“I should think not! David’s a good fellow, he would give you a chance of apologizing nicely and withdrawing the charge before he started to point out how completely you’ve been fooled. Where’s my coat?” He finished tying his tie, put on his coat and went on talking rapidly. “I’m serious. Unless you’re keeping something back, or are taking steps to extradite the Countess, you’ll arrest or detain her at your own risk and against all the opposition I can rake up—be it fair or foul!”
Grice said: “If I’d wanted further evidence against Barrington-Ley, I would have it in your story of the love- letter written to him by the Countess.” He was deliberately brutal.
“Bah.”
“Did you or did you not tell me about that letter?”
“I did. Here, I’ll show it to you.” Rollison tossed the letter to Grice, and waited while he read it through, and there was a curious expression in his eyes as he watched. He seemed almost elated.
Grice handed it back, but said:
“I shall probably need that as evidence.”
“That’s fine,” said Rollison, refusing to take it. “Use it as evidence! Try to get any conviction of any kind on the strength of it. Why, you addlepate, David Barrington-Ley’s name
“I shall leave the maid with her,” Grice said, after a long pause, “and I shall have her closely followed if she leaves this flat.”
Rollison raised his hands and beamed. He was almost gay, something had put new life into him.
“Threat withdrawn?”
“You know perfectly well that I can’t take her with me if you’re going to act like that,” said Grice. “I don’t think much of it, Rolly. You’re taking advantage of the fact that I told you what I was going to do.”
Rollison said: “Now be reasonable! I gave you good warning. I don’t want you to make a fool of yourself and the police force, and when this affair really breaks you’ll agree that it was a good thing. Er—seriously, now.”
“Well?” said Grice.
“What happened at the nursing home?”
Grice said, grudgingly. “Phyllis Armitage went to see the matron, at the matron’s request, and she found the matron dead.”
“By poisoning?”
“Yes.”
“Is Phyllis under suspicion?”
“No. The poison must have been taken an hour before she arrived. Barrington-Ley is under suspicion. He was there.”
“Poor David!” said Rollison. “Well, old chap, I don’t want you to feel that you’re not welcome, but I’ve a call to make. Stay here if you like, of course, I’ll trust you not to worry the Countess.”
“Where are you going?” demanded Grice.
“To see Phyllis Armitage?”
“Why?”
“Because I think they may have wanted to kill her for more reasons than one,” said Rollison, “and because she may know why, without realizing it.”
“I hope you don’t make a mistake,” Grice said. He followed Rollison out of the room, and they went to the front door. Before Rollison opened it, Grice turned and said with unusual seriousness: “Rolly, did you know the Countess before this started?”
“Great Scott, no!”
“Are you sure?” demanded Grice.
“I am quite sure,” said Rollison. “What makes you doubt it? I had her photograph, but I’ve told you about that.”
“I don’t mean her photograph,” said Grice. “I can’t believe that a woman whom you’ve known for such a short time would affect you like this.”
Rollison said: “Odd, isn’t it? I can hardly believe it myself! And that reminds me, I must tell her that I’m going out.”
He felt not only less on edge but possessed by an almost feverish excitement. Nothing seemed quite normal —except the smile with which the Lady of Lost Memory greeted him when he opened the door. She was sitting by the window, reading; the “maid” was opposite her, sewing.
“Are you better, so soon?” she asked.
“I was never really ill.” said Rollison. “Don’t get up.” He stepped across the room as she stood up, and shifted her chair. “But don’t sit so that you can be seen from the street,” he said. “And remember this—if anyone,
“If you insist upon it, I will not,” she said, but she was puzzled and no longer smiling. “What troubles you, Mr. Rollison?”
