Free A Spoonful of Luger by Roger Ormerod Page B

the duplicate, for when he came next time.”
    “Only it’d cost?”
    “Five quid.”
    “Seems cheap. But the inspector’s going to ask you if you made a copy for yourself before you handed it over.”
    “Eh?”
    “Because the one key was down Cleave’s throat, the box was locked with the gun in ... ”
    “What the hell’re you talkin’ about? What copy?”
    There were voices in the hall.
    “ ... and the duplicate was in Norman’s pocket,” I pressed on quickly. “And seeing Norman had been dead for a week, we’ll need to know how that box was — ”
    The door crashed open and Bycroft strode in. He was furious.
    “By God, George, I’ll have you inside for this. Obstructing the police — ”
    “Nonsense. I’ve got him to admit it was he who gave Norman the duplicate key. Norman had been delivering another car. Tony got the key for him.” I smiled. It was like whistling in the face of thunder. I’d really upset him. It had been a risk, getting there first. But I’d got things moving, and I’d got information that Bycroft would never have passed on to me.
    “All right!” Bycroft’s mouth hardly moved to release the words. By a conscious effort he turned to Tony. Some of his fury spilled over onto the lad.
    “So you gave Norman Lyle the duplicate. Your boss is dead, and you’d given his deed box key to somebody else, and it didn’t occur to you that I’d need to know!”
    Tony was floundering, confused, and groping for it. It was not encouraging that he’d faced me without faltering, but one word from Bycroft and he’d gone to pieces.
    “I ... didn’t think.”
    “Then think ... now . Did your friend Norman own a gun?”
    Tony stalled desperately, not answering the question. “Friend? He wasn’t a friend.”
    “Did he own a gun?” Bycroft was stubbornly pursuing his twin theory.
    Tony looked at me. I grimaced, not leading him. Tony suddenly shouted: “But he was dead!”
    “So you assumed that Cleave was safe from him. How did you know Norman was dead?”
    “He told me.”
    I tried to frown him into silence. He was admitting too much.
    “He being Cleave? You’re saying Cleave told you Norman Lyle was dead?”
    “That’s what he said.”
    “How did he say it?”
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Quietly, sadly, triumphantly?”
    Tony shrugged. “Just said — kind of philosophical, I suppose.”
    “So you’d know he wasn’t in danger from Norman any more?”
    “I told you. Norm only wanted to get into the box.”
    “That’s what you said. But there was still Mike.”
    “Mike!” Tony shouted. “What’s this Mike — Mike?”
    “Well,” said Bycroft, “you got the key for Norman. Norman was dead. But Norman could have given it to his brother, in which event Mike could have turned up. Weren’t you expecting Mike?”
    Tony flapped his arms in exasperation. “Expect? I don’t know what I expected.”
    “Trouble, certainly. You must have been expecting Mike, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone round to the yard this last Saturday, expecting a stolen car to have turned up. Norman had been dead since the previous Saturday. So you could only expect Mike, if anybody.”
    “If you say so,” said Tony wearily.
    “But it matters,” Bycroft warned him. “Just think about it. You gave a key to a man you knew had a gun — ”
    “No, no!” Tony interrupted wildly. “I didn’t say that. It was Dennis had ... ” He stopped, made a weak gesture, and looked for somewhere to sit down.
    “A gun?” Brycroft asked softly. He glanced at me and smiled with grim satisfaction. “Is that what you were going to say?”
    Tony raised his head. “So maybe Dennis had one. He’d said something ... you know. Shooting his mouth off. Perhaps he did.” He was becoming calmer now. “But I don’t know if Norman did. Or Mike.”
    Bycroft glanced at Sprague. Mr Finch was looking appalled. A lot of heavy action was unrolling before him.
    “All I knew was that Norman wanted to get