“Unpleasant people,” said Rollison.
Downstairs, actually in the hall of the building, one of Grice’s men saluted him. In the street were two other men, and to one of them Grice, leaning out of his car, was talking earnestly. Rollison went the other way, soon found a taxi, and within twenty minutes he was walking up the stairs leading to Phyllis Armitage’s flatlet. The painters had finished, and the new paint was already scratched in places.
Phyllis herself answered his knock. She did not look particularly surprised, but asked him in.
“I suppose you’ve seen the police,” she said.
“Yes, and we’re not friends,” said Rollison. “Miss Armitage, I haven’t much time and I must have the answer to a single question before I go.”
“If I know the answer, I’ll tell you,” she promised.
“Think back to the afternoon when you left the nursing home.”
She frowned. “Yes.”
“The matron had tea with the patient, and the poison was administered before tea—that’s right, isn’t it?”
“Yes, so I was told.”
“You left the room about half-past three.”
“It was a little earlier.”
“Who came into the room before you left? I don’t mean Marcus Shayle, I mean who else on the staff or connected with the nursing home.”
“No one,” said Phyllis, eyeing him steadily.
“Are you quite sure?” demanded Rollison. “I mean, someone who had every right to be there, whose presence you would not perhaps notice specially, who always came about that time, who” He broke off, and there was a glint in his eyes. “Ah, you’ve remembered! Who was it?”
She said slowly: “Dr. Renfrew came in.”
“Did he send you out at all?”
“I had to take a message to the matron, yes.”
“So Renfrew was with her alone,” said Rollison, and there was a great relief in his mind. “That’s splendid! You’re prepared to swear to it?”
“Of course. He came every afternoon about that time, I didn’t really notice it. I am quite sure there was no one else.”
“That’s fine,” declared Rollison. “I think I’ll call that a day. Will you write that statement down and sign it?”
“Of course,” she said, now really puzzled, “but what has Dr. Renfrew to do with it?”
“More than we realize yet,” said Rollison.
He watched her as she wrote swiftly, signed what she had written, blotted it and handed it to him. He tucked the statement into his wallet, and turned to go. She followed him, and said in a low-pitched voice:
“Mr. Rollison, is my sister in serious trouble?”
“I don’t think so,” said Rollison. “Why?”
“If the police thought she deliberately refused to tell them where Marcus Shayle could be found, they might —well, they might do anything.”
“They won’t do anything about that,” said Rollison.
He smiled reassuringly and hurried out; and outside was one of Grice’s men.
Rollison stopped by his side, and said: “Be very careful of Miss Armitage. If anyone goes to the house, follow close on their heels.”
“I have my instructions, sir,” said the man.
“Are they the same as mine have been?”
“Pretty nearly.”
Rollison had kept his taxi waiting, and returned to Gresham Terrace, where he left it waiting again, and hurried upstairs. He was not surprised when the door was opened by Jolly before he reached it, nor that Jolly looked as if he had great news.
“Shall we go into your bedroom, sir?” asked Jolly, in a whisper.
“All right,” said Rollison, and once they were there, asked eagerly: “Well. Jolly?”
“I thought it better to return before I made inquiries about Miss Janice Armitage, sir.”
“What news about Renfrew?”
“He is
“Splendid! How did you find out?”
“From his receptionist. It is apparently an open secret to tradespeople and the like—I called prepared to ask indirect questions, and—ahem—I was taken for a bailiff, sir.”
“It can’t be as bad as that!”
