“I’m sure she was,” Roger said. Once again he felt that seething rage rise within him, but fought it down. “What do I have to do to qualify for this high position and considerable fortune?”
“Withdraw those men you sent for,” ordered Phillipson. “And then resign from the Yard at a Press Conference tonight.”
“Why tonight?” asked Roger.
“For God’s sake use your head!” cried Artemeus. “If you join us and all the newspapers have the story tomorrow none of our shareholders would accept the competitor’s offer. That’s all you have to do. Appear at a televised Press Conference and resign. We’ll give you six months’ advance on your salary, and you can have a month’s holiday—two months’ holiday.”
“It’s too easy,” Roger said, half-laughing. “It’s far too good to be true.” Even to his ears his laughter sounded completely genuine. I should have been on the stage, he thought wryly. Then he thought: When the devil are those four men coming? They couldn’t be long, now, it must be twenty minutes since he had telephoned Danizon, who would waste no time.
He sauntered back to Artemeus’s office, aware of Miss Noble’s heavy breathing, the whirring of the tape-recorder as every word they uttered was recorded. Phillipson still kept him covered with his gun, but did not seem so distressed, and Roger saw that Artemeus had a document of some kind on the desk in front of him. Artemeus had recovered remarkably well from that attack, he thought.
“You just have to sign this contract,” Artemeus said” now. “That’s all.”
“And this confession,” added Phillipson.
“Ah—a confession sounds interesting,” said Roger casually. “What have I done?”
“Killed Maisie Dunster,” Phillipson stated. So Phillipson and Artemeus were involved in the Verdi case, thought Roger grimly. This whole affair was obviously far, far deeper than he had realised. Exerting all his self- control to appear casual and unconcerned, he picked up the first document, and found it exactly what Phillipson had said: a short confession that he had attacked Maisie because she knew that he had been taking bribes and covering up the activities of notorious criminals. It was beautifully typed on paper from New Scotland Yard. How had they come by that?
“Sign that or I shall shoot you,” Phillipson’s voice was steady.
Roger put his hand to his pocket, and there was a silent cry within him. When are those four coming? Phillipson lowered his arm and Artemeus handed him a pen with which to sign. Roger took this, poised it over the confession—and then, in a lightning movement, jerked it backwards and towards Phillipson’s face. At the same time he leapt past Artemeus, twisting round as he did so. Phillipson was staggering back, the gun waving, but he would recover his balance before Roger could get at him, and there was only one thing left to do. Grabbing Artemeus’s jacket with one hand so that the man was unable to move, he swivelled his chair round with the other, and crouched behind it. Phillipson steadied, the gun pointed, and suddenly a bullet spat; there was a zutt of sound and a stab of flame and a bullet buried itself in the big oak desk.
“Mind me!” screeched Artemeus.
Phillipson levelled the gun again, and moved to one side. Roger swivelled the chair slowly, tightening his grip on Artemeus, keeping his prisoner always between himself and the gun.
Phillipson fired again, and missed.
As he aimed a third time, the passage door burst open and two Yard men flung themselves into the room. They saw the gun and did not need Roger’s shout of warning. Fast upon that, one of them yelled on a note of alarm that cut through Roger like a knife, “Watch him, sir!”
Watch who?
Watch Phillipson!
Suddenly Roger saw the newspaper editor fling himself towards the window, firing at the two Yard men as he did so. Reaching the window, he kicked the glass through with one foot, then hurled himself out to the pavement ten storeys below.
• • •
Benjamin Artemeus sat shivering in his chair, while Roger looked down at the sprawled figure on the pavement. In her office, Miss Noble sat at the desk, hands on her broad lap, hopelessness in her expression.
• • •
“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir,” said Danizon, “that was a wonderful job. I’ve talked to the secretary, Miss Noble, she says you were magnificent. Her very words, sir. And if you don’t mind me saying so, you look all in.
And you’ll have to see the commander and probably the commissioner very soon. Would it be a good idea if you rested for half an hour? There’s a bathroom next door, and a room next to that where you could put your feet up.”
They were going through papers in Artemeus’s desk.
They had already done a great deal since the shooting and the tragedy. Ambulances and police had arrived and Phillipson’s body had been taken away. An area of the Strand had been roped off and the police were busy there. Other police had been sent to Phillipson’s office, which had been sealed off, and members of the Board of the Globe as well as of Allsafe and other interested com-panies were being interviewed. Artemeus was now at the Yard. He had not spoken since Roger had arrested him, and was so blue in the face that he seemed likely to have a fatal attack at any moment. A police surgeon was standing by. Coppell had been interrupted at the European Police Conference, and he was believed to have told the commissioner about the situation.
There were at least two things Roger didn’t know.
First, who had killed Maisie? Second, what part had Rapelli really played in the murder of Verdi, and why had Verdi been killed?
The answers were somewhere in this mass of papers; they could even be in the evidence he had already discovered, but which he could not interpret properly.
These things went through his mind as he said, “Good idea, Tom. By the way, what brought you in person?”
“I took a chance after I’d ordered patrol cars to come here,” said Danizon, with refreshing honesty. “Just for once I wanted to be out on a job. I—oh, L forgot. Your wife telephoned twice this afternoon, and I thought she sounded anxious. When you’ve had a shower you might like to call her.”
“Yes,” Roger said, heavily. “I will.”
He went along to the bathroom, through a small and pleasantly furnished room where there were drinks, cocktail biscuits, glasses and some magazines—and a telephone. He thought he could guess what Janet had to say and he was in no mood, yet, to hear it. There was a lot to do, and soon he would have to report to Coppell—and quite possibly the commissioner as well.
Chapter Nineteen
INTERRUPTION
Roger soaked for a few minutes in the bath. The water was warm, too warm, but soothing to his over-tired body. Danizon was right, he thought. He must relax completely for ten minutes or so, must clear his mind of everything and forget the case entirely. He lay back and closed his eyes, but immediately he did so thoughts came crowding into his head—thoughts of Maisie, of Rachel Warrender, of Mario Rapelli, of Hamish Campbell, of everyone in-volved—each one forming a clear and living picture on the retina of his mind. Somewhere, in this maze of tangled evidence, were the clues he needed. Both Artemeus and Phillipson had obviously been involved in the campaign to discredit him in the Police Force and thus compel him to join Allsafe. But could that be simply to boost Allsafe against its competitors? Such a thought was inconceivable. And what in heaven’s name, Roger wondered, was the connection with the Verdi affair?