you can convince me that all you say is true. That might be difficult.”
“I don’t think it will,” she said. “I’ve known for some time that someone is trying to murder my uncle. I’ve come to the conclusion that my cousin Geoffrey was murdered, that he didn’t die by accident. I’ve been trying for weeks to find out why it’s all been going on. That was why I spent so much time in Paris. I met Waleski in Paris. Would you like to hear about that, too?”
* * *
It was nearly two o’clock.
Rollison took Clarissa’s key and opened the front door of 7, Pulham Gate. Then they stood close together on the porch and after a pause she said:
“Why don’t you come in?”
“Fun later,” said Rollison.
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“No, not quite, yet.”
Her hand moved, sought his, held it; and pulled him closer. Her breath was warm on his cheek, her eyes glowed in the light of a street-lamp.
“I’m quite trustworthy now. I doubted you before. Waleski tried to kill me, as he is trying to kill my uncle and as he did kill Geoffrey. I don’t know why; I don’t know much about it; but I do know that I’m fighting for my life.”
“Very pretty,” murmured Rollison.
“So I’ve failed completely to convince you.”
“Oh, not completely. But there’s more at stake than you, Clarissa. A nice girl named Judith and a lad by the name of Mellor, who—”
“Mellor!” She dropped his hand, and drew back. “
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She wasn’t acting. One moment she had been pleading, using all her wiles and her beauty to break down Rollison’s resistance; then, at the mention of Mellor, she had been shocked, filled with a repugnance which rang clearly in her voice. Into the word ‘brute” she had put a world of loathing and contempt.
Rollison took her arm.
“I think I’ll come in, after all,” he said and led her inside, closed the door and went to the drawing-room.
When he switched on the light, he saw that she was pale and shaken; the effect of Mellor’s name was the same on her as it had been on Grice and Ebbutt. He mixed her a whisky-and-soda from a tray which had been left out.
She watched him intently without speaking.
“Here’s early death to the villain! Sit down, Clarissa, and tell me all about the brutality and villainy of Jim Mellor.”
“He’s—an unspeakable brute.”
“Who said so?”
“I say so. He—” She sipped her drink and sat down slowly; and Rollison was surprised that she flushed, as if at an embarrassing memory, I once knew him. My uncle had probably told you about my hankering after the flesh-pots.”
“He called it excitement.”
“Anything for a new sensation,” said Clarissa, as if talking to herself. “Yes, I suppose that’s right. Life’s unbearably dull—most good people are such fools, such bores. I suppose I was always restless and the war made it worse. I couldn’t settle to anything afterwards. It might have been different if Michael—”
She caught her breath and jumped up.
“I’m getting maudlin!”
“You’re becoming human,” Rollison murmured, i like it. You owe Waleski a lot, Clarissa. When he nearly choked the life out of you he scraped off that veneer of cynicism. Please don’t put it back again; it only smears the lily. Who was Michael?”
Tears were close to her eyes.
It was late; she had been near death; she had been shocked and shaken; and so it might be said that she wasn’t herself and had every excuse for breaking down. She didn’t answer at first but closed her eyes. Suddenly she sat erect, raised her head and finished her drink quickly. Then she spoke in sharp, staccato sentences.
“We were engaged. He was a Pathfinder and didn’t come back. You remind me of him. I couldn’t think who it was when you came here this evening. But the way you behaved at the hotel—yes, you remind me of him. But he’s dead, best forgotten. We were talking about my vices. Anything for a new sensation. That’s really why I started to probe into my uncle’s illness. I suspected that it was attempted murder. When my cousin died I think I was the only one who discovered that he’d spent a lot of time in the East End of London. I think he had your complex. He liked slumming— and new sensations. You do, too—don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Rollison gently.
“So I went down to the East End. Oh, I didn’t go as a ministering angel; it was a new kind of sight-seeing trip. I had an escort.”
