Battle for Inspector West Read Free Page B

‘Did I scare you? I am sorry.’
    â€˜That’s all right.’ Grant flicked his lighter again, and the other came forward, cupped his hands about the flame, and lit his cigarette. Then he gave a perfunctory smile, and backed away.
    â€˜ Thank you. Isn’t it a charming view from here?’
    â€˜Very,’ said Grant.
    â€˜And such a pleasant, quiet spot,’ said the pink, plump man. ‘I feel that I have escaped the vortex of catastrophic events and come to rest upon the calm beauty of the country. Don’t you have that kind of feeling, while you’re here?’
    â€˜I’ve only just arrived,’ said Grant.
    â€˜Well, so have I,’ said the other. ‘I hope we shall get better acquainted, Mr—’
    â€˜Grant.’
    â€˜Mr Grant. My name is Prendergast. And I really appreciate this little haven from the turmoil and the strife of the outside world.’ He bent his solemn yet childish gaze on Grant. ‘I never feel safe these days, do you?’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ said Grant. ‘Often.’
    â€˜ Do you?’ asked Prendergast. His smile was ingratiating. ‘What a fortunate man you are, Mr Grant. I find the condition of the world today creates an atmosphere of constant worry and anxiety, even danger. ’He uttered the last word softly, there was almost menace in it. ‘Of course, it depends so very much on what one does for a living, I suppose. I am an artist.’
    Grant looked at him, narrow-eyed.
    â€˜And I hope to paint a great deal here,’ declared Prendergast. ‘Usually I paint portraits.’ He gave that word slight emphasis too. ‘But I also hope to study and reproduce nature on canvas here. I cannot believe that the peace of this neighbourhood will ever be disturbed by violence, can you?’
    Grant said: ‘I don’t see why it should.’
    â€˜True, too true! Shall we walk back?’ Prendergast started first; he had a curious little strut. ‘So delightful, so serene,’ he sighed.
    â€˜Don’t you exaggerate the violence elsewhere?’ asked Grant.
    Prendergast looked round at him, blinking.
    â€˜Perhaps—perhaps you are right, and it has become an obsession. But—look.’ He took a folded newspaper from his pocket, that morning’s Monitor. He unfolded it, stabbing his forefinger at different headlines. ‘Robbery—fraud—hold-ups—violence—racial wars—vendettas—’
    He said this while strutting towards Uplands and without once glancing round at Grant, who made no comment and lengthened his stride so as to draw level. They passed the swimming-pool and the tennis courts, and Grant headed for the courtyard. Here, Prendergast paused.
    â€˜I go in the other way,’ he said. ‘ Au revoir ,Mr Grant. See you at dinner.’
    He beamed, and strutted off.
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    A small string orchestra played light and lively airs during dinner. The long window of the dining-room overlooked the far side of the valley.
    Dusk was falling, and concealed wall-lighting spread a soft glow over the room. There were forty or fifty people here, most of them at tables for two, although one or two larger parties were in the corners. The young foursome which Grant had met was still gay, and wine flowed freely.
    Christine had recaptured her radiance of the morning. She wore an off-white gown, with wide puffed sleeves and a square neck. The wine had helped restore her mood of happiness, and to drive fear away. Her grey-blue eyes glowed, while Grant was telling her of his encounter with the little pink artist.
    â€˜You look as if all that had gone in one ear and out of the other,’ he said, as he finished.
    â€˜It didn’t, darling, but that little pink man over there keeps looking at me. He must be Prendergast. If you hadn’t told me about him, I should have been sure I’d made a conquest. And it’s better to keep up appearances, isn’t