Grice laughed.
“As a matter of fact, Rolly, I’m very pleased with the day’s work. We’ve Shayle, as you know, and this little man with the knife. Also—we know one name under which your lost lady is known.”
Rollison shot a glance at Jolly, and said:
“More guesswork?”
“No,” said Grice. “We had her clothes examined. The dress didn’t help us much, but a leading London furrier said that he was sure that the coat came from Loudens, of New York. Loudens have a kind of trade mark in their work, one which only a few people know. So we radioed a photograph to Loudens and another to the New York police—what’s that?”
“I groaned,” said Rollison, glumly. “All right, she bought the coat in New York. What’s her name?”
“Lila Hollern,” said Grice. “At least, she called herself the Countess Hollern and signed her cheques Lila. She was in America for six months, raising money—she said—for the Yugo-Slav earthquake Relief Fund.”
Rollison interrupted: “Countess Hollern isn’t a Serbian name.”
“She said she was married to an Austrian count,” said Grice, “and that her husband was a political prisoner for some years. He is now supposed to be in Belgrade. Everyone in New York thought her wonderful, she raised nearly half a mill inn dollars
“Are these facts?” demanded Rollison, sharply.
“The money was in her name at the New York bank,” said Grice, “and was transferred to an account in England a month ago. We haven’t yet tackled the English bank; they’re touchy on inquiries, you know, and I doubt whether I shall be able to get a Court Order for an examination of her account just yet —but I hope to, soon.”
“What about the Relief Fund?” asked Rollison, with sinking heart.
“The London people only knew about her from New York,” said Grice, who was remarkably cheerful, “and she certainly convinced them in New York. I shall have a full report by cable soon. The money disappeared, there’s no doubt about that.”
“So did the countess,” murmured Rollison.
Grice said gently:
“I hate to disillusion you, Rolly, but she did turn up in remarkable circumstances at Mrs. B-L.”s first big effort for a Relief Fund, didn’t she? Had she not been poisoned, she might by now have been an active member of that fund, raking in more money.”
“Oh, yes,” said Rollison, “but it might not have been quite so simple. If you can stand an awkward question— why was she poisoned?”
“Do you have to ask?” demanded Grice. “Obviously because she is one of several people involved in the swindle. The other members did not like to think that she was to be questioned by the police. They much preferred to see her dead. That is a strong enough motive even for you.”
“It’s very ingenious,” murmured Rollison.
“I don’t think there’s much the matter with it,” said Grice, complacently. “Nor will you, when you know that Messrs. Pomeroy, Ward & Pomeroy are handling the accounts of the London Branch of the Relief Fund, as well as Barrington-Ley’s accounts. It all ties up very nicely, doesn’t it?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ROLLISON agreed that it did appear to tie up very nicely, said good-bye, replaced the receiver, and stared blankly into Jolly’s face. After a while he gave the gist of the conversation, whereupon Jolly’s hopefulness faded and was replaced by his habitual expression of gloom.
“The only bright spot,” said Rollison, “is that he doesn’t propose to make an arrest, yet.”
“Could he arrest the lady, sir?”
“He could detain her for questioning,” said Rollison. “The truth is that he thinks he can get her whenever he wants, and prefers to have an unanswerable case before doing so. He’ll probably get some kind of story from Marcus Shayle. So, Jolly, more cause for gloom! Deep gloom, because Grice has done practically everything we hoped we would be able to do ourselves—my mind hasn’t been working lately, or we would have got this information first.”
“Perhaps so, sir,” said Jolly, unconvinced. “What do you propose to do?”
“We are going to prove him wrong,” said Rollison. “The little man with the knife and the footman at Barrington House are two people on whom we can check, and Grice gave me some consolation; he’s not very hopeful about East End contacts. I’ll go there in the morning.”
“What about the—ah—countess, sir?”
“You have not failed to notice,” said Rollison, “that at our suggestion a policewoman is acting as her bodyguard. So the police are responsible for her. I’m not at all sure that Grice isn’t holding his hand because of that. If anyone tries to get in touch with her, he’ll learn at once. If she tried to slip away, the maid would stop her. On the other hand,” Rollison went on, stifling a yawn, “there has been no crime in England of which she could have been guilty—as far as we know.”
“That is so,” said Jolly. “Is there anything more, sir?” Rollison shook his head. “What time shall I call you in the morning?”
“Nine o’clock should be about right,” said Rollison.
He was still asleep when Jolly came in next morning, with the ornate silver tray, the post and the newspapers. It was half-past nine.
“The newspapers are not very informative this morning, and there is no report of Miss Barrington-Ley’s
