to make a decorous exit, and did not look round when he reached the landing of the staircase.
    The door banged. Harrington seemed much more upset than police investigation justified. He must have known that they would check.
    Roger whistled under his breath as he went into the street. A man was

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