come to love—oh, it’s dreadful, it’s dreadful!”
Rollison said briskly : “Yes, Anne, it is. And it won’t get any better if you keep a single thing back.”
He looked at his watch. It was half-past twelve and there was no word from Jolly and no interruption from the police. Jolly would have telephoned had he seen Angela, of course—so she hadn’t gone to the Corner House. He had never really believed she had.
“I’m not keeping anything back,” Anne said, sullenly. “Did you speak to Angela in person?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure it was her voice?”
“Of course I’m sure, you don’t think I could make a mistake about her, surely? She sounded excited, and very sure of herself. Has she been waiting all—”
“No,” Rollison said. “I sent someone there as soon as I heard about the call. Anne, how well did you know Winifred de Vaux?”
It was a long time before Anne answered. She began to sway. Rollison took her arm and led her towards a chair, then poured out brandy. She lifted the glass, then lowered it again as she glanced up at him.
“Not—not really well,” she said. “She wasn’t easy to know. She—she was the only one here who really was obsessed with men, I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone so over-sexed—so obviously over-sexed—and proud of it. Some would say she flaunted it, but she didn’t, she was just proud. She thought it was glorious to be a woman. She—she’s dead, isn’t she?”
“It seems a possibility,” said Rollison. “But what makes you think so?”
“The man who telephoned tonight said she was,” answered Anne Miller, her voice dead, stripped of emotion. “And soon, soon, all the sluts and whores who lived here would be dead too.”
She tried to sip her brandy but her hand began to shake, and soon her slender body, until, inevitably, the tears began to fall.
And as she cried the door opened, and Naomi Smith came in.
CHAPTER 9
NAOMI seemed to draw back when she heard the girl crying, then moved quickly towards her. She glanced at Rollison, and he expected to see scorn or reproach; instead she gave him a flashing smile, of thanks or congratulation. She put an arm round the girl and led her towards a chair. Rollison had not realised how tiny Anne was. He felt for the girl; he could understand her bitterness and her fear, but he feared for Angela with a kind of desperate self-blame.
As he stepped into the hall, Grice appeared from the front door, and they stopped, a few yards separating them.
“So you know nothing about this affair,” Grice said, accusingly. “When are you going to stop trying to fool us?”
“The real question is the old question—when are you going to start believing the truth?” asked Rollison.
“Why did you come here?”
“You know why. And if I hadn’t come, Naomi Smith . . .” he told Grice all there was to tell, and before he was through, knew that Grice had not seriously believed he had arrived with foreknowledge. “Have you heard from Jolly?” he asked.
He hardly knew what answer to hope for.
“Yes,” said Grice.
“So—Angela wasn’t at the Corner House,” Rollison said heavily.
“He gave her fifteen minutes, then called the Yard,” said Grice. “We had four men there within five minutes and a thorough search was made, but she wasn’t in the place. Jolly went back to Gresham Terrace.”
“Have you put Angela on the missing list?” asked Rollison.
“Her description is with every division and every Home Counties force,” Grice replied. “Her picture will be sent round tomorrow.” He paused, and then asked in a wary way: “Do you want it to go to television and newspapers?”
“Of course. Why not?” asked Rollison.
“You must be very tired to ask that,” remarked Grice.
“Why should I—oh. The Press will know that she was a resident here, and do I want her picture to appear before the public gaze.” Rollison felt almost angry. “Bill, can you seriously think I care a damn about gossip?”
“Your family might,” Grice said.
“Damn my family,” growled Rollison.
“Including Lady Gloria?”
“She is the one person who won’t care a hoot.”
“Although if one of the family was in the—ah—was in trouble, surely the Marigold Club would be the first place for her to go,” said Grice. “This could look as if Lady Gloria will extend the hand of charity to strangers but not to her own family.” Grice spoke with unusual feeling, and Rollison realised that he was trying to be helpful, trying to
