Stars For The Toff

evidence to proceed?”

“No, your honour. We should like to apply for a remand so as to complete our inquiries.”

Nimmo’s eyebrows rose.

“Bail?” he inquired.

“We have no objection, sir.”

“Are there any sureties for the accused in Court?” asked Nimmo. No one replied. There was a sense of tension and of waiting, a look of pleading on the older prisoner’s face, and one of defiance on the girl’s. All at once Nimmo came to a quick, brusque decision.

“I bind both the accused over in sums of one hundred pounds each. Are there sureties?”

The magistrate was leaning forward to the dock.

“Can you find one hundred pounds each? ” he asked in a clear whisper; and Nimmo, a stickler for the etiquette of the Court, did no more than look his disapproval.

Rollison said very clearly: “I will go surety in those sums, your honour.”

Nimmo, Madam Melinska, the girl, everyone else in Court, turned swiftly towards him. Then Madam Melinska smiled once again.

After that, it was simply a matter of formalities, answering questions from the Press and arranging for an eager-to-help woman journalist—Olivia Cordman, Features Editor of The Day, to see the two accused women to their home. Rollison suddenly realized that he had no idea where they lived; but doubtless Olivia, who was an old acquaintance, would get in touch with him, if not the women themselves.

At last, he was out of the Court.

At last, he was back at Gresham Terrace.

As his taxi turned in from the end nearest Piccadilly, he saw the small crowd gathered outside Number 22, where he lived. Several were young women, several were middle-aged; there were two or three elderly men as well as a young exquisite in a sapphire-coloured velvet jacket, green, cravat-type tie, and stove-pie trousers. He had long, silky, beautifully groomed fair hair. As Rollison got out of the taxi, it was this young man who held his attention, and although he was aware of the others he took little notice of them—not even when a small excited cheer rose up.

Rollison paid the taxi-driver, then turned towards Number 22. On closer inspection the young man’s face was long, thin, hollow-cheeked; he had dark-fringed lashes over disappointingly small and watery eyes.

Beyond him stood a policeman, there doubtless to clear a path.

A girl shouted: “Good old Toff!”

“You’ll be rewarded.”

“They didn’t mean any harm, Mr Rollison.”

“They—”

In a deep, throbbing voice a woman cried: “They killed my husband. And I’d like to kill you.”

As she spoke, she tossed what looked like a small glass ball towards him, and Rollison had a sudden, blinding fear that it might contain some kind of corrosive acid. He saw the liquid inside it, shimmering in the sunlight, ducked, but could not avoid the missile. It struck his forehead, burst with a sharp “pop!” and liquid began to spill down his face, ice cold, yet burning.

A girl screamed.

The policeman roared: “Hey!”

Sharp pain struck at Rollison’s eyes, but even as it did so, panic began to recede; this was ammonia, painful and unpleasant but nothing to cause permanent injury. Yet for the moment he was blinded—and suddenly he was in the middle of a surging furious mob. Above the shouts of anger came a woman’s sudden cry of fear, drowned by the policeman’s bellow:

“Let her alone!”

Car engines sounded, the screams and shouts merged into a dull roar, someone was sobbing, and all Rollison could see through his tears of pain was a haze of light and surges of colour and movement. Helpless, he stood absolutely still until a familiar voice sounded close by—Jolly’s voice.

“Let me pass, please, Let me pass. Thank you. Let me pass . . .”

Then Jolly was at Rollison’s side.

“Is it—” he began, anxiety roughening his words.

“Ammonia,” said Rollison. “What’s going on?”

“If you’ll come with me, sir—”

“What’s going on? ”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” drawled the young man in the velvet jacket. “The little dears are tearing the old darling to pieces. Preserve, I pray, from the fair sex.”

Jolly ignored him. “There’s no cause to worry, sir. The police have the situation well in hand.”

“I wish to heaven I could see,” Rollison said testily.