‘That’s all/ Morgan said and there was a slight, mocking edge to his voice.
Rogan looked at him steadily for a long moment. Only when Morgan flushed and looked away did he turn and walk to the house.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT was just before noon on Thursday when Vanbrugh arrived at Paddington. Dwyer was waiting for him at the ticket barrier. They went into the station restaurant, ordered coffee and sat in a corner.
Vanbrugh looked tired and lit a cigarette, an unusual thing for him. ‘Any sign of Pope yet?’
‘I’ve managed to trace him to another address, since I wired you the photos of him and those other two prospects yesterday. Not far from here as a matter of fact. His landlady says he moved out a week ago with no forwarding address. I’ve got some men on it, but it’s pretty difficult. You know what the manpower position is in the C.I.D. at the moment.’
‘You don’t need to tell me.’ Vanbrugh ran a hand over his face. ‘As it happens, you can stop looking. Pope’s been out of town.’
‘You’ve found him, sir?’
Vanbrugh shook his head. ‘All I can tell you is that he hired a car in Taunton last weekend. The manager of the place recognized him at once from the photo you sent.’
‘Hiring a car’s hardly a criminal offence, sir.’
‘Perhaps, but being in the area of the prison when his old cell-mate breaks out very probably is.’
‘So you think Rogan’s no longer in the vicinity of the prison?’
Vanbrugh chuckled. ‘What is it they say? No one ever gets off the moor? Well Rogan did and very probably within an hour of getting over the wall, from the way things are beginning to shape up.’
‘Then hemust be in Ireland by now, sir. This is the fourth day, remember.’
Vanbrugh shook his head. ‘If he’d landed in Ireland, we’d have known about it, take my word for that. No, he’s still in England, I’m certain of that. But why, that’s the question.’
He stared down into his cup, a slight frown on his face. ‘What about Soames?’
‘I’ve got Scott on the final trace now. I think it’s the right man. Real name Bertram Greaves. He was disbarred by the Law Society for malpractice ten years ago. Since then he’s been mixed up in all sorts of things under various aliases. Soames must only be the latest of a dozen or more.’
‘Any form?’
‘Six months for false pretences in 1958. That was unusual. He’s the sort who usually manage to skate on pretty thin ice without falling in.’
‘Let’s hope Scott comes up with something then. In the meantime, I’d like to see Pope’s landlady. We’re probably wasting our time, but you never can tell.’
Dwyer had a squad car waiting and they pulled up outside a narrow brownstone house in a mean street within ten minutes of leaving the station. The woman who opened the door to them was cold and hard, a cigarette dangling from one corner of her narrow mouth. Beneath the cheap silk scarf, her head was a mass of tightly rolled curlers.
‘For Christ’s sake, you again?’ she said pleasantly when she saw Dwyer.
‘Less of that,’ he told her. ‘Chief Superintendent Vanbrugh would like a word with you.’
Something close to respect appeared on her face and she opened the door wide. ‘You’d better come inside.’
There was a stale smell compounded of urine and cooking odours, and an unwashed child, naked from the waist down, stood by the kitchen door and looked at them with wide eyes, a grimy finger in its mouth.
The woman took them up the stairs and opened a door at one side. ‘He lived here for a week. I’ve got a Jamaican
moving in Monday. A bloody sight cleaner than some of the bastards we get,’ she added defensively.
The room was quite bare except for an old-fashioned wardrobe, a brass bedstead and a strip of linoleum. They went back downstairs and she led the way into the cluttered kitchen.
She stood with her back to the fire, one hand on the mantelpiece. ‘I told your man here all I knew, Mr. Van-brugh. I wish I knew where he was, honest I do. He owed me for his week’s rent.’