Free The Man Who Couldn't Lose by Roger Silverwood

edge. He told me that he never put himself into a situation where he could lose, that’s all. He practised that throughout his business life. And that’s not cheating, that’s logic, ain’t it?’
    Angel was considering the line of reasoning. There was something there that was not quite right.
    â€˜There are some people he would never have played against,’ Makepiece added.
    â€˜You mean because they would have beaten him?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He thought a moment. ‘The boss used to watch a punter playing cards with someone else. He’d watch them like a hawk for a half hour or so and then he would know, positively. That’s all there was to it.’
    Angel was certain there was a lot more to it than that.
    Makepiece licked his lips and turned away. ‘I wanna drink, Inspector. Do you wanna drink?’
    â€˜No, thanks.
    Makepiece’s mouth dropped open. He turned away and looked across at the table of bottles covered with a cloth.
    Angel stared at him.
    It was hard for Makepiece to look him in the eye. His mouth twitched again.
    Angel could not avoid looking at the harelip.
    Makepiece looked away. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’
    Angel wrinkled his nose, looked at his notes and rubbed his chin. ‘No, thanks. We’ve nearly done.’
    Makepiece nodded.
    â€˜You’ve been chauffeur for Mr Gumme a long time. You drove his Bentley?’
    â€˜Yes. Very proud of his car was de boss.’
    â€˜Where were the keys for the car?’
    â€˜I had a set which I picked up from the house when I was taking him anywheres.’
    â€˜And when you had finished with them?’
    â€˜I always dropped them through the letterbox. Ingrid … Mrs Gumme no doubt picked them up and put them on the keyboard in their lobby. I would always take them from there when I was taking the boss out or needed to wash the car or anything.’
    â€˜So when you returned the car the night Mr Gumme was murdered, you put them through the letterbox as usual?’
    â€˜Yes, sure,’ he said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘Sure you don’t want no drink?’
    Angel shook his head.
    â€˜Did you know the car had been found in flames in a field early yesterday morning?’
    â€˜No! Who could have done that? If the boss was alive, he’d have had a fit!’
    â€˜You know nothing about this?’
    â€˜Certainly not, Inspector. Who would want to do a thing like that with such a beautiful machine?’
    Angel sighed. Looked at his notes. Wrote something and said, ‘I’d better have a look in your printing shop.’
    â€˜Oh yeah? Sure,’ Makepiece said eagerly. He stood up. ‘It ain’t that … beautiful, Inspector. There’s only me goes in there.’
    â€˜I’m not from Health and Safety,’ he muttered.
    Angel followed him out of the office into the racket of the snooker hall. There was the buzz of men chatting, the frequent crack of white balls rattling against colours followed by the thunder of balls rolling round the tables, and, intermittently, bursts of loud, alcohol-fuelled guffaws of laughter. He glanced down the building. Business was picking up. Sixty or more men were now mooching round the tables.
    Makepiece walked on four paces to another door in the same wall. With a rattle of keys he unlocked it and switched on the light.
    â€˜Come in. There ain’t much room. It’s a bit untidy.’
    Angel looked around. It was about the same size as the office next door, but had a large complex machine in the centre that dominated the room. There were machines of all kinds round the walls, presumably for smaller print jobs: folding machines, stapler, a cameras, enlarger, a machine with a powerful press for embossing and a powerful-looking guillotine. Everywhere was draped with large menus for Wong’s Chinese restaurant.
    Angel looked at him and pointed at the menus.
    â€˜Just