“Out with it,” urged Rollison.
“The butler believes that Dr. Renfrew has an understanding with Miss Gwendoline. In fact he is a friend of the family, which doubtless explains why so youthful a doctor is employed. I have tried to get details as to Dr. Renfrew’s reputation, and I must say that in the profession he has the reputation of being a brilliant young doctor, and he is very well-liked by the staff at Barrington House.”
“I see,” said Rollison, a trifle heavily. “I’ll have a shot at Renfrew, too. Farrow seemed reluctant to send for him I remember—that’s worth keeping in mind.” He stifled a yawn. “I think we’ll get to bed. Where have you put the maid?”
“In my room, sir,” said Jolly, getting up at once.
“And what about you?”
“I shall put two chairs together in the hall, and be perfectly comfortable, I assure you.”
“I see, said Rollison. “You’re a good chap, Jolly.”
He was getting into bed when the telephone rang.
He had an extension on a bedside table, and settled himself on the pillows before he answered. He saw Jolly’s shadow near the door.
“Hallo,” he said.
“Rolly,” said Grice, and Rollison sat up. “I’m sorry it’s so late,” went on Grice, “but there are one of two things I must know now.”
“Fire away,” said Rollison.
“What do you make of the footman at Barrington House?”
“Precious little, except that I wouldn’t trust him an inch,” said Rollison. “He could have caught the little man with the knife.”
“I see,” said Grice. “It doesn’t much matter about that—
“I thought that would shake you. There was a man answering your description whom we knew lived in London and who has been known to use a knife, so we pulled him in and he talked.”
“This is progress!” exclaimed Rollison. “Has he talked much?”
“He says that he was hired to kill Gwendoline Barrington-Ley, but he can’t or won’t give us the name or description of the man who hired him. The order seems to have passed thorough several channels. You know how these things work.”
“East End channels?” demanded Rollison.
“Yes.”
“Well, well.” said Rollison, “I’ll slip down there in the morning—that’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?”
“It might be helpful.” said Grice. “As for the footman—one of my men thinks he has seen him before. We’ve got his prints and they’re not in the records, so he hasn’t passed through our hands. You haven’t seem him before, have you?”
“No,” said Rollison.
“We’ll have to do what we can,” said Grice, and broke off, making a curious noise into the telephone. “Sorry,” he apologized, “that was a yawn. Have you learned anything from the lady?”
“She is a Serb,” said Rollison. “I thought she was going to regain her memory to-night, but it faded out again.”
“H’m, yes,” said Grice sceptically.
“Now what’s the matter?” demanded Rollison, sharply.
“Has she ever lost it?” asked Grice.
“What makes you think she might be foxing?” demanded Rollison, stretching his hand out for his cigarette case. As he fumbled with it, Jolly came into the room, took out a cigarette, lit it in a holder, and handed it to Rollison.
“Cray doubts very much whether her mind’s as blank as she says it is,” said Grice. “He told the matron to try her out with music, and we had a shot at Yugo-Slav national music as well as other from the Balkans. Reaction, nil. There isn’t much doubt that you’re right, and she’s a Serb—I had an expert have a look at her, quite early, and he said Serb or anyway Slav without any doubt. There are also other indications.”
“Oh,” said Rollison. “What about Renfrew’s opinion?”
Grice chuckled again.
“He’s a very bright young man, most impressionable, and rather like you—if a handsome woman says she’s lost her memory he’s too much of a gentleman to doubt it.”
“I see,” said Rollison, heavily. “One for and one against. Did it ever occur to you to make sure that the test was carried out?”
“Now, come,” said Grice, “that’s a reputable nursing home, and in this case the matron would obviously be so eager to make up for the slip that was made.”
“You’re more trusting than I am,” said Rollison, “but then, you’re a policeman!”
