The Doors Open by Michael Gilbert Read Free Book Online Page A

interrupted Paddy, “that I wish any harm to old Barrows. He’s a thundering ass in many ways, and he doesn’t think anything exists unless it can be put into a balance sheet, but that’s as far as my feelings go, I think he’s been got at – by the Stalagmite. They’re the people we ought to go for.”
    “I’ve heard most of the story from Jenny,” said Nap, “but it’ll do no harm to have it plainly. What exactly do you suspect?”
    “I think,” said Paddy slowly, “that someone at the Stalagmite, probably the chief cashier, is up to the neck in some funny business. And there’s the bloke with the broken nose and blue chin who looks more like a third-class repertory actor than an insurance operative. He’s in it, too. I think that poor old Britten came across something – some secret – he mayn’t even have known what it meant.”
    “All right. That’s all possible. What happened next?”
    “I don’t know. To start with I thought that the people he was interfering with might – well, they might have had him pushed into the river. If there was enough money involved, you know–”
    “Don’t apologize,” said Nap. “People do push other people into rivers even in this highly mechanized age. Your suspicions, I take it, arose chiefly from the disappearance of the wallet.”
    “Yes. But now I know what the papers were – I told you what Legate said – well, frankly I’m back where I started. It might have been suicide. I don’t know what to think.”
    “But the light–” said Jenny.
    “I know, I know. It seemed beautifully watertight when I first worked it out: but perhaps the best explanation is the simple one. Mr Britten, must have been worried stiff, about getting the sack and everything else. Perhaps he did leave the light on when he went to work that morning.”
    “And the curtains drawn?”
    “Well – yes. And the curtains drawn.”
    “Do you know,” went on Paddy, “between you and me, when I left the Stalagmite that afternoon, I was absolutely certain that I’d been making a fool of myself. I think if Legate had blustered or bluffed or refused to see me, it might have been different. But he took the whole thing so quietly, and explained what he could, and didn’t waste time trying to explain what he couldn’t.”
    Nap said, “Yes, now you’re back again where you started – as you said. You just don’t know. So let me ask you a simple question. Do you want to find out?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Do you want to stir up any more trouble? Mr Britten’s dead. A coroner has sat on him. The case is closed.”
    “No, by God, it isn’t,” said Paddy. “Look here, if they’d left me alone, I’d have agreed with you. But they went out of their way to kick me. And I’m not going to take that lying down. I don’t know what I’m going to do – but I’m going to do something.”
    ‘‘Bravo,” said Jenny and clapped her hands softly.
    “All right,” said Nap, “I was only asking. I never thought you’d climb down. As a matter of fact I’ve given a good deal of thought to this business and I’ve got a suggestion to make. Two suggestions.”
    He fished in the desk behind him and brought out a crumpled copy of a paper.
    “Do you know this publication?”
    “Why, yes – The Moorgate Press . It’s a financial rag isn’t it? A weekly.”
    “It’s one of the best in the City, in its own quiet way. It carries a high proportion of advertisement, of course, but I’m told that its ‘Market Forecast’ and Tips to Investors’ are quite out of the ordinary. Those who read it swear that it’s the next best thing to the oracle at Delphi.”
    “And where do I come in?”
    “Well, as a matter of fact, I know the editor. A very decent bloke, called Cartwright. I happened to see him yesterday and he told me he wanted a legman.”
    “Don’t be so horribly technical,” said Paddy; but he sounded interested.
    “A man to get around and look at things – interview