Read Online An Apostle of Gloom by John Creasey - Free Book Online

the cabby’s name and address, I’ll be grateful. Don’t take this to heart,” he added, cheerfully, “it won’t last for ever!”
    He went on his way reflecting ruefully that Cornish, not he, might have been the victim of this remarkable quirk of circumstances and he was smiling to himself when he turned the corner and saw Chatworth, a large, burly man with a long mackintosh which rustled about his legs, and a wide-brimmed hat – nearly but not quite a Stetson. His large, rounded features were set in a scowl, by no means unusual. His natural colour was brick-red.
    â€œGood evening, sir,” said Roger.
    Chatworth raised his massive head and stared at him. He was holding the key in his hand and about to lock his office door. He dwarfed Roger, who was nearly six feet tall and comfortably proportioned. Roger stood waiting, with a tentative smile on his lips, because he knew that that was the last thing Chatworth would expect. He no longer felt inwardly nervous of the A.C.; anger had killed that, and now a new-found determination dictated his attitude.
    Chatworth put the key in his pocket and demanded: “And what do you imagine you are doing here, West?”
    â€œI’ve come for two things,” Roger said. “First, an interview with you, sir, and second to apply for a release from duty for four weeks.”
    â€œOh,” said Chatworth, ominously, “you want release from duty, do you? Confound your impertinence, you are suspended from duty!”
    â€œThat’s news to me,” said Roger, mildly. “I’ve had no notification.”
    Chatworth thrust his chin forward, narrowed his eyes, often round and deceptively wondering and innocent, a snare for the unsuspecting. Roger’s heart was beating very fast.
    â€œNo, you haven’t,” Chatworth admitted, a flash of honesty which was characteristic of the man who wanted no cheap triumphs. “It isn’t dated until tomorrow morning. You’re being clever, are you, West? You think you can apply for release and escape the stigma of suspension. You’re wrong.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Roger said. “I’ve been wrong about so many things that nothing will surprise me.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” snapped Chatworth.
    â€œI had always been under the impression that your men would receive scrupulously fair treatment,” Roger said, restraining his anger and yet feeling less detached. “It was quite a shock to find it otherwise, sir.”
    â€œYou had your opportunity to discuss this with me,” Chatworth said. He stood by the door, feet planted wide apart, his mackintosh draped about him like a night-shirt which was too large. He pushed back the big hat and revealed his high forehead and the front of his bald head. At the sides was a thick fringe of close curls, blonde turning grey.
    â€œI had no such thing,” said Roger.
    â€œYou appear to be forgetting yourself,” Chatworth said, coldly. “You were requested by Superintendent Abbott to come here to see me, and you refused. You were insolent to a superior officer, also.”
    â€œIn the same circumstances I should be ‘insolent’ to any man who invaded the privacy of my home, adopted an arrogant and overbearing manner and tried to take advantage of his position,” Roger said, more calmly, “and Superintendent Abbott appears to have misrepresented the facts, sir. He did not say that you wished to see me, he merely asked me to go with him for questioning. As I knew nothing of the circumstances and he would not give me any information, I refused.”
    Chatworth regarded him steadily, sniffed and dug his hand into his pocket. He took out the key, unlocked the door and pushed it open, striding into the room ahead of Roger, who followed without an invitation.
    â€œClose the door,” Chatworth barked as he walked to his flat-topped desk. Everything in the room was modern, most of