Mystery Mile Read Free Page B

puzzled, Marlowe Lobbett gave his name. The voice became more deferential than before. ‘Listen carefully, sir,’ it said in a rumbling whisper. ‘You want Bottle Street Police Station. You know where that is, don’t you? – off Piccadilly. It’s the side door on the left. Right up the stairs. You’ll see the name up when you come to it. No. No connection with the police station – just a flat on top. Pleased to see you right away. Goo’-bye, sir.’
    There was a second click and he was cut off.
    The girl seated on the edge of the table by the instrument looked at her brother eagerly. She was dark, but whereas he wastall and heavily built, with the shoulders of a prize-fighter, she was petite, finely and slenderly fashioned.
    â€˜Did you get him?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I’m scared, Marlowe. More scared than I was at home.’
    The boy put his arm round her. ‘It’s going to be all right, kid,’ he said. ‘The old man’s obstinacy doesn’t make it any easier for us to look after him. I was rather hopeful about this Campion fellow, but now I don’t know what to think. I’ll see if I can find him, anyhow.’
    The girl clung to him. ‘Be careful. You don’t know anyone here. It might be a trap to get you.’
    The boy shook his head. ‘I fancy not,’ he said.
    She was still not reassured. ‘I’ll come with you.’
    Marlowe shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘It may be a wild-goose chase. Stay here and look after Father. Don’t let him go out till I come back.’
    Isopel Lobbett nodded. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘But hurry.’
    The taxi route from the Strand to Piccadilly is not a long one, and Marlowe found himself outside the police station in the narrow cul-de-sac sooner than he had anticipated. The ‘door on the left’, he decided, must be the yellow portal which stood open showing a flight of wooden stairs, scrubbed white, leading up into darkness. After the first flight of steps he came upon a carpet, at the third there were pictures on the wall, and he began to have the uncomfortable impression that he had stumbled into some private house, when he suddenly came to a stop before an attractively carved oak door upon which there was a small brass plate, neatly engraved with the simple lettering:
MR ALBERT CAMPION, MERCHANT GOODS DEPT
    When he saw it he realized with a shock how forlorn he had expected his errand to be. He tapped upon the door with more vigour than he had intended.
    It was opened immediately by the young man in the horn-rimmed spectacles himself. He was attired in what appearedto be a bathrobe, a stupendous affair of multi-coloured Turkish towelling.
    â€˜Hallo!’ he said. ‘Seeing London? I come next in importance after the Tower, I always think. Come in.’ He dragged his visitor into a room across the tiny passage and thrust him into a deep comfortable armchair by the fire. As he mixed him a drink he rambled on inconsequentially without allowing the other to get a word in.
    â€˜I have to live over a police station because of my friends. It’s a great protection against my more doubtful acquaintances.’
    In spite of his agitation and the importance of his errand, Marlowe could not help noticing the extraordinary character of the room in which he sat. It was tastefully, even luxuriously, furnished. There were one or two delightful old pieces, a Rembrandt etching over the bureau, a Steinlen cat, a couple of original cartoons, and a lovely little Girtin.
    But amongst these were scattered a most remarkable collection of trophies. One little group over the mantelpiece comprised two jemmies, crossed, surmounted by a pair of handcuffs, with a convict’s cap over the top. Lying upon a side table, apparently used as a paper knife, was a beautiful Italian dagger, the blade of which was of a curious greenish-blue shade,