Stars For The Toff

mine—Bill Ebbutt. We work together a great deal.”

“Why have you had them followed?” asked Madam Melinska.

“Not them. Stride. There are one or two things I’d like to know about that young gentleman,” said Rollison slowly. He turned away from the window. “And there are a great number of other questions I’d like answered,” he added. “First and foremost, what is all this about?”

“All I can tell you is that there is a conspiracy to discredit me and Mona,” Madam Melinska told him. Tdon’t know why and I don’t know by whom, but I do know that you are going to find the answers to both questions.”

“How can you know?” Rollison demanded.

“Because it is in the stars,” the woman said, and touched his arm gently. “You don’t have to believe me, Mr Rollison—but you will find yourself quite unable to resist continuing with this work. I don’t think you will ever be convinced of certain things, but I am quite sure you will never reject them absolutely.” She paused, and then went on: “And I cannot thank you enough for the help you have already given us.”

Rollison said gruffly: “I’ve done nothing, yet.”

“You have helped a great deal,” Madam Melinska said, “and will help a great deal more.” She paused for a moment, then added gravely: “And unless you’re very careful indeed you will be seriously injured while doing so.”

Rollison could not keep off the chill which followed her words.

*     *     *

Charlie Wray looked a fool, and often behaved like one. He also looked—at a distance—like a child, and often behaved like one. But he had certain qualities in which he was second to none, and he was probably a better shadow than any expert at Scotland Yard. In middle-age he was almost as fit and tough as he had been at the height of his boxing career, and when following a quarry, as now, he thoroughly enjoyed himself.

Anticipating Rollison’s wishes to know more about Lucifer Stride, Jolly had telephoned Charlie Wray, asking him to tail a man who would shortly be leaving Rollison’s flat.

Jolly’s description had been good, but Stride’s appearance still came as a shock to Charlie.

“Man,” he muttered to himself as he turned the corner of Gresham Terrace, “he’s about as much a man as my Aunt Emma. Cor lumme what are they coming to these days. Can’t tell boy from girl.” Charlie, fond of talking to himself, gave a broad grin as he watched Stride and Mrs Abbott walking along Piccadilly. “Wonder where they’ll go . . .”

They crossed the road by Green Park and reached a bus stop, where there was already a small queue. Charlie held back until a free taxi came along, and hailed it.

“Follow the bus I tell you to,” he ordered. “And look out for that blond fellow in the blue jacket, talking to the old girl with grey hair. Let me know if you see them get off.”

The cabby, little more than a boy, said “Okay!” with great eagerness.

A bus came along almost at once and the couple boarded it. The cabby followed— through Knightsbridge, then along Brompton Old Road, then into Fulham Road. Charlie satback, smoking in a lordly fashion. Slowly they lumbered over Stamford Bridge towards Fulham Broadway, and then the driver looked over his shoulder and said excitedly:

“Here they come.”

“Drive past,” hissed Charlie.

The driver overtook the bus and pulled up in front of a large removal van, which effectively screened it from Stride and Mrs Abbott. Charlie paid the driver off, and sauntered back along the street until he saw his quarry turn down a side road of shabby terrace houses. By the time Charlie had reached the corner, Mrs Abbott was standing beneath a shallow porch while Lucifer Stride waited on the pavement.

“Quite sure you’re all right?” His words floated back to Charlie.

The woman mumbled her reply.

“Sure you wouldn’t like me to come up with you?”

Charlie saw the woman shake her head. Then she disappeared into the house.

He moved into a doorway and waited to see what his quarry would do next—would he carry on down the street, or would he turn back? But for the next twenty minutes or so Stride stood irresolutely outside the house into which his companion had disappeared. Charlie, peering from his doorway, watched him looking anxiously up at the windows. “He’s worried about the old girl,” thought Charlie. “Can’t make up his mind whether he ought to go in after her or not.”

But at last Stride came to a decision, and with one last backward look, he retraced his steps towards the main road. Charlie dived back into his doorway, and Stride passed without a glance. Charlie gave a little grin of satisfaction—but as he swung in the wake of his quarry, a sudden clatter of footsteps behind him made him turn his head. Looking back, he saw two tall dark-haired men leap into a small black car which had been parked along the street.

Charlie shrugged. “Some folk are always in a hurry,” he thought. Then, with a start of dismay, he realised that Stride had reached the main road.

“Gawd!” exclaimed Charlie. “I’ll lose him.”

He dashed across the road after his quarry— then heard the car close behind. He glanced over his shoulder.

As he did so, he felt a terrible surge of fear, for the car was heading straight towards him. He made a desperate effort to get clear.

One moment he was running.