The Toff and the Fallen Angels

Rollison reached the side door of the cage and opened it, but no-one seemed to notice him go in. Something started them all talking against one another, the only one who seemed to keep absolutely silent was Anne.

“I’m going tonight!” one girl gasped.

“We can’t stay—we’ll have to go somewhere,” mut-tered another.

“But we haven’t anywhere else to go !” came from a realist.

Others were crying . . . more were talking, saying the same kind of thing.

“We’ve got to find somewhere.”

“It’s impossible to stay here.”

“Did you see them? Actually on Donald’s pram.”

“Two huge rats.”

“I once heard of a rat—”

“For heaven’s sake be quiet, Chloe !”

“How—how did they get in?”

“Yes—how did they get in?” demanded another. “There must be a hole in the netting.”

Immediately, several of the girls began to scan the foot of the cage, which Rollison was already doing. So far he had found no break—no sign of anything which was large enough for a mouse to have got through. Several of the girls saw and recognised him, one or two said ‘hallo’. Slatter was still watching from his study window. A policeman appeared at the door leading from the house, followed by a second, who made a bee-line for Rollison.

“Did you see what happened, sir?”

“I saw two rats but I didn’t see how they got in,” answered Rollison. “And the wire doesn’t seem to be broken.”

“Been a lot of rats since they pulled down that old house and started building,” the policeman said.

Then Rollison saw a hole almost at shoulder height and not two feet away from the policeman’s face. The man turned. The girls were still talking, some were trying to soothe and reassure the others. The girl who had first raised the alarm was now by Anne, who held one of the children in her arms.

“My God!” breathed the policeman. “Look at that.”

He was looking at the spot which had caught Rolli-son’s attention—a round hole cut in the strands of the wire. It had obviously been done recently, there were shiny surfaces to some of the cut strands, catching the sun. It was about the size of a football, perhaps a little smaller, and a dozen rats could have got through there.

“They were placed inside all right,” the policeman said. He was in his twenties, red-faced, grey-eyed, healthy- looking. “My God, what swine I They’ll do anything to drive these girls out, won’t they? Anything.”

“It certainly looks like it,” agreed Rollison. “Have you advised the Yard?”

“No. I just came to see—” the man hesitated, then took his transmitter out of the inside of his tunic. “I’ll report to the station, sir.”

“Yes. And someone must have seen this chap,” Rollison pointed out. “He had to walk to the net, cut it, and walk back. Didn’t you have a man out here?”

The policeman did not appear to be listening, but was reporting over the microphone.

“Edwards here, sir . . . Someone cut a hole in ..”

Rollison moved off, leaving him to it. Two girls, one a flaxen-haired beauty who seemed to have stepped straight out of a film set, and a smaller one, with flaming red hair, were talking together. They stopped as Rollison came up with them, and fell into step by his side.

“Do you know who did it?” the taller girl asked.

“Not yet,” said Rollison.

“You never will,” said the red-head. “Thank God my offspring was adopted last month, I don’t have to stay any longer. It’s a pretty foul situation, isn’t it, Mr. Rollison?”

“Sickening,” responded Rollison. “Apart from guesswork, do either of you know who is behind it all?”

Both of them looked up at Slatter’s window; he was just turning away. Rollison went across to Anne, who was watching her companion crooning over a baby, obviously soothing herself as much as the child. Anne saw Rollison, and turned her head to him.

“Has he admitted it?” she asked drily.

“No,” answered Rollison.

“And no doubt you believe him,” Anne said stonily. “This is about the last straw. Heaven knows what would have happened if Judy hadn’t come out to see what was upsetting the babies.” She saw Rollison’s expression, and went on: “Yes, this is Judy Lyons.”

Judy half-turned.

“Hallo,” she said. She had a pert, pretty face and a bright, easy voice. “I suppose you still think you’re the great detective. After this, you don’t imagine that any of us will buy that, do you?” She kept moving the child to- and-fro. “I was one of those who said our worries were over when I heard you were interested, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.” She tossed her head and turned back to Anne. “What are we going to do?”