going to Barrington House first.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROLLISON took the lift to the ground floor and hurried towards the exit, then doubled across the courtyard, to the surprise of several policemen. He turned towards Parliament Square, beckoned a taxi which was approaching, and when the cab slowed up, he said: “Wait for me outside the telephone kiosk round the corner—we’re going to Park Lane.”
“Okay,” said the driver.
There was no delay when Rollison telephoned Jolly.
“Is there anything to report there?”
“No, sir. Our guest went for a short walk with her maid and they are now both back at the flat.”
“Good. Jolly, go to the Lawley Nursing Home quickly. Don’t let the police know that I sent you, if you should be seen by them—say you were curious about the matron, or something like that. Miss Phyllis Armitage is there— presumably in the matron’s office. She has had instructions to keep everyone out, so go to the window and try to talk to her. Get her story if it’s possible, and then report to the flat. If I’m not there, telephone Barrington House.”
“Very good, sir,” said Jolly.
“Get a move on, Jolly!” Rollison rang off and hurried to the taxi. There was no sign of Grice’s car as he passed the Yard. He sat back, lighting a cigarette. There was surely no further doubt that the matron had played a part in what had happened earlier. The trouble was to find out how Shayle, Pomeroy or Malloy had known that the Lady of Lost Memory would be put under her charge.
“Wait, will you?” he asked the taxi driver when they drew up outside Barrington House. “I may be half an hour.” He was already walking towards the front door as he finished speaking, and noticed with some surprise that the front gates were closed, preventing the taxi from going right in.
The footman, Farrow, opened the door.
“Good-afternoon, sir.”
“Good-afternoon,” said Rollison. “Is Miss Gwendoline in?”
“No, sir, she is not at home.” Farrow looked as if he were glad to say so.
“Mrs. Barrington-Ley?” asked Rollison.
“I am sorry, sir, but Madam is unwell, and unable to receive anyone.”
“Take her my card,” Rollison said, taking one from his pocket.
“I am sorry, sir,” said the footman, firmly. “The doctor was most emphatic—Madam is not to be disturbed. Madam was taken ill early this morning.”
Is she unconscious?” demanded Rollison.
“I have no information, sir, beyond my instructions.”
“When did Miss Gwendoline go out?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
As he spoke the door of a room off the hall opened and a maid appeared. Before the door closed Rollison heard Gwendoline’s voice:
“Tell him that he must come within an hour.”
“Very good, Miss,” said the maid.
Rollison strode past the footman, smiled at the maid, and reached the door. Farrow came after him, and when Rollison turned suddenly, he saw the man’s face set in alarm. The man actually stretched out an arm to stop him, but drew back when Rollison said sharply:
“Don’t ask for trouble!”
He was uneasily aware of the man’s tense gaze when he went into the room. But for the urgency of seeing Gwendoline, he would have paid Farrow more attention, for he had an impression that the man wanted to speak.
The morning-room was bright and sunny, with books in the corners and a small writing-desk, small easy chairs dotted about, and a low-sprung settee on which Gwendoline was sitting. She sat up abruptly when she saw him, and showed no sign of pleasure.
“I told Farrow that I was not at home.”
“And Farrow told me,” said Rollison. He closed the door, walked across and stared at Gwendoline. She looked as if die had had no sleep the previous night. Her eyes were bright and glassy, and her face was pale, the cheeks puffy beneath her eyes—obviously she had been crying. Her neck was heavily bandaged. Her hair was in disarray, and her tweed suit was crumpled. Cigarette ash covered the lapels and her skirt, and she looted almost disreputable.
“What is it now?” asked Rollison. “And why aren’t you in bed?”
“It was only a scratch,” she said. “My neck is stiff, that’s all. I don’t want to see you—I don’t want to see anyone.” Her voice was shrill with emotion.
“Have you been out this morning?” Rollison asked.
“No, I’ve been here all day.”
