THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson
said Menzies with that suave air he knew so well how to assume. "Are you sure you wouldn't know the man again? Try and think for a moment. Was he tall or short, fat or thin?"
"Just an ordinary-looking man," said the attendant. "I didn't pay any notice."
"No, of course not. Do you remember if he had a beard or moustache, or was he clean-shaven?"
The youth wrinkled his brows, and after a moment's thought shook his head. "Couldn't say, sir. I rather believe he was clean-shaven."
It was hopeless to try to extract a description from him. Menzies had expected as much. Observation is not often a natural gift; it is a matter of training, and many and laborious are the hours spent in teaching recruits to the C. I. D. staff the art. He switched to another point.
"When the man came out of her flat did he seem in a hurry?"
"No, sir, not particularly. He rang for the lift."
"Didn't say anything?"
"Not to me. At least he had something in his hand. He dropped it and when it rolled down the shaft he swore. I offered to go and get it, but he said it didn't matter it was only a halfpenny."
"H'm!" Menzies stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and tapped his toe on the floor. "You went and made sure it was only a halfpenny afterwards, of course."
The man's eyes had hitherto not met his. Now they were fixed boldly on his face. "No," he declared. "I didn't think it worth while."
A man may fail to look one in the face and be perfectly honest and truthful. But when such a man does do so it is because he has become conscious that an averted gaze may arouse suspicion. Menzies smiled under his moustache and stretched out a hand. "Where is it?" he added quietly. "Give it to me."
The lift attendant flushed and drew back. The directness of the demand had disconcerted him. "I don't know what you mean," he said. "I haven't got anything."
"That so?" said Menzies smilingly. And then, with a swift change of voice : "Now, sonny, don't let's have any monkey business. You can't play with me."
Reluctantly, as though hypnotised, the attendant thrust two fingers into his waistcoat pocket, slowly drew something out, and placed it in the detective's hand.
It was a plain, heavy circlet of gold a wedding ring!
Chapter IX
Jimmie Hallett had run into Weir Menzies in the police court corridor after the magistrate had formally remanded "William Smith." The detective threw up his hands quickly in the attitude of one parrying a blow.
"Don't hit me, Mr. Hallett," he implored. "I've got a weak heart."
Jimmie grinned a little shamefacedly. He had not been quite sure how the detective chief would take the assault on the shadowers of Miss Greye-Stratton. He brazened it out. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" he demanded.
Menzies caught him through the arm and pulled him, into a small room set apart for consultations between lawyers and clients. "I suppose you know that men have got six months for less than you did this afternoon. You can't knock police officers about with impunity, you know."
There was an underlying current of seriousness in his jocular tone which Jimmie could not fail to perceive. He ran his hand through his hair. "I'll see you," he said, adopting the language of the poker table. "What are you driving at?"
"This." The detective laid a thick forefinger on the palm of his left hand. "You've got sense, Mr. Hallett, and you've had experience. Now I've gone into your credentials and I believe you're straight. But I'm not going to stand for any funny business. I'm investigating a case of murder and anyone that stands in the way is liable to get hurt. Now don't interrupt. Let me finish. I don't know whether you were putting up a grand-stand play after lunch to win the girl's confidence or if she talked you over."
He paused enquiringly. Hallett pressed his lips together firmly. "Go on," he said.
"Right. You were butted into this at the start and I've tried to treat you fairly. Don't you forget murder's a dirty thing, however you look at it. I don't say Miss Greye-Stratton's not straight, but she knows a deuce of a sight more than she ought to or than she's telling us. She's got something up her sleeve. She's no fool, for all her pretty face. She seems to have taken a fancy to you. Do you know why?"
The other shook his head, although he had a very good idea what Menzies was going to say. His face was impassive.
"For the same reason that the man we've got below tried to get you this morning. You're an important witness. She wants to shut your mouth and to find out how much you really do know."
Jimmie laughed outright. "You're wrong there. She's not asked me a single question. All the talking was on her side."
Then he realised that he had fallen into a trap. Not that Menzies gave any obvious indication of triumph. He merely stroked his moustache serenely. "Well, I don't know that I'm far wrong. She wouldn't be too quick. So she talked, did she? What did she say?"
The young man was not to be caught off guard a second time. "It will all be stale to you. She repeated what she said she had already told you."
"All the same, there may be something new," persisted the detective. "Let's have it."
"If you like to let me have a look at her statement I'll tell you if there's anything fresh I can add," parried Jimmie.
Menzies raised his eyebrows. "I think I see," he said. "I'd consider this a lot if I were you. Why, man, can't you see she's playing with you. Confidence for confidence is an old trick. She has known you a matter of hours, and here she is pitching a tale to you as though you were an intimate friend. I trust you you trust me! That's what it comes to. Now why not play our game instead of hers. If she's innocent you won't hurt her, but if she's got her pretty fingers in the tar--"
Hallett became conscious of a smouldering rage at the innuendo of the comfortable, ruddy-faced detective. He did not realise that he was being deliberately provoked for a purpose. Menzies wanted to discover without doubt his attitude to the girl.
"Cut it out," he advised curtly. And then more quietly: "I think you entirely misjudge the lady. If I've only known her for a few hours, I guess I'm a better judge of her type than you."
"Bearings a bit hot, eh?" smiled Menzies. "It's no good getting angry with me. I'm clumsy, but I mean well. I hate to see a man stepping into trouble. And you'll find trouble on your hands pretty soon, believe me. If I were you I think I'd carry a life-preserver or advertise that you didn't see the man who killed Greye-Stratton."
Hallett had taken a quick turn or two about the room, his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets. He came to a sudden halt. "What do you mean by that?"
Weir Menzies had a well-worn briar pipe in one hand and a tobacco pouch in the other. He methodically filled the pipe before answering. "Only from what I have gathered the lady's in with a tough mob. I'll know more about 'em by to-morrow, but I don't want you laid out before I've picked up all the ends. I've warned you. You must do as you like. Only don't go believing she's a little blue-eyed saint, that's all."
Jimmie's temper, held in till now, continued to rise. Whether it was the implication that he was being made Miss Greye-Stratton's cats-paw, or the suggestion that the radiant girl was the willing accomplice of a gang of criminals, he did not stop to analyse. He was wroth with Menzies because he did not know by intuition what was plain to him that if she was acting a part it was for the sake of someone else. He regretted now that he was bound not to divulge anything she had told him.
"I guess you're a fool, Menzies," he sneered. "You're barking up the wrong tree."
Menzies took the handle of the door. "You think so, do you? Well, we'll let it go at that." He swung the door open. "I suppose the lady told you