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

Police is a call for assistance. In two or three minutes Menzies was back, though outside the whistle was repeated.

      "We're all right now," he said casually. "There'll be a regular little army here in no time."

      Jimmie looked at him in astonishment. "Well, you take it," he said. "You come to this place practically single-handed, you lay out Ling, and now he's there for you to do what you like with, you go and call up help. What do you want more than one or two constables for, anyway? We could have run him up ourselves, for that matter."

      There was a twinkle in Menzies' eye. He swept a hand round comprehensively. "And leave this nest behind me, eh? Don't forget I'm a policeman, laddie. If I'm engaged in a forgery case it's no reason I should shut my eyes when I see your pocket being picked."

      In an incredibly short space of time, as it seemed to Jiinmie, the place was swarming with policemen. They were prompt and businesslike, and there was no unnecessary fuss. Sing Loo went off protesting and tearful between a couple of stalwart constables and a similar escort was provided for most of his clients who were able to walk. On the others a guard was placed.

      Menzies walked over to Ling and, lifting his head, forced a flask of brandy between his teeth. The crook sat up and opened his eyes. Then with a sudden movement he knocked the flask away and scowled on the detective.

      "You got me," he growled deep in his throat. Then with a sudden spasm of energy, "By H , Mr. Policeman, you may think you've got the odd trick, but the rubber isn't played out yet."

      "You don't want to talk for a minute," said Menzies placidly. "Better have a drink."

Chapter XXXII

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      The scar on Ling's temple was flaming blood-red against the whiteness of his features as they brought him into the cold, businesslike atmosphere of the bare charge room of the police station. His ordinary clothes had been removed when he was searched and the suit temporarily substituted hung loosely about him. His injured wrist had been bandaged and he had had doctor's attention since he had been brought from the opium joint. He looked ill and worn, yet his eyes flamed indomitably as he glanced from one to the other of the little group of men who were awaiting him.

      "We're all here, ain't we?" he snarled. "Why don't you get on with the seance?"

      The beast in him was still at the top, but to the men there his words did not at all matter. They were content to know that he had been run down and they were only concerned to see that he was held in safe-keeping till the mechanism of the law had been put into operation. No one resented his manner so long as it did not go to physical violence. He was impersonal a piece of merchandise that had to be dealt with. When they had done with him he would be put back in a cell like any common drunk and disorderly, and be more or less forgotten when any reasonable physical wants had been attended to.

      That was the impression Jimmie had of these men in his mind. And partly he was right. Yet Menzies at least, though his nonchalant manner did not show it, had a sense of triumph, of work in great part achieved that made him view Ling with a more personal interest. Ling as Ling did not matter to him, but Ling as a symbol of the forces which he had defeated was of mighty interest.

      The whole scene struck Jimmie as something unreal like a badly stage managed, badly acted scene in a play. The spectacular, the melodramatic touch was absent. The grey dawn was filtering through the skylight, yellowing the electric bulbs, yet Menzies did not stalk to the centre of the stage and with outstretched arm denounce the villain of the piece. He was not made up for the part.

      Instead, a bare-headed police inspector Jimmie thought he looked singularly unreal without his cap and sword belt sauntered casually to the tall charge desk and leaning one elbow upon it lifted a pen. Ling was standing a few paces away between a couple of policemen but not even in the dock. Menzies moved over to the desk and leaning both arms on the back of it talked to the inspector. Jimmie caught a word or two here and there, but even then he did not realise at first that the charge was being made.

      "... wilful murder on the night of.... I charge .him...."

      The inspector's pen scratched busily. Then, putting the pen in his mouth, he used both hands to blot what he had written and read it critically before inviting Menzies' signature.

      "Thank you," he said politely. "Now "He raised his head and looked at the prisoner.

      "Stewart Reader Ling, you heard what the chief inspector said. You are charged with the wilful murder of John Edward Greye-Stratton. No. Keep quiet for a minute ' He raised a placatory hand as

      Ling opened his lips. "If there's anything you wish to say you may do so, but I shall take it down in writing and it may be used as evidence against you."

      "You think you can prove that?" said Ling.

      "There are two other charges of murder I may as well tell you will be brought against you later," said Menzies, ignoring the question. "One is in connection with the death of a fireman in Levoine Street--"

      "Here. Hold on a minute, Mr. Man. What fireman's this? I never killed any fireman. There was one knocked out for a while, but he wasn't killed by a long way."

      "He was killed when the building burnt out. We call that murder. The third case is that of the woman known as Gwennie Lyne whom you are believed to have stabbed to-night."

      Little wrinkles of profound amusement appeared on Ling's face. "You seem to have got it right in for me," he laughed. "I reckon you'll wish you'd been a bit smarter by the time you get through. It's mournful to see you struggling. You don't mean that Gwennie got past you with that fake. I didn't believe she'd pull it off even against you bone-heads." He chuckled again as if intensely entertained.

      Several pairs of puzzled eyes were centred on him. All had a suspicion that he was trying to work some new kind of bluff. Menzies alone guessed what he was driving at. He clenched his fist tightly but kept an unmoved face to the prisoner.

      "Gwennie's not dead," said Menzies crisply.

      There was not a man in the room who was not startled at the words so casually uttered. Ling's mouth remained open in ludicrous astonishment and he would have taken a step towards the chief inspector had not a touch on his sleeve reminded him of his guard. Then his face relaxed as his keen wits began working.

      "You're a hell of a guesser," he retorted. "You got me for the minute. I reckon Gwennie is far enough away by this time. She's not murdered, anyway, and I don't believe I'd have stayed and waited for you if I'd had anything to do with the killing of the others. Gwennie's the one you want to get. She fixed up the place in Levoine Street, and it was she who did in the old man. You write that down, Benjamin." He addressed the inspector at the charge desk.

      "So you're going to lay it all on to her now?" said Menzies with a note of scorn in his voice.

      "You'd better bet I am, sonny. Gwennie can look after herself. You've kept us on the run pretty hot for a day or two but to-night's been the limit. The only fault with you as a sleuth, Menzies, is that your imagination doesn't go far enough."

      A retort rose to Menzies' lips but he suppressed it. He was too old a hand to taunt a prisoner.

      "Yes, sir," went on Ling. "That's what you want imagination. I'll own I didn't expect you to- smell out that opium joint as quick as you did or we'd never have gone there. We were surprised some when you and the other two walked down the street. I'll make you a present of that. Your imagination didn't rise to us having a lookout. If you'd have walked in then you'd have found both the little birdies at home Gwennie and me. It isn't exactly a place for a lady and she had already sent for a cab, not feeling that she could be real homelike there. If we'd known there were only the three of you we might have tried a run in the other direction, but we thought that you'd got the place shut off tighter than you did Levoine Street.

      "So we fixed a little stunt for your benefit. You'll have got the idea by this time. You see