A sound disturbed Rollison again, the ringing of a bell, at first far away and then much nearer, until it seemed to be almost in his ear. The fumes of sleep receded slightly. Confound it, this was too bad; it was still pitch-dark. Jolly could—no, it wasn’t fair on Jolly. He got out of bed. The bell kept ringing. Perhaps the Aliens—but he didn’t worry about the Aliens, Bill’s men were there. Good old Sam and Bert.
He reached the telephone.
Jolly spoke from his door, a bleary-eyed figure.
“Can I help, sir?” he asked glumly.
“Sorry about this,” said Rollison, stifling a yawn. “Hallo, Rollison speaking,” he said into the telephone.
“Oh, Mr. Rollison!” It was a girl—fresh, eager, almost excited. “That is
“I hope it’s the Rollison you want,” said Rollison, signalling wildly; Jolly turned into the study, to listen-in on the call. “Who is that?”
“My name doesn’t matter, Mr. Rollison,” said the girl, “but a friend of mine spoke to you a little while ago, didn’t he? He just asked me to ring up—to tell you not to forget.”
“Oh,” said Rollison heavily. “Just that?”
“Yes, you won’t forget, will you?” asked the girl brightly.
“I shall not forget——”
“I’m
When next Rollison woke, it was daylight. By his side was morning tea, the newspapers and the post. Among the post was a card from Snub Higginbottom, depicting the belles of Blackpool. This focused Rollison’s thoughts on the Aliens, and he dwelt on the young couple as he bathed, shaved and breakfasted; later when he went into the study to answer urgent correspondence, Jolly followed.
Jolly by day was a funereal figure, partly because of the clothes of convention, partly because his habitual expression was one of unrelieved gloom. This morning, he looked tired; and, consequently, more glum than ever.
“Dark depressed thoughts, Jolly?” asked Rollison. “Before we have ‘em, send a telegram to Snub, will you, and ask him to catch the first train back.”
“The telegram has already been sent, sir,” said Jolly. “Here is an affair of violence, which might be construed into attempted murder—not an isolated case, but a series of calculated assaults and a man, or men, who appear to work with complete disregard for the law. Do you agree with that assessment of the situation, sir?”
“Yes,” said Rollison, “but need you be so aggressive about it?”
“I apologise if I appear to be over-emphatic, sir, but the picture you have drawn of Mr. Allen does not show him in a particularly pleasing light. He is not a nice young man.”
“He was,” said Rollison.
“How can you tell that?” challenged Jolly.
“Because Barbara married him,” said Rollison.
“That may be so, sir,” said Jolly, “but I have known very nice young women marry—
“Very,” agreed Rollison.
“And unwise, indiscreet, capable of being misunderstood, and possibly leading to considerable disunity between you, and die police,” said Jolly. “My opinion, sir, is that neither Mr. Allen nor Mrs. Allen is worth taking such risks for.”
“Oh,” murmured Rollison blankly.
“Further, sir,” continued Jolly remorselessly, “we have obtained assistance from Mr. Ebbutt and some of his friends. You know that Mr. Ebbutt’s friends are not always reliable, in so far as they allow their natural exuberance and aggressiveness to override considerations of diplomacy, and they are not always
“Jolly,” said Rollison, “I quite agree.”
Then may I hope you—we will advise the police immediately?” asked Jolly.
“No,” said Rollison.
“I hope we won’t regret it, sir.”
“But we will protect our flanks,” said Rollison, obligingly. “Have you seen the oddments I brought back from the Aliens last night?”
“Yes, sir, I have seen them—as well as the knife which was wrapped in a table-napkin. I have not touched the handle.”
“Good. You can spend an interesting morning pretending to be a detective,” said Rollison. Test that handle for prints, photograph any prints you find, run through the contents of the pockets, find out if there’s anything to show us for whom Blane works. Summarise the details on a single sheet of paper, typewritten for preference, and have them ready by midday.”
“Very good, sir,” said Jolly. “You will be going out this morning?”
“Yes. I’m going to find out all that I can about young Allen —what he was before the war, what really happened to him in Burma, whether he’s interested in precious stones, whether events have made him what he is to-day. All these and other things, Jolly, including—why was he asked to broadcast in