THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson

at a door and called out. A young lady answered it a real young lady not a girl like you mostly see around here. The old woman says something to her that I couldn't catch and I went in. There was a young man lying on a pallet in a corner. ' What's the madder with him? ' I asked. ' God fooling round with a knife or something and hurt himself,' said the old woman. The girl didn't say anything and I could understand I wasn't expected to ask questions. The man was pretty done up with a knife wound and it looked like touch and go with him. There was a fever on him. So I did what I could for him and the old woman volunteered to come and fetch some medicine. There, now, you've got the honest truth, gentlemen."

      "Didn't it strike you," said Hugh slowly, "that when you find a man with a knife thrust and another with something like concussion both accidents that you ought to have told the police? How do you know one of 'em ain't died?"

      "It was none of my business," protested Steingurt. "I was paid as a medical attendant, nod as a detective."

      "Are you likely to be going back there again?" asked Congreve.

      Steingurt shook his head. "Not unless they send for me."

      "It was dark when you were called out. Do you think any of those people would recognise you again?"

      The doctor was doubtful.

      "Would you recognise any of them? Give us a description."

      Although the officers painstakingly took down the descriptions it was plainly useless. The ordinary person is always at a loss in attempting a portrait.

      "Well, good-bye, doctor," said Congreve. "We may call again later on."

      Outside Congreve hustled his companion along the wet pavement. "Come along," he said, "I want to telephone to Mr. Menzies. I've got an idea."

Chapter XXIV

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      Although his right arm hung limp and the set of his well-cut morning coat was somewhat spoilt by the bulge of the bandages on his shoulder Cincinnati Red looked almost as spruce and debonair as ever. He listened with immobile face to Menzies' expression of sympathy.

      "I'm right sorry," the detective was saying. "It was hard luck on you. You didn't guess he was wise to the gag or it might have been different. I'd back you against Ling every time."

      A whimsical, humourous smile lighted Cincinnati's features. "I get you," he drawled. "You're handing out a soothing syrup dope. I'm on to those curves. What you giving me?"

      "Would you like to have another cut at Ling?"

      The "con "man drew his shaggy brows together and observed Menzies narrowly. "Will a duck swim? Wait till my shoulder gets well. If you're driving at some more stool-pigeon business I'm not hankering after it, but I might be tempted if it sounded good."

      "Well," Menzies crossed his knees and passed the cigar box, "we've got Ling located to an extent. You'll be pleased to learn that he found a rough house after he gave us his little show. He got manhandled at a place in Shadwell and they had to have a doctor."

      Cincinnati rubbed his hands. "That's all to the good, chief. Say, I'd like to buy the guy who did it something."

      "It was only a knockout," explained Menzies, "and we unluckily did not get on to it till this morning. We believe he got away in the night, but we're not dead sure. Anyway he can't be far from the house we've located and we know there are some other toughs in it. Would you care to call on the house and see who's there? There'll probably be someone who knows you and you'll be all right."

      "Yep," said the other crisply. "Likely thing. What chance would I stand walking into a wasps' nest like that? It's no bet. Call it off."

      "Why I didn't think there was a yellow streak in you, Cincinnati," said Menzies. "I wouldn't ask you to do it if I thought there was any danger. There'll be plenty of my people on hand, and you're not likely to get into any trouble. Didn't I tell you that Ling had slipped out. I'd go myself or get one of my chaps only it would be better if it wasn't a stranger. I'm asking it as a favour."

      The "con "man stroked his moustache in irresolution. He was really bitter about Ling and would cheerfully have contributed any effort that would add to the discomfort or peril of his erstwhile colleague so long as he ran no avoidable hazard himself. He was under no illusions in regard to Menzies' efforts to persuade him. He knew that the chief inspector had little bias towards him that he regarded him merely as a crook a crook who happened to be useful and who might be coaxed into helping the law by fulfilling an instinct of revenge. Not that he had any compunction as to paying off old scores that way. It was just the question of risk.

      "You'll let me have a gun, of course?" he asked.

      Menzies shook his head. To use Cincinnati to achieve a purpose was all very well. But a gun in the hands of a revengeful man backed by the semi-authority of the police was quite a different thing.

      "There won't be any need for a gun," he said. "We'll be at hand if there is any trouble but there won't be any if you handle the job tactfully. Not that I wouldn't let you have a gun if I had my own way, but you know how I'm tied down. Well, shall we consider it settled? I won't forget you acted like a white man, laddie some other time."

      After all, reflected Cincinnati, there was no reason why he shouldn't chance it. It would put him right with the police and very likely, as Menzies said, there would be no fuss. Until his shoulder healed there would be little card-playing at his flat and if he refused the police would probably become unduly attentive to any other enterprise in which he might embark.

      "I'm with you," he said.

      "Good for you, Cincinnati," exclaimed Menzies. "I guessed you would. I have taken the liberty of having some clothes got ready for you. You can't trail the

      East End in glad rags, you know. If they're not your usual fit so much the better."

      He glanced at his watch. It was half-past five. "I'll have those things sent in to you," he went on. "I'll be back in a minute."

      He was whistling softly as he passed along the corridor. He paused to tap at Foyle's door and to poke his head inside. "All fixed up, sir," he said. "I'm going to rout out those men you promised me."

      As he closed the door a man touched him on the sleeve. He raised his eyebrows in question as he saw a brown-faced, silk -hatted man of medium size in a much worn frock coat. Then recognition came to him. "Why, it's you, Congreve. They've done you well. How's the likeness?"

      "It's fair, sir," said Congreve complacently. "In a bad light with anyone who doesn't know Steingurt well I'm likely to pass. Of course, I'm a bigger man, and as I hadn't a photograph I had to explain to Clarkson's people what to do as they went along."

      "Makes you feel like a detective hero in a novel, doesn't it?"

      "More like amateur theatricals," grinned the other. "I feel like the late lamented Guy Fawkes, and I'm in deadly fear lest my moustache should fall off."

      The chief inspector became business-like. "I don't need to tell you, Congreve, that it isn't any private theatricals. Start the boys off for me, will you. Thejr can report at Shadwell till they're wanted."

      "Very good, sir," said Congreve.

      Night had long fallen when Menzies and Cincinnati Red emerged from the underground station at Shadwell and, with coat collars well turned up, struck off briskly through the driving rain in the direction of Levoine Street, They spoke little. The chief inspector paused at last and nodded towards a shambling figure that was hurrying a dozen paces in front of them.

      "Keep your eye on that chap," he said. "He'll give you the office when you get to the house. Remember not to make any trouble if you can help it. We just want to know what's doing."

      "I get you," muttered Cincinnati and found that he was addressing nothingness. For a substantial churchwarden Weir Menzies had an astonishing