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Yard.
    â€œThey’ve found Arlen’s body,” he said.
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Chapter Four
Bad News
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    Roger reached Merrick Street a little after twelve, was admitted by a policeman, and approached by a small, wiry man – an anxious man, who came from the back of the house.
    He stopped when he saw Roger.
    â€œI hoped it was Mr. Arlen,” he said. “Who—”
    â€œChief Inspector West,” said Roger. “You’re one of the staff here, are you?”
    â€œGeorge Rickett, sir. Me and my wife look after Mr. and Mrs. Arlen. Is there any news?”
    Roger said: “Not yet.” The door was still open, and a tall man wearing a raincoat and a dilapidated trilby stood near the porch; a man with remarkable ears and a vivid imagination, the star crime reporter of the Daily Echo. “Close the door, will you?”
    The constable began to close it.
    â€œAnything for me, Handsome?” called out the newspaperman.
    â€œLater,” Roger waved, and the door closed.
    â€œIt’s a terrible thing to have happened,” said Rickett. He had a pale face, a thin neck with prominent veins, and a long, pointed nose. “My wife’s very upset by it, Mr. West. To think it happened when we were out.
    She says it’s my fault, we oughtn’t to have slept out; but we didn’t know Mr. Arlen wasn’t coming home, did we?”
    â€œNo,” said Roger. “Tell her not to worry.” He turned to the policeman as Rickett moved off. “Who else is here, officer?”
    â€œNurse Deacon, sir, still with Mrs. Arlen.”
    â€œGo and tell her I want a word with her, will you?”
    Roger followed the constable upstairs, and waited in the doorway of the study. The desk chair was facing the door, behind the desk. Instead of seeing it empty, he saw it as it would have been had Arlen been sitting there. A rather plump, biggish man with a round face, curly hair well brushed, dressed in dark grey. Roger knew what he looked like because of the photographs he’d seen here, not because he had been able to get a clear picture of the face. There had been two shots, fired at close quarters.
    The nurse, tall and bony, came out quickly.
    â€œIs Mrs. Arlen all right to leave for a few minutes?”
    â€œOh, yes, sir.”
    â€œNo relatives turned up yet?”
    â€œThe nearest are at Newbury and St. Albans. They’re not here yet.”
    â€œFriends?”
    â€œSeveral have inquired, but I said the doctor had ordered complete rest.”
    â€œGood. Has she said anything?”
    â€œ Very little,” said Nurse Deacon. “It’s a bit funny, sir.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œIt’s not easy to explain,” said the nurse, whose face was tanned, as if she had just come off holiday. She had keen, intelligent grey eyes; her dark hair was pushed rigidly beneath her nurse’s cap. “She’s very worried.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œI’d say that she fears the worst, sir. Almost as if she knew. I don’t want to make too much of it, but she isn’t ill; she should be much more herself by now, but—well, her doctor says it’s shock.”
    â€œYou’ve seen plenty of shock cases,” said Roger.
    â€œIt could be shock.”
    â€œI see,” said Roger. “When do you go off duty?”
    â€œAny time now, sir; my relief’s due; but I waited to have a word with you.”
    â€œThanks. Make a detailed report and let me have it as quickly as you can, will you?”
    He went towards the bedroom, opened the door and stepped quickly inside.
    Mrs. Arlen glanced at him, and there was more interest in her expression than he’d seen last night. She was very pale, and her eyes were shadowed now. He closed the door firmly and walked towards her. She watched him closely.
    â€œYou’re the Chief Inspector, aren’t you?” Her voice was faint.
    â€œYes—my name’s West.”
    â€œIs there