John Creasey Box Set 1: First Came a Murder, Death Round the Corner, The Mark of the Crescent (Department Z) by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey [Creasey, John]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Ipso Books
Published: 2016-01-31T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XV

NO NEWS FROM CRAIGIE

BERESFORD broke out of the mental paralysis which had gripped him after Arran’s bald statement, but his voice was harsh and unnatural, and his limbs were still tensed.

“No chance at all?” he demanded.

“I can’t see any,” said Arran.

Beresford pulled himself together with a physical effort.

“Listen, Tim,” he said. “Go to Marshant at the Embassy, tell him I sent you and that it’s the same game as I saw him about yesterday. Tell him to get the Sûreté moving quicker than it’s ever moved before, and to find the crowd who fired that nursing-home if it’s the last thing they do. Got that?”

“All right,” said Arran, who sounded lifeless. “Anything else?”

“No, but get back to London, with Toby, on the first ’plane. I’ve something here to keep you busy.”

“All right,” said Arran again. “Chin-chin.”

Beresford dropped the telephone on to its platform, and turned round towards Josiah Long. Josiah Long was a nuisance now. He was in the way, and for the time being he couldn’t be trusted.

“Buddy,” said Beresford laconically, “I’ve got a nasty shock coming for you.”

“Yeah?” Long’s eyes widened, and for once he did not blink. “Let’s have it, big boy.”

“I’m going to jail you,” said Beresford. “Sorry, but it can’t be helped. I’ll let you out at once when I get an O.K. from the powers-that-be. Ready?”

Josiah Long, his full lips pursed thoughtfully, heaved himself from his chair and reached for his hat, which was on the table. He was about to speak, but the kitchen door opened suddenly and Tricker, still bandaged, poked his head into the room.

“When’ll you eat, Mr. B.?”

“Sam,” said Beresford, drawing a deep breath, “I don’t know when and I don’t know where. Is that guardian angel of yours coming here to-night.”

“Wot, Maria, Mr. B.? I——”

“Anyhow,” grunted Beresford, “even if she is she isn’t. This place isn’t likely to be healthy to-night, Sam. Stay here yourself until Horace Miller or one of the Arrans comes, and then take your pet to the pictures. Deliver her afterwards to her home, Sam, and then park yourself at a temperance hotel for the night. Do you get that?”

“You don’t want me to stay here to-night, Mr. B.?”

“I don’t, Sam, unless you want to take a chance on getting a bigger wallop than you had the other night.”

“O.K., Mr. B.”

Beresford grinned fleetingly, then slipped into a mackintosh, and escorted Mr. Josiah Long out of the flat. As they climbed into the Lancia, still standing at the kerb, the big man grinned again, but there was a whimsical gleam in his grey eyes.

“You’re taking it all very calmly, O Josiah.”

The American grunted.

“I got to,” he said logically. “If I make a break for it, I’ll have a posse of yo’ cops on my tail, and dat won’t give me my dinner. How long,” he added, as the Lancia moved off, “will it be before you can give me a pass out? Days or weeks?”

“Hours, with any luck,” said Beresford. “I’ll get a call through

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