Pauline Dexter’s replaced it, looking as she had when sitting in front of him, innocent-eyed, her brow puckered, her voice so light and silvery.
Rollison shivered.
Then, throwing off the tension which had fallen on him, he went forward again, opened the rear door and stood looking at Merino, who was squashed into the back of the car, one hand lying on his stomach, the other on the seat. He stretched out his hand and touched Merino’s; the flesh was warm, practically normal heat. The blood, glistening, looked as if it had just trickled out
Merino had been dead half an hour, perhaps, possibly an hour, certainly no more.
Rollison closed the door.
It would be pointless to go through the man’s pockets; anything which might help him or the police would have been removed. He did not doubt why this thing had been done; “They” were determined to prove they were capable of murder, and it would make him understand Snub’s danger still more clearly. Everything fell into place, except
Had the girl done this?
Or Max?
Was the girl or Max the real ring-leader of this series of crimes?
Had they fallen out with Merino, because of what had happened that afternoon?
He went out of the garage and closed the doors, locked up and walked through the empty street with a chill wind blowing into his face. He walked slowly up the stairs at Gresham Terrace, and was relieved to see a light under the door. Only then did it occur to him to wonder what the time was; not very late, or there wouldn’t have been so much traffic about. He fumbled for his keys, but before he could find them, the door opened.
“I’m glad to see you back, sir,” said Jolly quietly.
“Yes,” said Rollison. “Thanks.”
When they were in the hall and Rollison was plainly visible, Jolly began to speak—then closed his mouth and hurried ahead, to open the study door.
“What can I get you, sir?” he asked.
“Aspirins,” said Rollison.
“Some coffee——”
“Just aspirins.” Rollison went to his arm-chair and sat down. Jolly returned with three aspirins and a glass of water. Rollison swallowed the tablets, sipped, said “thanks” and then groped for his cigarette-case. Jolly took it from his hand and lit a cigarette for him.
“No one lets me light my own these days,” said Rollison.
•Indeed, sir?”
“But I’m not blaming you,” said Rollison. “Jolly.”
“Sir?”
“I’ve just driven through the streets of London with the corpse of Merino in the back of the car.”
Jolly backed a pace, and looked appalled. But in a moment his mask fell back into place. It was some time before he spoke, and throughout the long silence he stared into Rollison’s glassy, bloodshot eyes.
Then he said: “Where is the corpse now, sir?”
“Still in the car—in the garage.”
“Isn’t that a little unwise?” asked Jolly.
Rollison’s lips puckered into a smile.
“Sometime or other Barbara Allen told me that I was like a breath of fresh air,” he remarked. “You are obviously of the same breath, Jolly. Yes, it’s damned silly, but it took me rather by surprise. You see, I didn’t know it was there when I started out.”
“I
“No, Jolly. I’m sorry.”
“I think perhaps it’s as well, sir. I feel sure that had you done so, Mr. Grice would have felt that you were taking too much on yourself. The—er—body was planted on you, then.”
He broke off, and this time could not keep back his exclamation of surprise.
“But—but you didn’t take the car, sir!”
“No Black Magic; it was borrowed for the occasion,” Rollison said. “Jolly, we’ve much too much on our plate, and I’ve some really bad news. We could shed the body——”
“I was going to suggest, sir, that I should take the car and endeavour to do some such thing,” said Jolly. “I feel sure that in the circumstances, it would be better if it were not generally known that we were concealing a corpse. I—did you say you had
They’ve taken Snub,” announced Rollison.
Only then did he realise fully the regard which Jolly had for Snub Higginbottom. Jolly’s eyes half-closed, he raised his hands in a helpless gesture of dismay. Without asking if he might, he went to a chair and sat down heavily.
