The Z Murders by J Jefferson Farjeon Page B

anxiety, and hastened back to the studio, shoving the curtain aside as he ran. Then he got another shock. The girl, also, had disappeared.
    â€œWell—I’m damned!” he thought. “What’s that mean?”
    Had she got a fright and taken cover? He called her name softly. Obtaining no response, he began to search the studio, trying first the corner he himself had hidden in. There was no sign of her. Suddenly he looked towards the little window.
    â€œOpen again!” he muttered.
    Obvious, of course. The bird had flown out through the window. Well, he had advised her to give the place a wide berth, hadn’t he? She had merely acted on his advice! Yes, but without a word, without so much as…
    On his way to the window he stopped abruptly. A faint sound came from outside. His heart beat happily again.
    â€œMiss Wynne!” he called, keeping his voice low. “You can come back. He’s gone!”
    â€œI’m afraid he hasn’t,” came the reply, as the individual under discussion emerged into view.
    No longer asking Temperley’s sanction, the unwelcome visitor climbed in through the window, and as Temperley watched him a wretched suspicion came into his mind. A moment later, the visitor was confirming the suspicion.
    â€œI hope you’ll forgive me for the pack of lies I told you on the doorstep just now, Mr. Temperley,” he said, “but you’ve not been the soul of truth yourself, now, have you?”
    â€œWho are you?” demanded Temperley.
    â€œName, Dutton,” replied the man, brushing dust from his sleeve. “Working for Inspector James.”
    â€œAnd your work was to follow me?”
    â€œAfraid so, sir. You see, sir—well, we guessed you weren’t going to Madame Tussaud’s.”
    â€œI see,” murmured Temperley, and added abruptly, with a frown, “Pretty poor game, yours, isn’t it?”
    â€œThat’s how you look at it, sir,” answered Dutton. “Maybe some’d say the same of yours.”
    â€œMine?”
    â€œYes, sir. Not helping the police, I mean. You’ve led me a dance, and no error!”
    He smiled amiably. If his words contained a reproach, his tone and his attitude were quite friendly. Temperley, trying to make the best of a situation quite new to him, wondered what his own tone and attitude ought to be.
    â€œI take back what I said just now about yours being a poor game,” he said. “But—perhaps, if you understood—you’d realise that I’m not really playing a bad game, either.”
    â€œOh, I understand that, sir,” nodded Dutton, “but I’ve got to go on with my job, just the same.”
    â€œWell—go on with it,” smiled Temperley. “What’s the next step?”
    Dutton smiled back.
    â€œWhat’s yours?” he asked.
    â€œOh! Then the chase is to continue?”
    â€œThat depends on you, sir.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Dutton shrugged his shoulders. “That’s not an answer. Let’s start square, anyway. Why have you followed me?”
    â€œWell, sir—p’r’aps the police aren’t always such fools as people think. And that being so, sir—if I may offer a word of advice—it would be much simpler if we pulled together. It’ll come to the same in the end.”
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œSure of it, sir.”
    â€œListen, Mr. Dutton. I admit you’ve scored a trick. I’m not one of those who call policemen fools. But—well, p’r’aps I’m not such a fool, either?”
    â€œI’m sure you’re not, sir. If it was only you and me, I’d go fifty-fifty on the result. But you’ve forgotten the inspector. He sent me to trace Miss Wynne, through you—and he won’t rest till he’s found her.” Dutton paused. Then he went on, in a matter-of-fact voice: “The lady’s acting very queerly,