The Toff and The Lady

spoke, but Rollison could not catch the words. “Oh, all right,” said Gwendoline, in an aside, and added: “Rolly, mother wants a word with you.”

“Oh, Rolly,” said Hilda, after a moment’s pause. She was more breathless than her daughter, and he could tell that she was in a state of great agitation, “please do come over, David has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” echoed Rollison, sharply.

“Yes, into thin air,” said Hilda. “I’m so terribly worried, please do come.”

CHAPTER TEN

INSULT FOR THE LADY

IT was on the tip of Rollison’s tongue to say that he could not leave the flat and to ask them to visit him, but he changed his mind and said:

“I can’t come for half an hour, Hilda. Have you told the police.”

“No,” said Hilda. “No, of course not. I mean—no, well I don’t want to until I’ve seen you; Rolly, do come earlier if you can.”

“I may bring a friend,” said Rollison.

“Bring anyone you like,” said Hilda, distractedly, “but do come.”

“I’ll come,” promised Rollison. “Stay there and don’t get worked up.” He rang off and stood looking at the telephone, conscious of a deep disappointment because the tete-a-tete seemed over for that night. Then he telephoned Anstey, and found that Jolly was there. He told Jolly to take everything to Barrington House, then had a word with the o!d solicitor; were there any rumours about Barrington-Ley in the City?

“There are vague hints and suggestions,” said Anstey. “They don’t add up to much, but they’re not very reassuring. It would be better if he were in London instead of in the country. I even heard of a rumour that he has left the country, but I can’t believe that of Barrington-Ley. In any case, he has been seen in the City during the last week. I hope you’ve discovered nothing against him.”

“Nothing,” said Rollison, “but I know that his family is worried about his health.”

“Health,” echoed Anstey, sceptically.

“Health,” repeated Rollison, firmly, “and don’t go reading more into that than I mean.” He learned that Anstey was able to supply all the gramophone records that he wanted, and rang off. Grice had not renewed his suggestion that there was something wrong with Barrington-Ley’s affairs, but if the rumours now worried Anstey, Grice would know all about them.

He telephoned Scotland Yard again; Grice was still there.

“Give me a chance,” he protested, when he heard Rollison’s voice, “I’ve sent for your maid, but she’s off duty and won’t be here for half an hour. I’ll brief her myself.”

“Send her to Barrington House, will you,” said Rollison. “She’s to say that I hired her for Lady Lost.”

“Why Barrington House?” demanded Grice.

“Because they have a very fine radiogram,” said Rollison, cryptically. “Good-bye, old chap.”

He was smiling when he rang off—and then his smile changed to one of anticipation, for he saw the spare bedroom door open.

For the second time he watched the Lady of Lost Memory walking towards him.

She was transformed!

Her hair, no longer braided, was dressed Victorian fashion, and looked not brown but burnished copper. Two combs with jewelled backs glinted beneath the light. Her cheeks had a glow, make-up actually improving on nature; her eyes glowed, too; and her lips were enticing.

At her breast was a single diamante star, a paste copy of a famous jewel which had come Rollison’s way when he had been involved in a case where jewel-thieves had turned their hands to murder, and on her fingers two rings, also of paste but, at a quick glance, indistinguishable from the real thing. Nearly as tall as Rollison, not slim but with a figure to make most men’s heartbeats quicken, she stood in front of him.

“Superb!” said Rollison.

“You like it?”

“Like it is not the word. I marvel at it. Who taught you to walk, Lady Lost?”

“Lady Lost?” She looked startled.

“That is a figure of speech,” said Rollison. “How do you feel?”

“Happier than I can remember!”

“Splendid!” He stood back, still looking at her, and added with a twinge of reluctance: “We’re going out for an hour or two, to some friends of yours—the Barrington-Leys.”

She also looked regretful.

“They have been so kind to me, but”

“I think it’s wise to go,” Rollison said, gently, “we might get your memory back.”

She said, very slowly:

“I have been thinking as I looked into the mirror,” she said. “I have not remembered, and yet, somewhere within me there is a feeling that I shall not like it when I know who I am; it is as if some horrid thing happened, something which made me forget things which I always wanted to forget.” She held out her hand. “Please