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

house, and nor—”
    â€œThat’s enough, West,” said Chatworth in a more reasonable tone. “Sit down.” The invitation surprised Roger but he accepted and was further surprised when the other pushed a box of cigarettes towards him. He lit up and Chatworth bit the end off a half Corona. “For the first time I’m beginning to think I might be wrong,” Chatworth went on. “What do you want four weeks’ leave for?”
    â€œTo investigate this affair,” Roger said. “It needs it badly enough!”
    â€œYe-es.” Chatworth unlocked a drawer in his desk and drew out a manilla folder. Roger, feeling more at ease, leaned back and drew on his cigarette. The office was quiet except for the rustling of papers as Chatsworth turned them over. Then he glanced up and said sharply: “How do you account for seven payments of two hundred and fifty pounds paid into your account at the Mid-Union Bank, Westminster, during the last three months? Cash payments, always one-pound notes. Where did you get the money?”
    Roger was stupefied. “It isn’t true!” he protested.
    â€œNow, come, West! I have seen the account, talked to the cashier and the manager. Your wife made the payments.”
    â€œNonsense!” said Roger, roundly.
    â€œAre you telling me that you don’t know what money there is in your account?”
    â€œI use the Mid-Union Bank only for occasional transactions,” Roger said, “as a supplementary to my main account at Barclays, Chelsea. I’ve sent no credit to Mid-Union for at least six months. Nor has my wife.”
    Chatworth looked at him oddly.
    â€œBe careful, West,” he said. “Look at that.”
    He handed a bank paying-in book across the desk. It was a small one, with half the pages torn out, leaving only the counter-foils. In a daze, Roger took it and saw that the first entries were in his handwriting – the book was undoubtedly his. He glanced through it, seeing a payment of fifty pounds which he had made in the September of the previous year. From then on – beginning in the middle of January – there were the payments which Chatworth had mentioned. The official stamp of the Mid-Union Bank, with initials scrawled across it, was there and the name at the top of each counterfoil was his.
    Roger turned the counterfoils, his interest increasing. The first shock over, he was able to study the writing and he noticed the regular lettering, it was almost copper-plate writing, such as the man who had signed himself K might have written.
    â€œWell?” demanded Chatworth.
    â€œAnd my wife is supposed to have made these payments?” asked Roger, only to shake his head. “No, sir, it just didn’t happen. Oh, the money has been paid in, they’ve taken a lot of trouble to frame me, haven’t they?” He smiled, looking almost carefree. “I suppose someone representing herself to be my wife made the calls?”
    â€œThe description of the woman in every case is identifiable with your wife,” Chatworth said.
    â€œThe description of any pretty, dark-haired woman with a flair for dressing well would do for that,” Roger retorted.
    â€œYou seem remarkably pleased with yourself,” said Chatworth.
    Roger smiled. “I am pleased, sir! This is obviously one of your main items of evidence. My wife didn’t visit the bank and the cashier will say so when he sees her, so there’s evidence in my favour which even you will have to admit.” He half-regretted the ‘even you’ but Chatworth did not appear to take umbrage. “You’ll arrange for the cashier to see her, won’t you?”
    â€œYe-es,” said Chatworth. He leaned back and closed one eye. His pendulous jowl pressed against his collar, only half of which was visible. “You’re remarkably smug,” he remarked, “you could have sent another young woman and be sure