The Toff and the Fallen Angels

“Yes indeed. We were good neighbours. I sympathised in principle with what she was doing. I felt cheated, but not by her or by the young women. It was Professor Nimmo who negotiated the agreement. He knew perfectly well that I wouldn’t have signed even a three year lease had I known what it was all about, so I blame him.”

“There was a great need,” said Rollison.

“Not next door to my house, Rollison I “ Slatter’s voice rose harshly but he recovered, unlinking his fingers, and putting his hands flat on the desk. They were big and powerful. His eyes had a penetrating directness as he went on : “You see how angry I can get! However, there is now another side to this matter and a very grave one. Is it true that Professor Webberson and Dr. Brown have been murdered?”

“Yes. At least one of the girls, too.”

“It is shocking—quite shocking.” Something near to concern softened the stern features. “And is it true that the man who was about to attack Naomi, before you intervened, was like me?”

“In the darkness, very much like you,” answered Rollison.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Like you and also like your nephew,” answered Rollison without hesitation. “In fact, except for your features I could almost swear to it.”

“Except for              Good heavens, Rollison, if you can’t

identify the features what possible means of identification is there?”

“Size—build—thickness of neck—height—speed of movement—”

“I can’t move fast.”

“You can, to your right. What is the trouble in your left hip?”

“Osteo-arthritis,” Slatter answered impatiently. “Didn’t you see this man’s face? One of the newspapers says you could identify the attacker beyond all reasonable doubt.”

“Newspapers say a lot of things which aren’t literally true,” replied Rollison. “I could still go into the witness box and swear that the assailant was very like you Ind like your nephew.”

“I see,” said Slatter, his face set again. “You are a long way from convinced, I can see. You think I could be a psychopath or even schizophrenic.” He pursed his lips and looked almost ugly, before he went on: “What would satisfy you?”

“I think I could be sure if I saw you in a half-light with a stocking over your head,” said Rollison. “And the same goes for your nephew. Has he lived with you long?”

“Certainly. He is my only relative,” explained Slatter. “I have acquired great possessions and reasonable wealth and I do not wish to see them all swallowed up by that inanimate thing called the State. So this man used a nylon stocking as a disguise. If you can be sure—” He waved his hands. “Oh, it is nonsense ! How strong are the rumours that I am involved?”

“Quite strong.”

“Has any one of the young women made a personal charge against me?” asked Slatter.

“No.” Rollison did not think the time was right to tell what Anne Miller had said.

“And if indeed there was any truth in it, do you seri-ously believe that there would not have been com- plaints?” demanded Slatter.

“Yes, I do. The girls would keep quiet about it if they thought it could help them to stay next door.”

“Ah,” said Slatter. “Yes, I suppose this is true. Well, there is no justification at all for any charges, whatever you may say. Is there any other reason for you or the police to suspect me?”

“Not that I know of,” answered Rollison. “Do you know of anyone who might want to make you look guilty?”

“I do not,” said Slatter forthrightly. “I believe these charges against me are due entirely to the resentment the young women feel about my attitude—and I still believe my attitude to be completely justified. So!” He stood up very quickly, putting most of his weight on to his right leg. “My answer remains—”

Across his words, very loud and clear, came a scream from outside; another scream followed. By that time Rollison was on his feet, leaping towards the window. As he flung it up he saw a girl in the doorway of the house, at the entrance to the cage, standing with her hands raised, staring into the cage. She screamed again :

“Anne ! Anne!”

Rollison saw two things in the same moment. Anne Miller, appearing at the girl’s side; and two small, dark creatures on one of the prams.

“My God!” exclaimed Rollison. “Rats.”

He saw Anne rush forward, shouting wildly and waving her hands; one of the rats turned and skimmed down the side of the pram, the other stared as if in defiance. Another girl appeared, then two or three more. One of them carried a tennis racquet, another a putting iron. By then Anne was within three feet of the rat still on the pram, and she continued to approach it although the stiffness of her movements showed how great was her fear.

The girl with the putting iron pushed past her and poked at the rat—and Rollison, one leg over the sill, wondered whether it would spring at her in a frenzy. Close to the window was a drainpipe, immediately below the jutting ledge of another window. He caught a glimpse of the rat scuttling away, before he turned his back on the scene, and climbed down; he supported himself against the window ledge, and then dropped to the ground.

A girl was crying.

A second had rushed to one of the babies and picked it up with a gesture of desperation. Almost at once other girls went to the remaining babies.