Stars For The Toff

“Yes?”

“I noticed that she was wearing some nice-looking jewellery, a diamond brooch, ear-rings and bracelet.”

“Your powers of observation were always reasonably good, Richard.”

“Thank you, Aunt. How are yours?”

“Are you asking me whether the diamonds are real?”

“Yes.”

“They are.”

“Three thousand pounds’ worth of real, would you say?”

“Approximately, yes.”

“Well, well. Thank you very much, Aunt.”

*     *     *

“Mr Richard Rollison?”

“Speaking?”

“Your call to Bulawayo, Rhodesia, Mr Rollison.”

“Thank you . . . Hallo, Bill. How are you?”

“Very well, old boy. Suspicious of you, though. Why this sudden call from the dear old homeland?”

“A rich banker like you must be used to such calls. Could you do me an unlawful favour?”

“It depends.”

“You’ve doubtless heard of Miss Mona Lister.”

“I have indeed.”

“Is she rich? And have certain fairly substantial sums of money been credited to her account recently? . . . Wait a moment, Bill. I’ve air-mailed you a list of the amounts concerned. If you could check it or have it checked—”

“Quite impossible, old boy. No banker can divulge a client’s private affairs except to the police.”

“I know. But if you return my list with credits she hasn’t received crossed off, and those she has received in all their virgin freshness, I can deduce as necessary, can’t I?”

“Richard, you are a cunning so-and-so.”

“No doubt.”

“I make no promises.”

“Tell me one thing.”

“If it’s not divulging private and confidential information, I will.”

“Have the police asked to see Mona Lister’s account?”

“No. They haven’t asked me not to answer any questions about her, either.”

“Bill, you’re a devious fellow indeed.”

“How like like to recognise like, Rolly! I’ll be in touch.”

“Soon, please. Just as soon as you can. I’ll be very grateful.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Almost The End

For two weeks Rollison waited.

He was not inactive. Letters still came in by the sackful, some enclosing a shilling or two, one a cheque for a hundred guineas, and the total of contributions rose by startling amounts daily. Every newspaper ran the story, and Rollison and Jolly were under almost constant siege.

“How much more for Madam M.? ” asked the Daily Globe. “Already over thirty-one thousand pounds have been subscribed, an unsolicited tribute to the great faith that so many have in Madam Melinska and the mysteries of the influence of the stars.”

“How great a folly!” demanded the solemn Guard. “It is almost unbelievable that in this day and age, some twenty thousand people should contribute to the defence of such a woman.”

“Can the Toff save Madam M.?” cried the Daily Record.

And so the headlines ran, from day to day.

The Webbs, both charged with kidnapping, were remanded in custody. Rollison went to see them twice, but they did not change a word of their story.

Michael Fraser and Ted Jackson, of Space Age Publishing, sent Rollison the reports for which he had asked, but neither contained any information other than that which they had already given him.