The Toff and the Fallen Angels

Slater, who still showed no sign of life but sat like a statue. “I’ll be back soon,” Rollison went on. “We simply must find out if it was one of the girls.”

He went out and down the stairs. As he left by the front door, an old Rolls Royce pulled up and a middle-aged man got out, carrying a black bag. They met halfway along the drive.

“Dr. Morrison?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll find the patient in his study.”

“Not alone, I trust!”

“No, not alone.”

“Are you—Mr. Rollison

“Yes,” said Rollison. He gave a brief, bleak smile, and then went—for once—out of this gateway into the next.

Standing in the window of Naomi Smith’s room were Anne Miller and Judy Lyons; Judy was talking loudly and flinging her arms about, but the moment she saw Rollison, she stopped. Anne stared at him, as if in defiance. He did not go into the house but walked alongside it, to the two policemen. Almost as Rollison stopped in front of them a car pulled up in the street, and, glancing over his shoulder, Rollison saw three plainclothes policemen get out.

“Did you see who threw the brick?” asked Rollison.

“Yes,” one of the policemen said, with complete certainty. He smiled drily as he went on : “You didn’t expect that, did you, Mr. Rollison?”

“I hoped for it,” Rollison said mildly, but in fact he was astonished—it seemed almost too easy in this complex series of crimes. “Who was it?”

“The tall, dark girl.”

“Anne Miller?”

“Anne, yes. I don’t know her other name. Was Sir Douglas hurt?”

“Not badly, I hope,” Rollison said. “A doctor’s with him now.” He turned away and walked back briskly, meeting the plainclothes men near the porch.

As he entered the house, he heard Judy cry: “It’s no use, you’ve got to run away! They saw you, I know they saw you.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Rollison said, pushing open the door of Naomi’s room. “They saw and can identify you, Anne—and if Sir Douglas should lose the sight of one eye, God knows what sentence the court would give you.”

“Oh, dear God!” gasped Judy.

Anne’s eyes were narrowed but she did not move. “You’re trying to frighten me,” she said.

“I’m telling you that you’re in real trouble,” Rollison said, “and the fact that you felt viciously angry because of the rats won’t be much help to you in court. Nor will you be able to pretend you didn’t know that Sir Douglas was there, he could be seen from every window on this side of the house.” He swung round on Judy. “Did Mrs. Smith give you a letter to post to me, two or three days ago?”

Judy shifted evasively, and mumbled, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you post it?”

“But I did! I swear I did!”

“Judy, pet,” said Anne Miller, “didn’t you know that the great Richard Rollison can detect a lie before it actually passes your lips? Can’t you, Mr. Rollison? The truth—as you appear to be so fond of it—is this. Judy asked me to post the letter and I promised her I would, but I did not. I will tell you another truth. I wanted to see what Mrs. Smith said to you, and steamed open the letter. I didn’t like what it said, so I didn’t send it.”

“What didn’t you like?” asked Rollison.

“That I will not tell you,” Anne said.

“You can tell me instead, why you lied when you told Naomi Smith that Angela wanted to see her at Lyons Corner House,” said Rollison sharply.

“I suspected that Angela was a spy,” said Anne, simply. “And when Mrs. Smith just rushed out, I knew I was right.”

As she finished, footsteps sounded in the hall and a man called out in a deep and authoritative voice: “Is Miss Anne Miller in there, please?”

“Oh, Anne, Anne!” sobbed Judy. “You should have run away!”

CHAPTER 15

Help From Gwendoline

 

No one seemed less likely to run away than Anne Miller. She squeezed Judy’s arm, then went to the door and opened it to two of the C.I.D. men who had just arrived. She stood aside, saying:

“I am Miss Anne Miller.”