“Who?”
“A man who calls himself William Brandt, from Abilene, Texas,” said Grice. “Your guest, in other words. He could have killed both Lodwin and Habden, and he had motive, because he wants to buy the farm. He could be fooling the great Toff.”
“Oh, that’s simple,” agreed Rollison. “How?”
“Work it out.”
“Using the rest of the Lodwin gang to exert pressure on the Selbys, while he makes friends with Gillian on the side, so that if anything goes wrong he can get the farm that way.”
“At least you can still think,” conceded Grice. “Like to be present when we charge Brandt ?”
“With what?”
“Habden’s murder.”
“Poor Charlie,” said Rollison, as if sorrowfully. “Yes, I’d like to be there; I’d like to see how Tex handles a situation as bad as that. On the whole I think I’d be prepared for some surprises. Bill. He is an unexpected young man.”
“As Mome came to see you we guessed you’d fall for this job,” Grice said, dryly. “Your flat has been watched since mid-day, and we knew the minute this stranger arrived; obviously he’s Brandt. The flat’s been watched back and front ever since,” went on Grice. “I’d like to see him handle this situation!”
“So would I,” murmured Rollison, and sounded as if he meant it. “Bill.”
“Yes?”
“You wouldn’t know why everyone wants Selby Farm, would you? You wouldn’t know what makes it so valuable ?”
“I don’t know yet,” answered Grice, “but it’s one of the things I’m going to find out. Now, let’s go downstairs.” He pressed a button for the lift. “On the way, you can search your conscience and decide what you’re going to put in the statement you’re going to make when we all get to the Yard.”
“Me too?”
“You especially.”
The lift came up, and the doors opened automatically. Rollison stood aside for Grice to pass, then followed him, and Grice pressed the button for the ground floor. After a pause, the doors began to close.
“Well, I didn’t think I’d be reduced to this,” said Rollison. He beamed, shouldered Grice to the back of the lift, and squeezed out between the closing doors. He had to pull his arm free to let the doors close. He pressed the button of the other lift, saw the Lift Coming sign light up, and wondered whether Grice would go down, stop at the next floor or press an alarm button and come back here. In either case Rollison had only a few seconds grace.
The second lift opened.
He stepped in and pressed the sixth floor button, to take him three floors up, and as he waited while the doors closed and it moved, he took out a cigarette and lit it. His expression was very bleak. The lift stopped and the doors opened. He stepped out swiftly and hurried along a passage towards a window which overlooked the street, then pressed the door-bell of the nearest flat. There was hardly a pause before footsteps sounded. An elderly man holding a book opened the door.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” said Rollison, “but I need to make an urgent telephone call. I wonder if you’d be good enough to allow me to?”
“Why, glad to,” the elderly man said, and stood aside; as Rollison stepped past him, he closed the door.
16
WARNING
Tex Brandt was still fascinated by the Trophy Wall. He would read a newspaper, put it down, and step across and study the articles on it; the rope, some chicken feathers and a cuckoo clock which cucked bullets seemed to hold his attention most. He would switch on the television, watch for ten minutes, and then with the singing or the dancing, the talking or the acting going on behind him, he would return to the trophies. He would open a book, pour himself a drink, light a cigarette; and keep looking at the wall. Jolly came in to ask him if he would like some coffee. “Sure, let’s see how you can make it,” Tex said, and stood up, drawn as if by magic to the wall. “You didn’t tell me what that top hat is doing on the top of the heap,” he went on. “Is that a bullet hole through the crown?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jolly, “and the bullet actually tore away some of Mr. Rollison’s hair, but did no harm. It was the first souvenir, and it amused Mr. Rollison to hang it on a nail in the wall. Then this collection somehow grew of itself. I confess”—Jolly was talkative, which showed that he also liked the Texan—”I was not enthusiastic at first, it had a melodramatic touch, if I may put it that way, and a kind of flamboyance. However, Mr. Rollison is a little melodramatic, and he also has a touch of the flamboyant, so it was in character.”
“And now you approve?”
“You might say that I am the curator, sir.”
“Is that so? Do you keep a catalogue ?”
“Yes, sir. I have always felt that the time would come when an eminent biographer would like to write Mr. Rollison’s life story, and I felt that the least I could do was to keep a brief, detailed account of each of the causes celebres which are indicated here.”
“I’d sure like to see that catalogue.”
“I will have to obtain Mr. Rollison’s permission,” Jolly declared. “He is a little reluctant to allow anyone but his closest friends to see it.”
