Stars For The Toff

anything bad!”

“—I’ll come back here and tell you, then we can both decide what to do about it,” he said gently.

She stood silent, and he let her go. Her arms dropped to her sides, all the fight gone out of her; but her fear was very deep. She moved away a little, and then said:

“It’s 5 Hill Crescent Road. The house is divided into four flats. His is upstairs—Flat A. But you won’t find anything bad.”

Obviously she was terrified in case she was wrong, thought Rollison; and she would not feel so keenly unless she had reason to fear that she might be.

*     *     *

Rollison pulled the Bentley up in Hill Crescent, from which led Hill Crescent Road. Outside, the calmness of the night was in strange contrast to what had happened before. Cars were parked at intervals, here and there a light glowed at a window, and the street lamps were alight but strangely remote. Rollison approached Hill Crescent Road. Not far away was the dark silence of Hampstead Heath; in the distance, a glow in the sky from London’s West End, where the lights would soon begin to dim, for it was past midnight. Rollison, wearing rubber-soled shoes, reached the iron gate which led to Number 5. It squeaked as he opened it. A porch light glowed softly, but all the windows were in darkness. He closed the gate gently, stepped to the right, off gravel and on to grass, and approached the front door.

No one stirred.

Taking a pencil torch from his pocket, he shone it on to the lock. It was a straightforward Yale and easy to force, and in a few moments he was standing in the hall-way.

A flight of carpeted stairs led upwards to a small landing, and Rollison crept towards it. Soon he was standing outside a door beneath which shone a narrow band of light.

This was Flat A.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Spell-Binder

Somewhere in the flat across the landing, faint music came from radio or record-player. Apart from this there was silence. Rollison examined the lock, and found that this also could be forced without difficulty. Very soon the door was open and he found himself in a small, brightly-lit hall, from which led four doors.

A voice sounded in the room straight ahead, and for a moment Rollison stood still—then he breathed a sigh of relief. His hunch had paid off. It was the voice of Olivia Cordman.

“. . . you’re both utterly wrong. Madam Melinska is probably the best seer in the world—certainly she’s the most famous—”

“Infamous, you mean.” A man’s voice this time, and Rollison at once recognised it as that of the man who had telephoned him.

“That’s not true.” Olivia sounded angry. “If you knew what I know about her—”

“And if you knew what we know about her. All this second-sight and fortune-telling nonsense, it’s the biggest racket out.”

Rollison started. Surely that was the voice of the man who had held him up on the staircase at Gresham Terrace. Very gently, very quietly, he pushed the door open.

Olivia was sitting tied to a high-backed chair. The two men were watching her, their backs to the door.

“Pity you don’t have second sight,” said Rollison easily, “or you might have seen me coming.”

Both men swung round to face him.

There was just time for Rollison to see that one of them was indeed the man who had threatened him on the stairs, then to notice, with a start of surprise, the strong physical resemblance between them, before they sprang at him, their reflexes so perfectly in tune that they both moved at the same instant. He had anticipated what they would do and was ready for them; and hatred of what they had already done added power to the blow he rammed into one man’s jaw, the kick he landed on the other’s stomach. As they staggered back he went for them with a fury which almost frightened him, drawing back only when one lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and the other was draped across a chair. Rollison, breathing hard, brushed his hair back and smiled at Olivia.

“Aren’t you going to untie me?” she asked.

“Aren’t I going—”

“I thought you always moved fast:

He saw her mischievous smile, chuckled, then took a pen-knife from his pocket and cut the rope which bound her. “Have they hurt you?” he asked gently.

“No. But I do feel a bit tottery.” She stood up gingerly and almost collapsed; Rollison grabbed her and she leaned against him. “Rolly dear, am I glad to see you! What are you going to do with them?”

“Hand them over to the police. What else?”

“Sure they wouldn’t talk more freely to you?”

“If you mean will I do a deal with your two nice young friends, the answer is no,” Rollison said flatly.

“You could pretend to.”

“There’s no need, now that you’re free.”

“What do you mean, there’s no need?” she demanded. “Catching them’s not the main job, clearing Madam