“Mr. Tex Brandt, sir!”
Rollison jumped up.
“Hi, Tex!” he greeted, and shook hands warmly; he looked behind the tall man and saw no one else, and went on: “How’s Gillian?”
“She’ll be okay when the trial’s over,” said Tex. “I’ve just come away from your Scotland Yard. Those cops really know what they want, don’t they? At least they don’t want Alan for murder, they don’t think they could make it stick. He swears that he didn’t know that Crane killed anyone, and planned to have Mome killed. Easy to blame the dead, but I should say it’s true. Crane has a reputation for killing off anyone who’s served his purpose, and Selby would have gone, too.”
“I almost wish he had,” said Rollison, and was silent for a moment. Then he turned to the cocktail cabinet. “What will you have?”
“Bourbon on the rocks, the way Jolly pours it,” said Tex, and stared at the Trophy Wall. “Gee, that’s still my favourite. I’ve been to St. Paul’s, the National Gallery, the Houses of Parliament, the Tower of London, Scotland Yard and Madame Tussauds, but I still prefer this wall. Ah, thanks !” He took his drink. “That’s wonderful.” He sipped again. “I brought you a little souvenir. Do you think you could find room for it on the wall ?”
“What do you think. Jolly?” asked Rollison.
Jolly turned in the doorway.
‘Tm sure we could, sir, provided it isn’t too large.”
“It’s quite small,” the tall Texan assured him. “It’s a model in gold of an electric chair. If they’d caught up with William Brandt in his home state he would have fried. You’ve got a hangman’s rope, you’ve got a miniature guillotine, you have nearly every lethal weapon under the sun, but nothing that looks like an electric chair.”
“I’m sure that would be most appropriate, sir,” said Jolly politely, and disappeared.
The Texan grinned at Rollison.
“Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”
“A pleasure,” murmured Rollison. “Has Gillian heard from Monty Morne ?”
“You bet she has. He’s going to be at our wedding,” Tex Brandt added. “He’s quite a guy, that M.M.M. Do you know what he’s going to do when I take Gillian away?”
“No,” said Rollison and looked his curiosity.
“He’s going to rent Selby Farm from her, and farm it, because Old Smithy is going to be charged with being in possession of stolen property, so his next home will be prison. How about M.M.M. as a farmer, Toff? Do you approve?”
Rollison grinned, and said resoundingly : “You bet!”
THE END
