A Spoonful of Luger (28 page)

“I
know.”

“He
went
out
that
Friday,
too?”

“Yes.”

“And
he
came
back
towing
nothing?”

“Yes.”

“So
for
two
successive
week-ends
he
followed
the
pattern
of
going
out
on
a
Friday
and
coming
back
with
nothing
—
and
on
both
Saturdays
no
stolen
car
arrived?”
He
didn’t
say
anything,
and
I
took
this
for
agreement.
“Didn’t
you
think
that
was
strange?”

“I
wasn’t
thinking
like
that,”
he
burst
out.

“Then
how
were
you
thinking?”

“Just
that ...
I
dunno
—
that
it’d
all
packed
in
or
something.”

As
it
would
have
done,
possibly,
with
Norman
dead.
Tony
was
admitting
to
more
than
he
realized.

I
shook
my
head.
“You’ll
have
to
do
better
than
that
for
Inspector
Bycroft.
He’ll
throw
the
book
at
you.
If
he
can
find
it,
that
is.
Now
tell
me
how
Norman
Lyle
came
to
be
carrying
the
duplicate
key
to
Cleave’s
deed
box.”

“I
don’t ... ”
he
began.
Then
he
thought
better
of
it
and
grimaced
with
contempt,
as
though
I
was
pursuing
a
very
minor
point.

“It
was
me
gave
Norman
the
duplicate.”

“Now
that’s
what
I
wanted
to
hear,”
I
said
approvingly.

“What’s
it
to
you?”
he
demanded.
“I
don’t
get
it.”

“I
told
you
I’d
got
a
client.
His
name
is
Randall,
and
I’m
employed
to
find
Dulcie.
All
this
Cleave
business
is
wasting
time.
I
want
it
out
of
the
way.
That
good
enough
for
you?”

“Find
her?”
he
said
with
furious
scorn,
almost
distress.
“She’s
bloody
dead,
and
you
know
it.”

“I
know
it,
yes,
and
the
police
know
it.
But
the
Randalls
aren’t
going
to
accept
it
till
she’s
found.
Haven’t
you
got
any
imagination?
His
wife’s
on
the
edge
of
a
nervous
breakdown,
perhaps
even
a
mental
one.
He’s
about
hanging
on
—
living
on
his
nerves.
It’s
the
waiting
that’s
killing
them,
and
you can
help
cut
that
short.”

“Me?”
he
demanded.
“How
would
I
know
where
she
is?”

“You
can
help
me
get
this
Cleave
business
out
of
the
way.
This
inspector,
he’s
got
some
wild
idea
about
how
the
gun
got
itself
locked
in
the
box.
Just
you
tell
him,
Tony,
tell
him
the
circumstances
in
which
you
gave
Norman
Lyle
the
key,
and
make
him
happy.”
Make
me
happy,
rather,
because
that
seemed
to
be
the
one
definitive
moment,
when
the
key
had
come
to
light,
and
could
perhaps
have
been
copied.

He
moved
his
head,
cocked
it,
half
turned
back
to
the
window.
“They’re
here
now,”
he
said,
and
he
almost
smiled.
“How’d
it
be
if
I
promised?”

I
heard
the
car
draw
up.
I’d
got
a
few
more
seconds
in
which
to
dig
Bycroft
out
of
his
dead
end.

“And
how
did
you
give
it
to
him?”
I
asked,
as
a
car
door
slammed
outside.

His
father
left
to
answer
the
door,
anticipating
a
bit.
Tony
shrugged.

“He
asked
me
if
I
could
bust
open
the
box.”

“This
was
on
one
of
his
visits
with
a
stolen
car?”

“Yes,
yes,”
he
said
quickly,
sensing
the
urgency.
“I
said
nothing
doing,
so
he
asked
about
a
key.
That
was
a
couple
of
jobs
ago,
and ...
well,
I’d
seen
that
spare
pouch,
so
I
said
I’d
get
him
the
duplicate,
for
when
he
came
next
time.”

“Only
it’d
cost?”

“Five
quid.”

“Seems
cheap.
But
the
inspector’s
going
to
ask
you
if
you
made
a
copy
for
yourself
before
you
handed
it
over.”

“Eh?”

“Because
the
one
key
was
down
Cleave’s
throat,
the
box
was
locked
with
the
gun
in ... ”

“What
the
hell’re
you
talkin’
about?
What
copy?”

There
were
voices
in
the
hall.

“ ...
and
the
duplicate
was
in
Norman’s
pocket,”
I
pressed
on
quickly.
“And
seeing
Norman
had
been
dead for
a
week,
we’ll
need
to
know
how
that
box
was
— ”

The
door
crashed
open
and
Bycroft
strode
in.
He
was
furious.

“By
God,
George,
I’ll
have
you
inside
for
this.
Obstructing
the
police — ”

“Nonsense.
I’ve
got
him
to
admit
it
was
he
who
gave
Norman
the
duplicate
key.
Norman
had
been
delivering
another
car.
Tony
got
the
key
for
him.”
I
smiled.
It
was
like
whistling
in
the
face
of
thunder.
I’d
really
upset
him.
It
had
been
a
risk,
getting
there
first.
But
I’d
got
things
moving,
and
I’d
got
information
that
Bycroft
would
never
have
passed
on
to
me.