The Toff and the Fallen Angels

make sure that Rollison, so deeply involved, was seeing this situation objectively.

“Bill,” he said, “arrange for the photograph in the newspapers and on television, will you. And—thanks.”

“Right,” said Grice. “I’ve a man waiting,” He strode to the front door and spoke clearly to a man whom Rollison could not see. “But all three pictures out to the Press and television, Soames.”

“Very good, sir.”

Grice turned back again, his manner easier, more matter-of-fact. He took a large wallet from his pocket, opened it, and took out a photograph which he handed to Rollison. Even though he first saw it upside down, Rollison recognised it at once : this was a photograph of a sledge hammer.

He turned it round.

“That was quick.”

“We can be quick,” observed Grice drily. “It’s probably the one with which Webberson was killed, too. There’s a chip out at one corner, and it appears to coincide with an impression on Webberson’s skull.” After a lengthy pause, Grice went on : “Did you get any kind of mind picture of the man who was waiting here?”

“No,” answered Rollison slowly. “Not of his face.” He considered, and then went on more briskly: “Mind you, it was a very broad face. The features were squashed down by the stocking, but if I saw him again as he was then, I would probably recognise him.” He paused, then went on : “He had little or no neck. I’ve never seen a man with broader shoulders and when he turned round on me I saw how deep-chested he was. A barrel-chested, bullnecked man at the peak of physical fitness, I would say.”

Grice was smiling.

Not a bad mental picture,” he approved. “I’ll get that sent round at once—why didn’t you get him? Distracted by Mrs. Smith’s danger, were you?”

Rollison shook his head, very slowly.

“No,” he answered. “He was too quick and too powerful, and I didn’t give myself enough time.” He allowed a few moments for that to sink in, and then added : “This man could crush one of the girls with his fist. Any sign of him?”

“None at all,” answered Grice.

“Footprints?”

“We’ve rigged up some floodlights but we’re not getting much co-operation,” said Grice. “We’ll have to wait until morning before we’ve much chance of finding out which way this man went. At least he will have mud on his shoes, he was standing where a garden hose had been leaking most of the day.”

“I wondered what made the grass so wet. What’s this about no co-operation?”

Grice, almost saturnine when he smiled in this dim light, said off-handedly:

“Sir Douglas Slatter does not approve of (a) the police and (b) the residents of Smith Hall. If he’d had his way our chaps would be driven off his grounds. As it is he won’t allow us to use the mains electricity from his house for the floodlighting—we had to send for more cable and run it off the supply here. Some of these old men are so prejudiced it’s hard to believe.”

“Well, well, well,” said Rollison.

“What strikes you as so remarkable about that?” asked Grice.

“Sir Douglas doesn’t approve of the place,” remarked Rollison, almost to himself. “And he’s not simply non- cooperative, he’s actually obstructive. We’re looking for a motive for the threats and the attacks, Bill. How is this for a motive : psychopathic disapproval of ..”

Grice stopped him, abruptly.

“That’s the wildest jump to a conclusion I’ve ever come across,” he rebuked. “He’s an old man, he’s bad- tempered, he’s not well and he was awakened out of a deep sleep. He’ll be a different man in the morning.”

“Bill,” urged Rollison, “have a look at the doorsteps leading into the back or side entrances of the house next door. If there are any footmarks, don’t leave them to be brushed off in the morning.”

Grice contemplated him thoughtfully.

“That won’t do any harm, anyway. I’ll fix it.”

“Thanks,” said Rollison. “Do you want me here for anything else?”

“No,” said Grice. “Just one piece of advice, though, before you go.”

“I’m in the right mood to take advice,” said Rollison heavily.

“You’ve very strong personal reasons to stick your neck out,” said Grice. “I’ve seen you before when you’ve a guilt-complex working like a computer in your mind. Don’t stick your neck out too far, even for Angela. Think three times before you do anything off your own bat—and use us as much as you can. You may not believe it, but I’m as anxious to find Angela as you are.”

For the second time, Rollison warmed to the police-man.

“I believe you,” he said. “And you’ll watch this house closely, won’t you?”

“A mouse won’t be able to get in or out without being seen,” Grice boasted.

Rollison nodded, turned to the study door, which was closed, and tapped. There was a muted call of ‘come in’. He found Naomi sitting behind the desk and Anne Miller lying back in a small armchair in front of her. She appeared to be all legs and long, loose hair, and had the face of tragedy.

“You needn’t have any fear of being attacked,” he said. “The police will make sure of that.”