The Toff In Town

If Merino’s body were invisible from the rear window, he might yet get away with it; it was quite possible that the corpse had sagged down during the night

He couldn’t see the body.

The body wasn’t there.

Jolly looked up as Rollison entered the flat and remarked that he hadn’t been gone long. Rollison gravely agreed and went into the study, calling: “Jolly!” in a loud voice, as he reached his desk. When he turned round Jolly stood respectfully in the middle of the room, his brown, doleful eyes showing no expression.

“The body isn’t there any more,” announced Rollison slowly.

“I’m afraid I must accept full responsibility for that, sir,” said Jolly. “After you had dropped off to sleep, I couldn’t rest for thinking about it, and I put the situation to Ebbutt, over the telephone. He immediately agreed to take the necessary steps. I understand that the corpse now reposes in a box in the cellar of a disused warehouse.”

“Oh,” said Rollison heavily. “Trick to Jolly. You gave me the worst five minutes and the best split second I’ve had for a long time, and I freely forgive you.”

“Thank you, sir. And I have cleaned the back of the car and made sure that it can be used,” said Jolly, “There is no fear of any fingerprints being found. Unfortunately there was nothing in Merino’s pockets which would help us. But at least we have to-day in which to work without undue anxiety here. If only we had some indication of where Mr. Higginbottom might be, we could feel so much easier in our minds. I suppose you will find out what alteration was wanted in Mr. Allen’s script as soon as you can, sir?”

“Yes,” said Rollison. “I——”

The telephone bell rang.

He broke off and motioned to the instrument, and Jolly lifted the receiver, saying as if it were a refrain: “This is the Hon. Richard Rollison’s residence.” He had hardly finished before he lowered the receiver from his ear, and stared in astonishment at Rollison.

“It’s her!” he exclaimed.

“Pauline!” cried Rollison.

He should have expected a call, should have known that her daring outclassed even Merino’s. She would be as calm as she had been at the flat, and he must match it

He took the receiver and said:

“Good-morning, Miss Dexter.”

“I’m so glad we’re on friendly terms,” said Pauline, gaily. “I heard you call my name out when Jolly told you I was on the line. How is your poor head this morning?”

“Rather battered,” confessed Rollison.

“I hope it’s not so painful, you looked terrible last night,” said Pauline. “I knew you’d feel like murder when you reached home, that’s why I left the flat—and I shall stay away for a few days. I rang up to remind you that you must persuade Bob Allen to do what I’ve told him.”

“Not easily,” said Rollison. The way she had brought in the word “murder” was clever—she used the same method of oblique approach as with her threats.

“That’s good,” she said warmly. “And please don’t try to find me, you won’t succeed, I’ve been so careful about everything. You found that package in your car, I expect?”

“Package?” echoed Rollison.

“Yes, in the back.”

“I found nothing worth looking at,” said Rollison. For the first time, his spirits rose. Pauline should have let well alone, and not given him a chance to confuse and puzzle her. This was the first mistake she had made, and had slipped into it so unwarily. There was certainly nothing in it this morning; the car’s been thoroughly cleaned and the upholstery vacuumed. What was in the package?” Rollison sounded genuinely curious.

Pauline did not answer.

“You may as well tell me,” went on Rollison, earnestly. There isn’t much you’ve kept back from me. By the way, how is Mr. Merino this morning?”

“What a beautiful liar you are,” said Pauline.

“My dear Miss Dexter,” Rollison said reproachfully, “I don’t understand you. I thought we’d sworn not to deceive each other. Let me go over the details again. I’m to persuade Allen to incorporate certain alterations in his B.B.C. script, so that your message can go out to your friends. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“I said nothing about a message.” Her voice was sharp.

“But you talk so obscurely that I have to read between the lines,” protested Rollison. “And if the message doesn’t go out as you’ve instructed, one of your thugs will be on duty in the studio to take aggressive action. Very thorough, Miss Dexter.

Shall I see you there?”

“You will not!”

“Oh, what a pity,” said Rollison. “Because I think we ought to meet again before long—in fact before to- morrow night. I’m not at all sure that I’m doing the right thing by taking your instructions, but you may be able to convince me if we have a little chat. How about Blott’s, at twelve-forty-five? I won’t leave you in the lurch this time, and the waiter won’t spill your soup.”

“Obviously you’re feeling very much better,” said Pauline. I hope that doesn’t mean