we’re safely tucking into our luncheon. All right, Gillian?”
Obviously she was eager, even anxious, to trust Rollison.
“Yes, of course. What am I to say to him, when he does come?”
“At first, you must refuse to listen to anything he has to say, whether it’s a threat or bribery, or whatever he thinks up. Just say you won’t agree to anything until your brother’s returned, and if this man of the telephone really knows where he is, then you’re going to tell the police. Take your time leading up to that,” Rollison went on, “and take it from me that I’ll be back within twenty-five minutes of leaving here. That’ll be at twelve forty-nine,” he declared, looking at his watch. “Don’t worry, Gillian.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Fine. And put that money in a safe place, he might find it a big temptation.”
Rollison squeezed her arm, and turned as if to go, with obvious reluctance. M.M.M. was frowning, which was most unusual for him.
Then Rollison turned from the door, and asked swiftly:
“Have you any idea at all why old Smith won’t move out of the farmhouse?”
“None at all,” said Gillian.
“Any idea why these people want the farm so desperately?”
“Of course I haven’t.”
“Not calling the lassie a liar, Roily, are you?” asked M.M.M. in a tarter voice than usual.
“She could know the reason without realising it,” said Rollison. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
But he had been testing the girl, and trying to make sure that she was telling the truth. He believed that she was, and also believed that she was badly frightened.
Was it safe to leave her, even for half an hour ?
5
SPEED THE TOFF
Obviously, M.M.M. did not think it a good idea to leave Gillian alone, but he did not say so. As obviously, Gillian was reluctant to stay by herself, but saw the force of Rollison’s plan, and almost bustled them out of the front door. She showed no sign that she had been annoyed by Rollison’s questions; but M.M.M. still seemed resentful. Rollison went ahead to the scarlet car, opened one door for M.M.M., and then took the driving wheel. Gillian stood in the doorway for a moment, and Rollison looked at her, seeing the background of the old red brick building with its huge oak beams, and the background of trees, meadows, and a corner of Selby Farm, just visible from here.
The girl waved, and went inside. M.M.M. levered himself into the car. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “If anything happens to her while we’re gone, I’ll have your head for it.”
“And welcome,” said Rollison, as if it did not occur to him that the other man was ruffled. “You don’t often come across ‘em as brave as they’re beautiful. But she’s as safe as houses.”
“You seemed to argue by guesswork.”
“Just simple logic,” declared Rollison. “At least two people want this farm badly and only she can sell it to them. If she were to die, there would be a lot of fending and proving and probating, and it would take months before anyone could buy the farm. So Gillian isn’t in physical danger at the moment, although she might come under a lot of pressure. And it looks,” went on Rollison, shooting the car forward so that a crash seemed inevitable, “as if one of the pressures is through brother Alan.”
“How?”
“When this mysterious man of the telephone visits Gillian, I expect him to offer Alan’s living corpus in exchange for the deeds of the farm.”
“Good lord !” gasped M.M.M.
“Which seems to make three people all very anxious to get it, as we said before, and if we add old Smith, who’s in splendid bargaining position, we have four people to tackle. Any one ought to be able to tell us the reason for it all.” Rollison drove the car along the narrow road at bewildering speed, yet came to a standstill smoothly at the road junction. Then he swung into the main road and tore off again. M.M.M. sat looking at him and occasionally glancing nervously at the road. They passed a farmhouse, a mile from the cottage, then came in sight of the tiny village, with the pub, the Wheatsheaf, in the middle of it. At the thirty-mile-an-hour sign, Rollison slowed down, and no timid woman driver could have turned more gently towards the pub’s parking place.
By now, M.M.M. was smiling.
“Three minutes seventeen seconds,” he commented. “You’re the only man I know faster than I used to drive.”
“When you’ve learned to use your piece of automation, you’ll be passing me in the first lap,” Rollison said. He was already out of the car. “I’m going to grab half a pint and a pork pie, but you’d better have a leisurely lunch, and make it look as if you’re staying.” He glanced at three other cars in the drive-in, and added thoughtfully : “Incidentally, the telephone chap might own one of these. If anyone leaves within a few minutes of us going inside, that may be the man we’re after,”
“Could be,” conceded M.M.M. “I’m glad I brought you, after all.”
He grinned.
They went in. The saloon bar was low-ceilinged and old fashioned, with uneven wooden flooring covered with sawdust, oak beams, brasses round the walls. The bar itself was higher than most, and a man and a woman stood behind it. Two men, obviously local, were standing at one end, one man by himself stood at the other, eating a pork pie and drinking from a pewter tankard.
