The Toff and the Fallen Angels

that is one reason why I had momentary doubts about your Angela. Do you really think she will be prepared to help?”

“I’ll know before the day’s out,” said Rollison. “And as soon as I know, I’ll telephone you. That’s a promise.”

CHAPTER 4

Angela

ANGELA’S rosy cheeks were glowing, her blue eyes were bright, her plump and bouncy body seemed to quiver with excitement. She was short, only just five feet, but no one ever thought her small. Some called her a roly-poly and that, though old-fashioned, was very much on the ball. She wore a mini-skirt which rode high above her stalwart calves and trim ankles, and a loose-fitting scarlet jumper with a polo neck. Her hair, golden in colour, had a silken lustre.

“Gorgeous!” she gurgled. “Absolutely gorgeous, Rolly. Bless you for thinking of me.”

“Knowing you, could I have thought of anyone else?” asked Rollison.

“I’d have hated you for life if you had. I’ve always wondered how it would feel to live branded by one’s own indiscretions. The incredible thing is that it happens so much today. Anyone would think that reasonably educated angels would know this was the Pill Age.”

The Toff evaded that challenge neatly.

“So you’ll do it,” he remarked.

“Rolly, darling, when can I start?”

“Very soon, I imagine. Tomorrow say?”

“Tomorrow is the day! Rolly, bless you! At long last I’m going to see how the other half lives.” She bounced out of her chair, opposite his in the Gresham Terrace flat, and kissed him on either cheek. “Does Old Glory know about this?”

“Not yet,” said Rollison.

“I daresay that’s wise.” Angela, suddenly even more ecstatic, sat on his knee and flung an arm round his neck. He needed no reminding that she was a very feminine young woman and fleetingly thought of his morning talk with Jolly. Angela simply regarded him as an uncle; masculine certainly, but hardly male in the exciting sense. She hugged him. “You’re the absolute pet,” she told him. “Now I can have two of my life-long dreams fulfilled—to see the seamy side of life, and to play detective.”

“Angela,” said Rollison, regarding her severely, “This is not a game.”

“Roily, don’t be silly, I know it’s not.” She stiffened theatrically, holding him at arm’s length. “Richard,” she said in the tone all the family used when about to disapprove of him. “Don’t tell me you think I’m incapable of being serious !”

“You’re quite capable,” Rollison assured her. “The point is, that this is one of those occasions to use that capability, and not indulge in the light-hearted frivolity you semi-intellectual young people find so necessary.”

“Of course, I gather that, and the fact that the wrong timing is the very snag over which your semi-intellectual angels have fallen.”

Rollison chuckled.

“Your point,” he conceded. “Will you have another drink?”

“You mean, won’t I get off your knee and allow you to breathe more freely.” She kissed him on the forehead. “No, I won’t have another drink and I won’t play the fool any more. I’m absolutely thrilled at the chance, and truly grateful. And—” she hesitated for a studied effect, then went on : “I won’t let you down.” She was suddenly all movement again, as she sprang off his knee like an indiarubber ball. She neither looked nor behaved like her twenty-four years. “There’s just one thing. What will happen when the others find that I’m not really qualified?”

Rollison looked at her solemnly,

“With a turn like that, no one would suspect you were cheating.” Before she recovered, he moved towards the telephone. It was five minutes to seven, and he was alone but for Angela, this being Jolly’s evening off. He dialled the number of Smith Hall, and Naomi Smith answered in that unmistakable voice which attracted Rollison in a way he had seldom been attracted before.

“This is Smith Hall.”

“This is Richard Rollison, to tell you that Angela is prepared to fall.”

“Oh, I’m so relieved,” said Naomi in a tone which was evident proof of her words. “The more I think of it the more I like this idea. How soon can she come?”

“Tomorrow.”

There was a long pause, before Naomi said in a huskier voice :

“I don’t really believe in you, Richard. You’re like something spirited out of Aladdin’s lamp.”

Angela, close to Rollison, was mouthing and touching her lips and her right ear, in imitation telephoning. Rollison held on for a moment, relishing what Naomi had said, and then asked :

“Would you like to speak to Angela now?”

“Is she with you . . . I’d love to.”

“Hold on,” Rollison said. He held the instrument out to Angela, then went out of the room. He did not want Angela to think he did not trust her to say what was wise, for beneath her high spirits he had sensed a moment almost of resentment when he had warned her that this was not a game. He could have listened-in on the kitchen extension or the one in his room or in Jolly’s bedroom, but did not. Now that he was alone he was contrasting