“Take off your coat,” Rollison said to the man.
After a short, tense pause, the man did so.
“Throw it on the bed,” ordered Rollison.
Again the man obeyed, and the coat fell on the bed, near Barbara.
“Pick it up, Mrs. Allen, and empty the pockets,” said Rollison, “We’ll see what we can learn about the gentleman.”
He looked into the scared brown eyes of his victim, who moistened his lips again and stood up more comfortably. Barbara began to go through the pockets, but kept looking at the burglar and at Rollison. Oddments piled up on the bed by her side, and Rollison did not speak until every pocket was empty.
A wallet, some letters, a gold watch, a slim gold cigarette-case and a lighter, a piece of billiard-chalk, a green comb, a small ring of keys, a book of stamps and some other oddments came to light.
“Now I wonder where you won the gold watch,” said Rollison, with a touch of mockery. “The last crib you cracked, I suppose. What’s all this about diamonds?”
The man didn’t speak.
“I shouldn’t hold out on me, chum,” Rollison said mildly. “The telephone is in the hall, and the police will be here in five minutes if I dial 999. What’s all this about diamonds?”
“Why the hell don’t you ask
“Because I prefer you to tell me,” said Rollison. Mrs. Allen, pick up that hair-brush and give it to me, will you?” He glanced at the silver hair-brush on the floor and Barbara got off the bed. She looked a comical figure with a blanket clutched round her, one corner trailing on the floor. Instinctively, she looked at herself in the mirror, and felt her hair again.
She picked up the brush.
“Throw it,” said Rollison, and she did so. He caught it deftly by the handle and beat the air with it. “This is almost as good as a cosh,” he mused aloud. “You know what a cosh is, don’t you chum? A shiny sheath of leather filled with lots of lead shot. On the whole I think this will hurt more. Now what were you saying about those diamonds?”
The man glanced at the brush, as if trying to make up his mind whether Rollison meant to use it—and Rollison darted forward and struck him on the top of the head.
“Just to show you that I mean business,” said Rollison. “And if you get really awkward, I’ll try your knife. Think how much trouble and pain you can save by opening your mouth.”
The man darted a swift glance at Barbara.
“She—she’s got them!” he gasped.
“Don’t be silly,” said Barbara, as she sat down again.
“She has!” barked the man.
“She has—she hasn’t—she has—she hasn’t—now there isn’t any more fluff on the puff-ball,” said Rollison, his voice hardening. Mrs Allen, whom are those letters addressed to?”
“Those you took out of his pocket.”
Barbara picked them up; there were three. The man by the wall looked from Rollison to her and back again as she read.
They’re all addressed to—to Harold Blane,” Barbara said quickly.
“Harold Blane,” echoed Rollison. “Harold, I am not fooling. I’m going to hear your story before you leave here if I have to break your bones to make you talk. You came here to get some diamonds which you think Mrs Allen keeps in the flat —what makes you think so?”
“They
“Oh, a case of logic, is it?” asked Rollison. “Some of your boy friends searched the flat this afternoon and found nothing. Others—maybe you were among them—persuaded Bob Allen to take a little ride with you, and you made sure he hadn’t got them on him, so—they must be here. Right?”
“You—you
“Just a little guess-work, Harold,” said Rollison, and turned to Barbara. “Ever seen this creature before?”
“I—no, no. He wasn’t one of the gas-men.”
“I shouldn’t imagine he’s a gas-man by profession,” murmured Rollison. The question is whether he’s one of the same party or whether there are two parties with the same idea.”
He moved again, and caught the burglar’s chin between the fork of his finger and thumb and banged his head against the wall. The movement startled Barbara almost as much as the victim, it was so swift and violent. And it was followed by a harsh-voiced:
“Yes!” gasped the burglar.
“That looks like the set-up, Mrs. Allen,” Rollison said. “Your husband’s supposed to have some diamonds, and some bad men want them. Simple greed, you see. Have you——”
“I’ve never seen any diamonds!” exclaimed Barbara. “Bob can’t have them!”
