The Toff and The Lady

“It is very bad, I assure you—the receptionist, a rather garrulous lady of middle age, has not been paid her salary for over three months. What is more, sir, much of the equipment at the surgery is not paid for, the receptionist told me that several of the firms who supplied it have threatened to take it back unless payment is made. Apparently Dr. Renfrew has lived on a very expensive scale.”

“The simple things!” exclaimed Rollison. “It couldn’t be better. Did you get anything else?”

“One or two other things, sir. The receptionist was quite an intelligent woman, and she was quick to recognize the description which I drew for her—of Pomeroy.”

“Is he a frequent visitor?” demanded Rollison.

“Less frequent than a few months ago,” said Jolly. “And the other thing is perhaps the most significant of them all. The receptionist, with whom I got on very well indeed, confided that she knows that everything stands or falls—I use her own expression, sir—by his relationship with the Barrington-Ley family. The strong impression which the receptionist has is that he hopes to marry Miss Gwendoline and so solve his financial difficulties.”

“Yes,” said Rollison. “Yes, he would.”

“I hope it helps a little, sir.”

“It helps a lot, for Renfrew probably poisoned Lady Lost. Stay here, Jolly. The police are watching the flat, as you’ve doubtless noticed, but I don’t want to take any chances with her.”

“I will be at hand for any emergency,” said Jolly. “Are you likely to be long, sir?”

“I hope not,” said Rollison. “I’m going to see Renfrew.”

“May I inform Mr. Grice, if he should inquire?”

“Provided I’ve first had half an hour with Renfrew on my own,” said Rollison.

He left as hurriedly as he had arrived, and gave the taxi driver Renfrew’s Wimpole Street address. Renfrew had been left out of Grice’s calculations, but that was a mistake. There had been other mistakes, not least his own, but he believed he had come to the end of them now.

The middle-aged receptionist, a neat, prim woman, opened the door, and when Rollison said that he had no appointment, said that she was afraid that Dr. Renfrew would not be able to see him. He was with one patient, another was waiting, and he had urgent calls to make after that. The woman looked fretful, as if she were very disillusioned of the young and handsome Dr. Renfrew.

“Take him my card,” said Rollison.

“I will give it to him when he finishes his present appointment,” said the woman. “But I think for a moment that it will be of any use your waiting. He is very busy to-day.”

“AH the same, I’ll wait,” said Rollison.

She shrugged her shoulders resignedly and then opened the door of the waiting-room. It was a long, impressive room, with a cold atmosphere perhaps suggested by the highly-polished Sheraton furniture. A long narrow dining-table held a dozen shiny magazines, dining chairs were pushed beneath the table and chairs with wooden arms were dotted about the sides. The sun shone through the fine net curtains at the windows and on the head of a man who suddenly hid his face behind a magazine as Rollison entered.

The receptionist went out, closing the door with a decided snap.

Rollison picked up a magazine, without sending more than a cursory glance at the other “patient”, but the quick movement had caught his eye. He glanced over the top of a Sphere, and the other looked furtively over Punch. When he realized that Rollison was staring at him, he averted his eyes and tried to hide his face again, but he was too late, and Rollison recognized Farrow the footman.

Slowly, and without speaking, both men stood up.

CHAPTER TWENTY

MOTIVES

THEY stood quite still, staring at each other. Rollison expected Farrow to show some sign of fear, but now that he had been recognized, the footman seemed prepared to put a bold face on it.

Rollison said: “I suppose you know that you are wanted for the murder of Mrs. Barrington-Ley.”

The footman said, sharply: “Is she dead?”

“There isn’t much hope for her,” said Rollison. “You know what happened, don’t you?”

“What?” Farrow did not seem unduly alarmed.

“She was given two injections of adrenalin, which affects the heart, and you had the opportunity each time. There is a warrant out for your arrest.”

“I didn’t do it,” said Farrow. There was no bluster about him, only a quiet and impressive confidence. “I think I know who did, though.”

“So do I,” said Rollison, and, moving towards the other, went on very quietly: “Why have you come to see Renfrew?”

“Why have you?”

“I don’t think we’re going to get much further if we keep talking at cross purposes,” said Rollison. He felt a quickening sense of urgency, and he glanced over his shoulder, half afraid that Renfrew might come in. “I don’t think you gave her the injections, but appearances are against you, and you are a sitting bird. If you know anything about this business, you probably know that already several people have been cleverly framed and blamed for crimes they did not commit. Barrington-Ley is among them, and might still pay for another man’s crimes. If you can give him the slightest help, you’ll also help yourself.”

“I wonder,” said Farrow.