Rollison thought swiftly. A property of size anywhere in London would cost at least twenty thousand pounds, and such a gift even from a wealthy man was munificent indeed.
As he sat there, trying to think how best he could tell this man how warmly he regarded the offer, there was a violent crash, and a half-brick hurtling through the window. Startled by the expression on Rollison’s face, which appeared a half-second before the impact, Slatter swivelled round in his chair.
“Duck!” roared Rollison.
But it was too late. Glass cascaded into the room, over Slatter’s face and hands, over the desk and the floor. Rollison sprang to his feet. A sliver of glass cut into his cheek, causing sharp pain, but it did not stop him. He reached the window and peered out through the huge star-shaped hole in the glass.
No one was in sight. And the only place for anyone to hide was in the house next door.
He saw a policeman, running and staring up: he pointed to Smith Hall, then turned to face Sir Douglas Slatter.
Slatter was sitting, as if stunned, blood streaming down his face, where glass had struck the flesh like daggers.
In a sharp, authoritative voice, Rollison said : “Sit still, Slater. Just sit absolutely still.”
He glanced quickly outside again and saw Naomi Smith, then he turned back to the injured man. With gentle speed he pulled out the glass splinters—those from near the eye first. The astonishing thing was Slatter’s statue- like stillness. His face was set, he did not move a muscle.
There were cries in the gardens outside, and a baby began to scream. There were also sounds inside this house, and as Rollison drew out the last splinter, the door opened and first Angela and then Naomi Smith appeared. Angela drew in her breath with a sharp hiss, Naomi’s cheeks blanched but she came across without hesitation, and called to Angela :
“Bring a wet towel—quickly. Then a bowl and more towels.”
Angela turned and ran, as Rollison took out a handkerchief and placed it gently over the largest of the cuts.
“Unless your eye is damaged, there’s nothing serious,” he said in a reassuring voice. He withdrew the handkerchief, now stained crimson, and went on: “Open your eye slowly—very slowly.”
Slater made no attempt to open his eye and did not move; it was almost impossible to detect the signs of breathing.
“Douglas,” Naomi said firmly and clearly, “try to open your eyes.”
Her words had not the slightest effect, and she gave Rollison a quick, frightened glance. Rollison now saw a faint movement at Slatter’s lips, and felt his pulse; it was beating very slowly. The eye was filling up with blood again and he dabbed the handkerchief on with great care.
“I think he’s in shock,” he said. “Do you know his doctor?”
“Yes—Dr. Morrison, who lives at Number 7.”
“Will you find out if he’s in?”
“But—”
“I’ll see to Sir Douglas,” Rollison promised.
She moved to the telephone as Angela came in with a towel, wrung out loosely. She unfolded it as she approached, then placed it with great care over Slatter’s face. She did not press hard, but moulded it over his features, even into his eyes. Rollison had a moment to glance outside; a policeman was looking up at the window, as if measuring the distance.
“Is Dr. Morrison in?” Naomi sounded remarkably collected. “Mrs. Smith, for Sir Douglas Slater.”
Another policeman appeared inside the cage next door.
“We’ll need more towels,” Rollison said to Angela. “Is Guy Slatter in?”
“He went out five minutes before the—the crash.”
“All right,” said Rollison. “Hurry with those towels.” Naomi put the telephone down, saying with relief : “We were lucky—he’s coming at once.”
The cuts were bleeding less freely now, and had obviously been superficial. The alarming thing was Slatter’s uncanny stillness.
“Naomi,” Rollison said, “do you know who threw the brick?”
“I—I’ve no idea.”
“It must have been someone next door.”
“I can’t believe any of the girls—” began Naomi, only to stop and close her eyes as if the very thought was painful. “They—they said such wild things, I hardly knew what to think.”
“After the visitation by rats?”
“Yes. Mr. Rollison, who
“We’re finding out,” answered Rollison grimly. “But your job is to find out whether one of the girls threw this brick— and if one did, who it was.”
“But you said you were
“Someone else could have gone in,” Rollison pointed out. He glanced outside again and saw one of the policemen beckoning—and at the same moment, Angela appeared with fresh towels. He drew back, watching
