‘Well at least you’ll let me give you a drink— Winwood, a whisky for Mr Locksley.’
Winwood took the drink over to Locksley, then crossed to Johnny and murmured discreetly:
‘I’m sorry, sir, but we are almost out of whisky. The doctor was—ahem—a trifle heavy on our last bottle.’
‘Good lord!’ exclaimed Johnny. ‘Is it as bad as that? I must nip down and see Harry Bache at the Kingfisher.’ He turned to Locksley. ‘Perhaps you’d like to run down to the local with me. The landlord there lets me have the odd bottle of my favourite brand now and then. We can have a quick one while we’re there—it’s not a bad old pub, and there’s a stuffed pike in the “snug” that will interest you …’
Locksley smiled and nodded. Winwood withdrew and closed the door silently behind him. Johnny carefully placed his feet on his favourite fireside stool and grinned at the superintendent.
‘Well, Locksley, is somebody still trying to put the smear on me?’
Locksley took an appreciative gulp at his whisky and leaned back in his chair.
‘It’s still the same smear,’ he replied. ‘The chief isn’t altogether happy about your alibi.’
‘Well, that’s just too bad,’ murmured Johnny, rubbing his chin with his long sensitive fingers. He reached for a package of Chesterfields and flicked one over to Locksley. ‘You tell your boss he’s darn lucky to find me with such a good alibi. It isn’t once in a blue moon I stay the night in Town; I wouldn’t have done this time if I hadn’t taken my girl friend on to a night spot.’
‘She could corroborate all that, I suppose, if necessary?’
Johnny frowned.
‘Say, what’s going on now?’
‘You didn’t take her home, I suppose?’
‘I put her into a taxi in Piccadilly just on midnight—we’d have stayed on later but she’d had a hectic day and wanted some sleep. Then I went straight back to the hotel, just as I told you. You don’t think I’m pulling a fast one, do you?’
‘No, no, of course not, Johnny,’ said Locksley with a worried expression. ‘But these gelignite robberies have got us all a bit rattled. Close on one hundred thousand pounds’ worth in a few months.’
Johnny pursed his lips thoughtfully.
‘Chee, somebody’s thinking big for once in a while,’ he commented. ‘Looks like they’re trying to nationalize the crime racket.’
‘So you see, Johnny, the D.C. is out to follow up every clue like grim death. He’s convinced—and so am I, for that matter—that this is a large organization under the direction of a master mind. And if we can take a short cut to the master mind, the sooner we’ll clear up the business.’
Johnny blew out a large cloud of smoke.
‘Are you trying to tell me that your boss suspects that I’m the big black chief?’
‘He wants to make absolutely certain that you’re not,’ said Locksley earnestly. ‘After all, he knows you’re pretty cute, and you’ve been around quite a bit on both sides of the Atlantic. You’re the sort of unknown quantity that might well be in charge of a gang of this sort—not that I think for a moment—’ he added hastily.
‘I appreciate that!’ grinned Johnny.
‘But you see,’ went on Locksley, ‘he’s got to eliminate as many possibilities as he can. Also, he thought you might be able to give him some inkling as to who would be likely to want to plant the Gloucester job on to you.’
Johnny shrugged.
‘It might be any of the boys and girls—Princess Vaniscourt, Skeff Larabie, Billy Sorrell; they’d murder their own mother if they thought they could frame me.’
Locksley took another gulp of whisky and looked round the room for a minute without speaking. Then he said somewhat cautiously:
‘This is a very nice place you’ve got here. You’ve done nicely for yourself, Johnny.’
Johnny grinned again.
‘Meaning where did I get the doh-ray-me? Do we have to go into all that? Maybe you’d like to see a signed statement from my accountants.’
‘No, no, of course not.’ Locksley looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, Johnny, but we’re all a bit nervy about this business. There hasn’t been anything this big for some years now, and I dare say one or two of us will be out of a job by the time it’s over.’ He leaned forward in his chair and looked directly at his host.
‘Are you quite sure you haven’t any ideas about it, Johnny?’
Johnny Washington flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette.
‘To tell you the honest truth, old man, I’ve hardly given it a thought. I’ve been concentrating on rusticating these past few months.’
Locksley took out his wallet and passed over the visiting card, with the copperplate inscription.
‘Can’t you think whose work that’s likely to be?’ he demanded seriously.
Johnny flicked the card with his fingernail.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ he said.
‘You’ve never had any cards like that yourself?’
Johnny shook his head.
‘I’ve never bothered about visiting cards—always thought they were kinda old-fashioned.’
‘You haven’t sent anyone a present with a card like that enclosed?’
‘No; in that case I’d use my own handwriting.’ He paused for a moment, then asked: ‘If you’ve come here to collect my fingerprints to see if they tally with those on the card, go right ahead, brother.’
Locksley gloomily shook his head, and took another drink. ‘There aren’t any “smudges” on the card; at least there weren’t when I found it,’ he said. ‘That’s what made me suspicious. If you’d wanted to advertise the job as your work, you wouldn’t have taken the trouble to bother about fingerprints.’
‘Nor would I have bothered to tear up that card,’ ruminated Johnny. ‘And if I had really wanted to get rid of the card I wouldn’t have been such a mug as to leave it lying around in a trash basket.’
‘It might have led us on a pretty involved false trail if you hadn’t happened to have that alibi,’ said the superintendent. ‘I’d have had to set a couple of men on to tail you night and day.’
Johnny laughed and passed the card back to Locksley, who replaced it in his wallet.
‘This gelignite gang interests me,’ said Johnny Washington, wriggling his toes inside his slippers. ‘I always like meeting people with new ideas. Tell me more about the set-up, that’s if it isn’t top secret.’
Locksley filled in the details of the chain of robberies very rapidly, but there was little that was new to Johnny, who had read most of the accounts in the newspapers. When Locksley had finished, Johnny poured the remainder of the whisky into his guest’s glass.
‘About this night watchman at Gloucester,’ he murmured. ‘Did you see him before he passed out?’
‘Yes,’ said Locksley. ‘He was an old lag named Hiller, and he’d had a heavy dose of chloroform; too much for his heart.’
‘Then he didn’t say anything?’
‘Well, he did come round just before the end, and he whispered two words quite distinctly—“Grey Moose”. For a minute I thought perhaps he might be talking nonsense, then I remembered.’
‘What