The Toff and the Fallen Angels

“Why didn’t you tell me?” When she didn’t answer, he went on : “I could forgive a lot of things, but not that kind of deceit. You reported the girls were missing to the authorities, yet you came to me and asked for help because you said you didn’t want to call the police.” As he spoke, he knew that what she had done made nonsense. It wasn’t simply that she had fooled him—she had done something which was bound to come out, had lied knowing that the lie could not deceive him for long. What purpose could there be in such shortlived deception?

He was astonished at the change in her expression; agitation and a certain, unwilling deviousness could be read there.

She muttered, “But I did tell you! I wrote to you!”

“You wrote?”

“Yes, last week—last Monday. I telephoned twice and there was no answer, and I was distrait. I—I gave it to one of the girls to post. I was terribly worried because Iris, Iris Jay hadn’t arrived at the address she’d given me. Didn’t you get the letter?”

“I did not,” stated Rollison flatly. “Did you write it?”

He remembered suddenly a vague remark over the telephone about having written to him. He had hardly taken it seriously, accepting it as a social insincerity leading up to the request for an interview.

“Mr. Rollison,” said Naomi Smith, “if you can’t count on anything else, you can count on my absolute sincerity in wanting your help.” She was speaking hurriedly, as if to lead him away from the subject. Though he said nothing he was aware that she had not answered his question. Feeling came back to her voice and showed in her face again as she went on: “But what does matter now, obviously you know. I—I’m dreadfully worried about Angela.”

Fear like a knife stabbed through Rollison’s breast. “Why should you be?” he demanded sharply.

“She—she went out, after dinner tonight,” Naomi told him. “There was a telephone message from her to say that she’d discovered something I ought to know—would I meet her at the Oxford Street Corner House, main entrance. She would wait for me until twelve. That’s where I was going, when—”

She caught her breath.

And Rollison stared at her, knowing exactly what was passing through her mind; the fear that Angela’s call had served as decoy, and that going out in response to it had led her near to death.

CHAPTER 8

Decoy?

 

ROLLISON was acutely aware of three things. First, that although she was outwardly composed, Naomi Smith was in acute distress, and her mood was worsening. Second, that Angela was missing. Angela, whom he had sent here. And third, the chance that one of the residents had been trusted with a lettter which she had not posted—unless, by some freak of mismanagement, it had been lost by the postal officials. He had to calm and reassure Naomi, and he had to find Angela soon. This was the only place to start.

He said: “I could do with a brandy and soda. While you’re getting it may I use your telephone?”

“Of course.”

She moved towards a cupboard near the desk, opened it, and revealed a row of bottles and several glasses.

Raison dialled his flat, hard-faced. Jolly answered at once, and Rollison said : “Miss Angela may be at the Oxford Street Corner House, Jolly—and could be in very great danger. Go and see what you can find out, will you? Tell the police if she doesn’t turn up.”

“Of course, sir. At once.” Jolly certainly wouldn’t lose a moment.

Rollison rang off.

There was brandy, which he really wanted for Naomi Smith much more than for himself. He joined her, seeing her hands trembling.

“Sit down,” he said, and poured brandy and gave it to her. He carefully poured himself a little, then drank with her. Before long the police would be here, and he wanted to hear what had happened before they arrived. The best way to learn would be by quick question and answer.

“Did Angela tell you she was going out?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“One of the girls—Anne Miller.”

“Were they friends?”

“I—I think they get along all right. But since we’ve realised that Iris was missing, everyone—everyone’s been nervous. I gave instructions that no-one was to go out alone, and that their boy-friends must collect them and bring them back. That’s why Anne told me Angela had gone off by herself—it wasn’t simply breaking a rule to go out alone, it was walking into danger.”

It was so like Angela, too; she would be so sure that no rule applied to her, that she was free to come and go—it had probably not occurred to her that any risk might be involved.

“Did Anne have any idea where?” he asked.

“Angela—Angela hinted that it was to see a boy-friend.”

“Had she met any boy-friend before? Or gone out by herself before?”