Stars For The Toff

“You won’t,” said Rollison, with a confidence he was very far from feeling. “It’s all right, Olivia, we’ll get you. Where are you?”

She appeared to ignore his question. “How’s Lucifer?”

“Lucifer?” said Rollison, puzzled. “Oh, he’ll be okay.” It wasn’t like Olivia to waste time on irrelevancies, he thought. “But you, Olivia. Where are you? ”

Still she ignored his question.

“Oh, dear. So they did kill him. Poor Lucifer. If he were still alive I’d say go and talk to him—but he was always such a moaner—”

The line went dead.

Clay said in a voice tense with anger:

“Why didn’t you let me talk to her?”

“It wouldn’t have been much good,” Rollison said, absently.

Lucifer, he thought. Olivia had been trying to tell him that Lucifer would know where she was. What was it she had said?— “But he was always such a moaner . . .” Moaner? Moaner? Why, Monal thought Rollison excitedly, of course. Olivia had been trying to tell him that he could get help from either Lucifer Stride or Mona Lister.

Clay was looking impatient. “Is she all right?”

“She’s being held prisoner. I’m to get off the case.”

“That wouldn’t exactly make me cry,” Clay said drily.

Rollison shrugged. “I may have to get off the case, but not yet. That man’s accent was Rhodesian—Madam Melinska comes from—” Rollison stopped short.

“What is it?” Clay demanded in alarm.

“I meant to ask you to send someone to the Marigold Club, Madam Melinska and the girl—”

“You needn’t worry about them,” Clay said impatiently. “In view of what’s happened you wouldn’t expect us to let that pair roam about loose, would you? They’ll be looked after. Did Miss Cordman give you any clue where she was being held prisoner?”

The question was whether to tell Clay or not. Once the police knew, they would want to take action, and Rollison was well aware that this might be disastrous. Any appearance on the scene by the police would not only tell the Rhodesian that he, Rollison, was not going to give up the case, but that he was working with the law. And yet—

Clay had surprisingly clear grey eyes, and a sensitive mouth in spite of his square face and massive chin. There was a pleasing quality in him, and quite suddenly it showed in his face and in his manner.

“Mr Rollison,” he said, “I want to help, you know. We’ve got off on the wrong foot and no doubt it’s as much my fault as yours, but that doesn’t matter now. I know you’ve often done a great deal on your own and—” he waved at the Trophy Wall— “there’s the proof that it hasn’t been a waste of time. But if you go off on a lone wolf act without consulting us, well, it does make things a bit difficult. But I’m as ready to listen to reason as Mr Grice.”

Rollison watched, listened, and warmed to this man; such a speech must have cost a considerable effort.

“She did give me a clue,” he said simply. “Two clues. Lucifer Stride and Mona Lister could help us—presumably to find out where she is. Stride can’t at the moment, so Mona will have to. Only—” he paused.

“She won’t talk to the police?”

“I doubt it,” Rollison agreed. “But I’ve just thought of something. Supposing I fooled these people into thinking I would do a deal and that I would give up Madam Melinska’s defence. Only this would have to be another of my lone wolf acts.” He smiled. “Once you had anything to do with it they’d know I was working with you.”

Clay looked dubious. “But you’ve no assistance to call on—apart from us. Your East End pals won’t play, Jolly’s in no condition to help, so if we weren’t in on it you’d be entirely on your own.”

Rollison shrugged. “It’s the only chance we’ve got. Clay, all you need do is let me have my head. Or close your eyes when I slip away.”

Clay grunted. There was no reason to expect him to commit himself, and Rollison dropped the subject until, ten minutes later, Lady Hurst, Madam Melinska and Mona arrived.

Clay was hearty.

“Time I went, Mr Rollison. Hope you have a quiet night.” He disappeared down the stairs.

“I don’t know whether I like or dislike that man,” Lady Hurst said, as Rollison led his guests into the living- room. “I don’t think I would trust him too far.”

“Never mind him!” said Mona. “Is there any news from the hospital?”

“Not yet,” Rollison said gently.

“Oh, it’s awful!” Mona cried. Her eyes were closed, now. “I hate it, I hate it. Being able to see what’s happening to people and not being able to help.” She shivered. “I know he’s lying very still, there are people in white all about him, it’s an operating theatre, I’m sure of that. But I can’t see his face, I know he’s there but I can’t see!” She began to scream.