Glittering Prizes by Brian Flynn

Author:Brian Flynn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2021-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

II

At Anthony’s request, MacMorran himself took over the Playfair strand of the inquiry. Playfair’s personal history and record generally impressed the Inspector to an unusual degree. MacMorran told Anthony so. The latter listened and agreed.

“He’s the one man of the crowd, Andrew,” said Anthony Bathurst, “whose help should be invaluable. Look at his Secret Service record for one thing. He becomes an almost heaven-sent proposition.”

“I have. And its particular relationship with Germany. Few men could serve our purpose better.”

Anthony then discussed with the Inspector Playfair’s story of the flat at Remington with its window of different-coloured dachshunds. “He’s also told me,” continued Anthony, “of when he was in Berlin, the night the Reichstag was fired. I’ve wondered since whether we ought to have looked further into that dachshund business. Suppose you have a look into things that way yourself, Andrew?”

MacMorran agreed, and on the following morning he took an early train to Remington, after ’phoning Legge that he was coming. A short walk from the police-station brought the two police officers to the block of flats which had figured in Playfair’s story. An official of the company which controlled these flats was shown on a board as residing at Number 7.

“We’ll knock there at once,” said Legge, “and find out the time of day generally.”

“The flat we are concerned with,” remarked MacMorran, “is the basement one that’s the farthest distance from the railway station. Suppose we scout round first and take a ‘dekko’ at it.”

“All right,” conceded Legge—“suits me. Come on then now—right away.”

MacMorran piloted Legge to the particular flat which had attracted Playfair’s attention. There was nothing in the window, which, as Playfair had said, was on the eye-level, remotely suggesting a dachshund, no matter what the colour might have been.

“Nothing much here,” commented MacMorran. “I’m beginning to wonder—”

“No need for anything now,” replied Legge, “this job, such as it was, may be all over and done with. Strikes me, Inspector MacMorran, that you and I are late on the scene. Still—we’ll try a few inquiries. Judicious inquiries. We shan’t lose anything by doing so. Let’s come along over to Number 7 now.”

MacMorran fell into step beside him. They came to Number 7. “I’ll knock,” said Legge. He stepped across the square grass plot and knocked on the door. MacMorran, true to police traditions, went to the side and looked through a window. Through the glass he saw dimly a man spring from a settee where evidently he had been lying. From what he was able to see of the man’s face, MacMorran thought that he looked as though he were scared of something. An instant later the front door was opened and a stout, white-faced man was seen to be standing there, facing the two police officers.

“What is it?” he asked. “What is it you want?”

“We are police officers,” replied Legge. “We want a few words with you. I don’t think we shall take up any more than a few minutes of your time. May we come in?”

“Certainly. Come in and sit down.

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