“What on earth made you think it was Mellor?”
“It is.”
“Nonsense!”
“You didn’t know Mellor well, did you?”
“I shall never forget what that man looked like.”
“A beard makes a lot of difference and this one isn’t wearing a beard.”
“A beard doesn’t make a sharp aquiline nose flat, like the man’s upstairs. It doesn’t make thin lips full and friendly. It doesn’t make small, flat white ears stick out from the side of the head—I can’t understand you. I thought you knew Mellor.”
“That’s the man I know as Mellor—James Arden Mellor.” Rollison gave no emphasis to the Arden, just let the word come out casually, and watched her closely for her reaction. It didn’t come immediately.
“He’s not the Mellor I know. He—
“He is James Arden Mellor.”
She caught her breath. “So that’s it.” She glanced round, as if for a chair and instead sat heavily on a stool; but she didn’t look away from Rollison. “James Arden Mellor—my uncle’s love-child. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s—that’s what you’ve been doing for him? Finding his long-lost son?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you know attempts were being made on his life?”
“Yes. That was incidental.”
“I don’t know why it has shaken me so much,” said Clarissa. “Since Waleski started questioning me, I’ve known there was a son. It amused me—call it malice, if you like. Uncle so strait-laced, so quick to criticise and condemn loose-living, with a bastard child running about somewhere. But after Geoffrey was killed I often wished he had another child. He’s been so desperately lonely since then. After Waleski’s taunts I found myself wondering whether uncle wished he could find the boy, whether he would like to acknowledge him. And I suppose he asked you to trace him?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure it’s the man upstairs?”
“He was taken in by some old servants of your uncle’s who pretended he was their son, actually registered his birth. Then he was adopted by some people named Mellor, a childless couple of good middle-class standing. They were killed in the blitz when Mellor himself was in the Far East. The sticky part was tracing relatives of the Mellors who knew the truth about the child—that they’d taken him from your uncle’s old servants. They had few relatives and most thought he was a child of the marriage. But everything fell into place. There’s no real doubt that this is the natural son of your uncle and the adopted son of the Mellors, the only one they adopted. Until I heard about the East End Mellor, I didn’t think there was any possibility of casting doubt on my fancy. That’s been done with a heavy hand but, although it makes complications, it doesn’t affect Jim Mellor’s identity.”
She said: “Mellor is an unusual name but there must be hundreds of them.”
“There are but this isn’t simply a case of a name. The East End Mellor probably killed the man Galloway. Yet my Mellor is wanted for Galloway’s murder. See the cunning of it? The killer goes to earth, the police get hold of my Mellor’s photograph, the other Mellor’s gang convince the police it’s the man they want and the police go after him. What’s more scarifying, the Killer’s gang goes all out to drive Jim Mellor to suicide, too. It’s pretty obvious that Killer Mellor hopes my Mellor will be taken for him.”
Clarissa said slowly: it can’t be just that, Roily?”
“Why not?”
“You hardly need telling. If I could see at a glance that this isn’t the same Mellor, others can.”
“You didn’t spend enough enough time in the East End to learn their wiles,” said Rollison dryly. “Except for a few close friends, no one ever knew Killer Mellor well. He was seen in public occasionally, as at that dance, but if anyone who saw him that night was questioned by the police, they’d swear they didn’t remember what he looked like. Some would describe him as tall, lean, fair and clean-shaven, others as short, dark, bearded and stocky. The police wouldn’t be able to make head or tail of it. He’s never been through their hands, I doubt if they’ve fingerprints—in fact, I’m sure they haven’t, or they’d have had him before this. The first time Mellor appeared to slip up was over the murder of Galloway. Then prints were found and there was other evidence to point to this Mellor. And the police naturally assume that it’s the same one. They not only want their man for the murder of Galloway but for a lot of other crimes that will never be proved against him. They will be quite ruthless where Mellor is concerned and will take a lot of convincing that they’ve got the wrong man.”
Clarissa said: “I’m sorry if I’m slow-witted. You mean, the police couldn’t get anyone to identify the real Mellor but they’ve got this one’s photograph and they’d be able to get him identified as the killer.”
“That’s it.”
“I could swear that it wasn’t the same man,” said Clarissa. “I would swear it.”
Rollison said slowly: “That’s what makes you important. It probably explains why Waleski tried to kill you.”
“I wonder.” Clarissa wasn’t convinced. “Where does Waleski come into all this?”
“I don’t know but I suspect he’s a fence or a contact man. The Mellor gang gets a big haul and has to sell the stuff quickly. Jewels, paintings,
“What exactly is a fence?”
