A Spoonful of Luger (29 page)

“All
right!”
Bycroft’s
mouth
hardly
moved
to
release
the
words.
By
a
conscious
effort
he
turned
to
Tony.
Some
of
his
fury
spilled
over
onto
the
lad.

“So
you
gave
Norman
Lyle
the
duplicate.
Your
boss
is
dead,
and
you’d
given
his
deed
box
key
to
somebody
else,
and
it
didn’t
occur
to
you
that
I’d
need
to
know!”

Tony
was
floundering,
confused,
and
groping
for
it.
It
was
not
encouraging
that
he’d
faced
me
without
faltering,
but
one
word
from
Bycroft
and
he’d
gone
to
pieces.

“I ...
didn’t
think.”

“Then
think ...
now
.
Did
your
friend
Norman
own
a
gun?”

Tony
stalled
desperately,
not
answering
the
question.
“Friend?
He
wasn’t
a
friend.”

“Did
he
own
a
gun?”
Bycroft
was
stubbornly
pursuing
his
twin
theory.

Tony
looked
at
me.
I
grimaced,
not
leading
him.
Tony
suddenly
shouted:
“But
he
was
dead!”

“So
you
assumed
that
Cleave
was
safe
from
him.
How
did
you
know
Norman
was
dead?”

“He
told
me.”

I
tried
to
frown
him
into
silence.
He
was
admitting
too
much.

“He
being
Cleave?
You’re
saying
Cleave
told
you
Norman
Lyle
was
dead?”

“That’s
what
he
said.”

“How
did
he
say
it?”

“I
don’t
know
what
you
mean.”

“Quietly,
sadly,
triumphantly?”

Tony
shrugged.
“Just
said
—
kind
of
philosophical,
I
suppose.”

“So
you’d
know
he
wasn’t
in
danger
from
Norman
any
more?”

“I
told
you.
Norm
only
wanted
to
get
into
the
box.”

“That’s
what
you
said.
But
there
was
still
Mike.”

“Mike!”
Tony
shouted.
“What’s
this
Mike
—
Mike?”

“Well,”
said
Bycroft,
“you
got
the
key
for
Norman.
Norman
was
dead.
But
Norman
could
have
given
it
to
his
brother,
in
which
event
Mike
could
have
turned
up.
Weren’t
you
expecting
Mike?”

Tony
flapped
his
arms
in
exasperation.
“Expect?
I
don’t
know
what
I
expected.”

“Trouble,
certainly.
You
must
have
been
expecting
Mike,
otherwise
you
wouldn’t
have
gone
round
to
the
yard
this
last
Saturday,
expecting
a
stolen car
to
have
turned
up.
Norman
had
been
dead
since
the
previous
Saturday.
So
you
could
only
expect
Mike,
if
anybody.”

“If
you
say
so,”
said
Tony
wearily.

“But
it
matters,”
Bycroft
warned
him.
“Just
think
about
it.
You
gave
a
key
to
a
man
you
knew
had
a
gun
— ”

“No,
no!”
Tony
interrupted
wildly.
“I
didn’t
say
that.
It
was
Dennis
had ... ” He
stopped,
made
a
weak
gesture,
and
looked
for
somewhere
to
sit
down.

“A
gun?”
Brycroft
asked
softly.
He
glanced
at
me
and
smiled
with
grim
satisfaction.
“Is
that
what
you
were
going
to
say?”

Tony
raised
his
head.
“So
maybe
Dennis
had
one.
He’d
said
something ...
you
know.
Shooting
his
mouth
off.
Perhaps
he
did.”
He
was
becoming
calmer
now.
“But
I
don’t
know
if
Norman
did.
Or
Mike.”

Bycroft
glanced
at
Sprague.
Mr
Finch
was
looking
appalled.
A
lot
of
heavy action
was
unrolling
before
him.

“All
I
knew
was
that
Norman
wanted
to
get
into
the
box,”
Tony
said
with
careful
intensity,
finding
the
silence
too
destructive.

“Why
would
he
want
to
do
that?”

“I
don’t
know.
Ask
— ”

“His
brother
Mike?”

“He
might
know.”

Tony
was
getting
control
of
himself.
The
momentary
panic
was
slipping
away.

“The
key,”
I
said.
“Ask
him
about
the
key.”

“Keep
out
of
this,”
Bycroft
snapped.

“There’s
only
one
gun,
Frank.”

“Rubbish.”

“You’ll
know
for
certain
when
the
report
comes.
And
if
the
ballistics
people
say
there’s
only
one,
you’ll
need
to
know
how
the
box
was
opened.
Frank,
ask
him
now.”

And
Bycroft
was
a
good
enough
policeman
to
swallow
his
pride
for
the
sake
of
evidence.
Or
he
was
a
bad
enough
one
to
find
it
more
important to
prove
me
wrong.

“Very
well,
Tony,”
he
said.
“You
know
the
position.
The
one
key
had
been
swallowed,
the
other
was
in
the
hands
of
the
police,
and
Norman
was
dead.
That’s
how
it
was,
the
moment
Cleave
was
shot.
But
the
gun
got
into
that
box
somehow,
so
it
was
opened,
and
that
puts
you
in
an
awkward
position.
So
tell
me
how
a
third
key
got
to
be
made.”