Stars For The Toff

“Mrs Abbott—dead.”

“If you try to be funny you’ll be dead.”

“Put that gun away and stop talking like a fool.” Jolly, nearer now, detected a steely note in Rollison’s voice.

“Don’t call me a fool. All those screaming half-wits out there— they’re the fools. And they’re wrong, that damned fortune-teller has fooled them. However, that’s their funeral— but it will be yours too if you don’t tell me what you found at Mrs Abbott’s.”

Jolly held his breath as he peered down the well of the staircase.

He saw his master and a tall, dark-haired young man; and he saw the gun in the young man’s hand. If he touched the trigger, there wouldn’t be a chance for Rollison.

Quite calmly, Jolly called:

“Excuse me, sir.”

On the instant the young man looked up, and Rollison drove his fist into the unprotected stomach. As the gun clattered to the floor, Rollison stopped the other from falling, and glanced up with a smile which Jolly would treasure for a very long time.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Yes. Come and look after this chap, will you? Give me ten minutes or so, and then bring him up to the flat.”

“Certainly, sir.” Jolly hurried down the stairs and picked up the gun, and Rollison turned to his assailant. “Go upstairs with Jolly, and let the police think you’ve just come to see me. Don’t try any tricks or I’ll throw the book at you.” Bounding past Jolly and the stranger, he ran up the remaining stairs towards his flat.

Clay and two other men were standing in the hall, and Rollison beamed at them as if he hadn’t a trouble in the world.

“Won’t keep you long,” he said, and strode through to the living-room. In a moment he was leaning out of the window. As his head appeared there was another roar of cheering.

At last the crowd fell silent.

At last Rollison was able to make himself heard.

“I promise you that justice will be done to Madam Melinska and to Mona Lister. I promise you—”

It was as if everyone in the street went mad, the waving, the cheering, were so furious. Even when he had spoken to them five times, another roar for him came as fast as he could shut the window; but gradually the crowd grew silent, and the police filtered in and took complete control.

“Now what can I do to help you?” Rollison asked Chief Inspector Clay.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Friend Into Foe

Rollison looked blankly into Clay’s eyes, silently echoing “arrest.” Clay was hostile and in a way defiant. Slowly, Rollison began to relax; suddenly, he realised how lucky it was that he had left the stolen papers in the station locker; that was a break in a thousand. He saw the puzzlement in the Yard man’s eyes as he grinned.

“Well, well,” he said. “It’s quite a time since the Yard made that mistake. All right, officer, I’ll come quietly—but I’d like a couple of hours’ grace.”

“You’ll come with me, now.”

Rollison’s eyes were still laughing.

“Why not ask Grice for my grace?”

“Mr Grice is not concerned in this case.”

“He will be,” Rollison said. “Believe me, he will be. You know, this is the most remarkable tribute to Madam Melinska. She said my friends would become my foes, or words to that effect, but that I would get help from unexpected sources. I wonder where it will come from next. Chief Inspector—”

“I’m not here to talk,” Clay growled.

“No,” Rollison said. “Nor to slow down your rate of promotion.”

“If you’re threatening me—” Clay’s eyes flashed.

“Don’t be a fool, man,” Rollison said lightly. “Of course I’m not threatening you. But if you arrest me and the Court dismisses the case in the morning, won’t it count against you?” When Clay didn’t answer, Rollison went on: “You know damn well it would take years to live down. Yes, I realise you wouldn’t have got a warrant unless you thought it was justified, but events can make a clever man look foolish. What’s the charge?”

“Illegal entry.”

“What?”

“I needn’t keep saying it—the charge is illegal entry.”

“At Mrs Abbott’s?”

“Where else have you forced entry?” demanded Clay, sharply.