“Not unwelcome, I hope,” said Rollison.
“Great Scott, no! You’re just what Hilda’s been praying for —she’s convinced that the police aren’t trying to find out who our lost lady is. An aura of mystery surrounds her, and Hilda’s revelling in it. I’m warning you what to expect.”
“I can face it,” said Rollison.
Barrington-Ley put a hand on his arm and a foot on the Rolls, and said earnestly:
“As a matter of fact I feel troubled about the woman—she
“Yes. Mainly out of curiosity.”
“Good! If you can help her, I’ll be really delighted.” Barrington-Ley squeezed Rollison’s arm and got into the car, while Rollison walked up the four stone steps and went into the hall, where a footman was waiting with the door open. The footman did not recognize him, and Rollison gave him his card. When he looked at it, he seemed startled.
“Mr.
“Yes,” said Rollison.
“Only a few moments ago there was a telephone call for you, sir, and the caller gave me his number, in the hope that you would be able to ring him back. Would you care to do so before I see whether Madam is at home?”
“Yes, I think I will,” said Rollison. “What’s the number?”
“Mayfair 03121, sir.”
That was his own number. As he went to the telephone in a small room to the right of the hall. Rollison thought with a smile of Jolly’s resourcefulness, for he had not said that he was going to visit Barrington House.
He dialled the flat, and after a moment Jolly said:
“This is the residence of the Hon. Richard Rollison.”
“Hallo, Jolly,” said Rollison. “What’s the trouble?”
“There is no trouble, sir, as far as I know, but I am very glad that I’ve found you. Have you discussed the matter with Mrs. Barrington-Ley yet?” He sounded faintly apprehensive.
“No,” said Rollison.
“Then I wonder if it will be possible to avoid doing so for the time being, sir,” said Jolly. “
CHAPTER THREE
ROLLISON replaced the receiver thoughtfully, stood for a moment contemplating a water-colour by de Wint, and then went into the hall. The footman was waiting for him.
“Tell Mrs. Barrington-Ley that I called,” said Rollison, “and ask her whether it will be convenient for me to see her about half-past six this evening.”
“Very good, sir.”
The footman was tall and young and good-looking. He smiled at Rollison who reflected that the man’s surprise when he had read the card had been a little overdone. On reflection, too, the behaviour of Barrington-Ley might be thought unusual, even for that sprightly and high-pressured man. Had they been expecting him to call?
If they knew anything about the photograph sent to him, that was reasonable.
Rollison hailed a taxi, looked out of the small window at the back several times, and suddenly he leaned forward and spoke to the driver.
“Go down New Bond Street and turn into the far end of Gresham Terrace, will you?”
“Okay,” said the driver.
A small green car which Rollison thought had been following him continued along Piccadilly. Rollison smiled at his fancy, lit a cigarette, and was soon put down outside the tall, narrow, grey-faced house in which he had a first floor flat. As he paid the driver, he glanced towards the end of Gresham Terrace.
The small green car turned into the road.
“Okay, ta,” said the taxi driver.
“Are you in a hurry?” asked Rollison.
“Got to earn me living,” said the driver.
Rollison handed him a pound note.
“Wait here for me until I come out or until the little Morris moves off. It it moves before I arrive, follow it as far as the petrol in your tank will take you.”
The driver scratched his chin. He was a youthful-looking man, clean-shaven and unusually presentable.
“S’all right as far as it goes,” he said, “but I got three pounds worth of business in my tank.” He eyed Rollison curiously, and added: “And I can’t get more’n forty-five out of the cab, I might not be able to keep up wiv’ the car. Fair’s fair, ain’t it?”
