Battle for Inspector West Read Online Free PDF Page B

artist had painted that grinning face, and I thought it might be possible to make Prendergast nervous for his interview with you, Inspector.’
    â€˜Now if I did a thing like that, I’d be called an agent provocateur or something similar,’ Fratton said solemnly. ‘Planning to spend a few days here, Mr Grant?’
    â€˜Like us to?’
    â€˜Yes, sir, I would. Only half an hour ago I was talking to Scotland Yard. The truth is that there couldn’t be a better spot to lay a trap for Carosi. The hotel can be watched easily, we can check up on everyone who comes and goes without any trouble. You know how badly Carosi’s wanted, and you’re a certain draw for him. But he’s not back in England just for vengeance, sir, he’s not that kind of fool. The Yard thinks we can’t touch him for what he’s done in the past, as there’s no evidence. I’m sure you understand, Mrs Grant.’
    â€˜Of course,’ said Christine.
    Grant looked at Christine, very wryly.
    â€˜I don’t have to, sweet,’ he said, ‘and it’s a hell of a way to start a honeymoon.’
    Fratton kept silent.
    There was only one thing to do, Christine knew, although as the police knew what had happened she had dared to hope that they could go on. A honeymoon for vengeance. She tried not to show how scared she was, how Fratton had made her realise that Carosi was big enough and evil enough to worry even the police.
    â€˜Of course we must stay,’ she said, and her smile was a little too bright.
    â€˜Thank you very much,’ Fratton said, almost humbly.
    When he had gone, Grant locked the door, came to Christine, and took her into his arms so very gently; and soon there were only the two of them in the whole world.
    Later, when he slept by her side, she realised that he still hadn’t told her why Carosi hated him so.
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    Prendergast was trembling from head to foot when he left the Grants’ room, and the sight of a constable on duty outside made him start violently. He hurried to his room, went in and locked the door. He leaned against it, wiping the sweat from his pink forehead. Then he went to a cupboard, took out whisky, and poured himself a stiff peg. He was drinking when the telephone bell rang.
    The glass seemed to jump in his hand. The bell kept ringing. He moistened his lips as he crossed the room, took off the receiver and held the mouthpiece against his chest.
    â€˜Hal-hallo.’
    â€˜What is the matter?’ a man asked, in good English with a marked accent.
    â€˜I–I am all right,’ said Prendergast. ‘Nothing’s the matter.’
    â€˜You sound nervous,’ said the other. ‘Did all go well?’
    â€˜It—well, yes, it—’
    â€˜ Did all go well? ’The man’s voice sharpened.
    â€˜It—no, no, it didn’t,’ gasped Prendergast. ‘I have had a terrible evening, terrible! I have not been able to do much work and—and a terrible thing happened tonight. A young boy was killed—killed! Savaged by a dog. It was terrible! Such a lad—’
    The other said softly: ‘A boy was killed?’
    â€˜Yes, yes, that is what I am trying to tell you—’
    â€˜We won’t talk more now,’ interrupted the other. ‘I will see you in the morning, as we arranged.’
    â€˜I—I will try to come,’ said Prendergast. ‘The police will ask questions, they may wish to see me, I may not be free to leave.’
    â€˜You must be very careful, and not offend the police,’ the other said. ‘I will see you as soon as I can.’
    â€˜That swine Grant,’ Prendergast burst out. ‘He says he saw me in the grounds tonight. It’s a lie, but he told the police, he—’
    There was a sharp exclamation; a pause; then: ‘I think you had better leave the hotel at once,’ the man with the foreign voice said. ‘Come, please, at