“Could be.”
“An American threatened Mome, and scared him enough to make him warn the people at the Brighton house we were on the way.”
“So they killed Lodwin, knowing we were also going there,” Tex said, heavily.
“If Lodwin and Charlie both worked in different ways for this rival of your client, why should he kill them?” Rollison reasoned.
“You’re asking me,” Tex said. “I don’t know.”
“An American, probably the same one, has also threatened me,” Rollison went on. “I want to meet him. Your client knows who he is, so—who is your client ?”
“I’m going to telephone him tonight,” Tex said, carefully. “I’m going to ask if he will name his rival, and also ask his authority to tell you his own name. If he refuses, then I guess I’ll tell you anyway, but I’d rather handle it this way. I’ll be better off if I do, I’m due to collect another five thousand when I get back to New York, provided I play the game the way my client wants it.”
“That makes sense,” said Rollison. “Why does he want to get Selby Farm?”
“That I don’t know, either.”
It was never possible to be absolutely sure that a man was telling the truth, but Tex Brandt was certainly convincing. He met Rollison’s gaze quite levelly, and there was a great deal to like about him, as well as his looks. Rollison moved to the window and looked out, but saw no-one who appeared to be taking any particular notice of this house, 22, Gresham Terrace, Mayfair. Dusk was falling, and soon it would be dark; if the day’s events were anything to go by, then the night would be busy indeed. Rollison turned round.
The half light fell upon him, making him look startlingly handsome, making his tall, Uthe body seem to be straining after action. Just standing there, contemplating the American, he was a personality no-one was ever likely to forget. And opposite him were those trophies of his fantastic record in the fight against crime.
“Let’s get your theory quite straight. Your client has one rival, that rival employed Lodwin and Charlie, and they’re both dead.”
“Would a man kill his own legman?” Tex asked, quietly. “And would a policeman believe it?”
“No.”
“Toff,” said Tex again, “I did not kill either man.”
“Tex,” said Rollison, very softly, “I sure hope you didn’t.”
He turned to look out of the window again. It was much darker, although the street lamps were on. He hadn’t put on the lights in the room, and made no move to do so. He beckoned the Texan, who joined him, and he pointed to a black car standing a little way along the street. “That’s a police car,” he said. “The police are behaving in an odd way over this. I wouldn’t like to say why. Possibly they know a lot more than they’ve told me. But the sight of a police car there means we don’t have to worry too much about Party Number 3 for the time being. We can relax.” He relaxed enough to stroll across the big room and switch on the lights. “But keep away from the window in case of accident, the fiat immediately opposite is to let. Queer things have come from empty flats before now. Ever met Gillian Selby before?”
“I have not.”
“Do you always behave as if you’ve known a girl all your life when you’ve met her only five minutes ago?”
“It’s the first time I’ve met a girl like Gillian Selby,” the American declared, and he sounded as if he meant it. “I had never seen her, Rollison. I discovered that Lodwin was going to the cottage and got there ahead of him. That was the first time I’d been there. But I knew that Mome was a friend of the Selbys, I’d got that far; and I knew he was in love with Gillian. Don’t ask me how, it’s my job to find out what there is to find out, and it isn’t so difficult.”
“You make it easy,” Rollison murmured, and their eyes gleamed; here were two men with obvious mutual liking. “Tex, assuming you’re all you say you are, and assuming we have to unite against your client’s rival, there is a big problem. Monty Mome and Gillian decided to sell the farm so as to secure Alan Selby’s release that way. I’ve just come from Mome. He pretended to change his approach, but I wouldn’t trust him. He would do anything to make sure that Gillian owes him a debt she will just have to repay. Do you follow that?”
“Sure.”
“So if we’re not careful you may find that your rival has bought the farm.”
“It’s a risk, but it’s one I have to take,” Tex Brandt said, and shrugged his broad shoulders. “I want to work on Gillian Selby myself, though. I think I could make money talk.”
“Nothing will talk so loudly as her brother,” Rollison told him, “If you want that farm, you’ve got to find the brother. Any ideas about where to look?”
“I haven’t a notion,” Tex declared. “That’s God’s truth, Rollison.”
“Then it’s going to be very tough,” Rollison said, “and the only hope of getting results is to find who else is working for your rival, or find him in person, and persuade them to talk. The chap who telephoned me might be the man to work through, if he makes a crack at me we should be able to hold him.” Now he seemed to be talking almost to himself.
He stopped.
He moved so swiftly that Tex Brandt could hardly believe it possible, and reached the door which led to the large lounge hall and the front door. He dropped his right hand to his pocket and opened the door a crack and peered through.
He relaxed,
“I thought I heard the front door close,” he said, “but there’s no-one there. I——” then he drew a sharp breath and his expression became one of devastating understanding. ‘‘‘She’s run away,” he cried, then flung the door wide open, and rushed to the outer door.
