had never heard.
In a waist-high cupboard, made of the same polished walnut as the wardrobe and the bench, were sheaves of papers—film scripts and one or two B.B.C. scripts. There was some correspondence, too, from the
He found nothing else of interest, so took another look round the upstairs flat, but added no more to his meagre knowledge of Merino. He looked into the kitchen, where Blane started to struggle as soon as the door was open. So he was all right. Rollison walked quickly past the garage, where the garage-hand was bending over a small car.
He reached Gresham Terrace just after four o’clock, took off the beard and moustache and washed briskly. Then, looking and feeling more himself, he invited Jolly to take tea with him.
Jolly, recognising that as an olive branch, politely accepted.
“Shall I pour out, sir?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Rollison.
“Jolly, I’ve had a full afternoon and done a great number of things that I shouldn’t have done, and I also arranged for Perky Lowe to follow a cream Chrysler about London. Ask him to call back if he comes while I’m out, but get his story.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And we now know that a Mr. Merino, a cream-coloured Chrysler and a film starlet named Pauline Dexter—do you know Pauline Dexter?—are concerned. Have you ever heard of a Mr. Merino?” Rollison added.
Jolly considered.
“I only know the name in connection with wool, sir.”
“Wool?”
“Used, I believe, in the manufacture of underwear,” remarked Jolly. “A sandwich, sir?”
Thanks. I seriously doubt if there’s any connection between my Merino and underwear. Did you do all those jobs I asked about this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get any good prints from the knife?”
“Very good ones, sir, and the photographs will be ready some time this evening.”
“Wonderful! As a reward, here’s another job. Get hold of Miss Caroline Lawley’s maid—do you know her?”
“Slightly, sir,” confessed Jolly.
“And find out from her if she’s ever heard of a man named Merino in the motion-picture business. He’s a handsome beggar with a swashbuckling air and a black beard which matches his hair and eyebrows, but all might be false. He wears clothes of American cut and likes Stetsons. Also—quite casually if you can—find out what you can about Pauline Dexter, who seems to be under contract to the
“A telegram, sir, saying that he hoped to be here by seven o’clock,” Jolly said.
“The Aliens?”
“I telephoned twice this morning and once this afternoon, and understand that Mr. Allen is in bed and that Mrs. Allen hasn’t been out to-day. Sam Willis also telephoned, to say that nothing had happened—he seemed a little disappointed, sir.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you,” said Rollison. He finished his tea. “I must be at the Aeolian Hall at five o’clock,” he added. “When Mr. Wardle and I have finished a grand tour, I should know more about
“And what time will you be back, sir?” asked Jolly.
“I don’t know, but I’ll dine out.”
He broke off, as the front door bell rang.
Jolly got up and went out. Rollison filled his cigarette case from a box on the desk, and listened to the conversation after Jolly had opened the door.
“Is this the home of Mr. Rollison?” asked a man with a deep voice.
“Yes, sir.”
“And is Mr. Rollison in?”
“I’m not quite sure, sir,” said Jolly. Were he not sure that Rollison should see this man, he would have answered with an emphatic “no”, because he knew how eager Rollison was to leave for the B.B.C. “If you will please come in, I will find out.”
“Thank you.” The man’s voice held a hint of laughter.
“Your name, sir, please?”
“Just say a friend,” said the owner of the deep voice. Jolly did not press the point but came towards the study. Rollison, already sure who the visitor was, saw him as Jolly pushed the door wider open. It was Mr. Merino.
CHAPTER NINE
