The Toff and the Fallen Angels

“What’s the latest news about Slatter?” Rollison asked.

“He’s now at the Moorfields Eye Hospital,” answered Grice. “They’re checking for glass splinters. He’s still in a state of traumatic shock, and it could last for days. I’m told you were present when the Miller girl admitted throwing the brick.”

“I was,” said Rollison. “I was also there when the brick came through the window, and if I hadn’t shown how alarmed I was, Slatter wouldn’t have looked round—and then all he would have got would have been splinters of glass in his scalp. With hair as thick as his I doubt if that would have amounted to much more than a few scratches. Are you going to charge Anne Miller?”

“Yes—I’ve no choice. I’m going to pick her up this evening, after she’s finished her motherly chores, and ask for the case to be heard early in the morning,” Grice answered. “And I shan’t oppose bail. That will give you a week to find a way of getting her off!” Grice spoke almost bitterly. “Do you yet know what’s behind it all?”

“I only wish I did,” Rollison said, “I was hoping you would have an idea. Do you know anything more about the rats in the children’s pen?”

“No.”

“No trace of the assailant?”

“None.”

“No clues as to the deaths of Brown and Webberson and the two girls?”

Grice hesitated, and then said : “Well, yes and no. It’s beginning to look as if they knew both Winifred de Vaux and Iris Jay a little more intimately than is usual between professor and pupil.”

“Hmm. Do you know if any of the other girls were associated with any of the sponsors?”

“As far as I’ve been able to trace, none at all. Nimmo is married and has a very good reputation, Carfax is incapacitated because of his paralysis, and Offenberger is courting an Austrian woman who keeps house for him.

But I’ve no evidence at all to show why Brown and Webberson should be killed, or why Mrs. Smith should have been atttacked. One obvious possibility is that they all shared some knowledge which the murderer doesn’t want divulged. Has Mrs. Smith given you any hint?”

“No,” answered Rollison, truthfully.

“Have you turned anything up?” Grice asked.

“No,” said Rollison again. “All I know is—” he told Grice all he could, including what he had arranged with Gwendoline Fell, and he told him of Slatter’s offer of a house. Then he left, a little after half-past five, with only one thought in mind.

He needed a talk with Naomi Smith, who might know more, much more, than she had yet admitted.

CHAPTER 16

“No,” Says Naomi Smith

 

“No,” said Naomi flatly. “I know absolutely nothing more than I’ve told you.” She looked so earnest and so plain, so homely and so wholesome; throughout the crisis she had maintained her outward composure remarkably. Now, her make-up was fresh, with just enough lipstick to make the best of her full lips, and she had a scarcely discernible shade of eye-shadow, so that her chestnut brown eyes seemed to have a slight sheen over them.

Rollison thought of Slatter’s injured eye.

“Naomi,” Rollison said, almost harshly, “if you are protecting someone—”

“But I am not,” she insisted. Her voice had a tone of restrained indignation. “How can you think that I would allow such terrible things to happen in order to protect any individual? It is unthinkable. Four—four of my friends, brutally murdered. Sir Douglas perhaps blinded —no, Mr. Rollison, I know nothing that could help. I am at the edge of a dreadful precipice. All I have fought for and believed in, all I have tried to do, is faced with abso-lute disaster. If I knew a thing—if I had the slightest suspicion against any individual—I would tell you. But I know nothing.”

Without a pause, Rollison asked : “Did you know that Keith Webberson was friendly with Winifred de Vaux? —so friendly, in fact, that he had a large photograph of her displayed in his flat? And that Professor Brown—”

She looked at him furiously. “How knowledge of these girls’ misfortune distorts everything they do! Is no man to be their friend without the grossest interpretation being put on it?” Alarm added to the brightness of her eyes, and her lips trembled.

“Do—do the police think as you do?”

Rollison shrugged.

“Will it be made public?”

Whether some bright newspaperman will find it out and tell the story, I don’t know. It wouldn’t be surprising.”

“No,” she said in a low-pitched voice. “Obviously it would be exactly the kind of scandal the newspapers would glory in. And that does mean the end of this house and all I’ve tried to do. You must see that in a place like this, rumour that it is little more than a brothel and I the madame, are always possible. However dormant the suggestion, it is there, ready at the slightest excuse to be taken up by a certain section of society. And Douglas warned—” She broke off, and closed her eyes as if suffering from a spasm of acute pain.

The “Douglas’ came out with unexpected familiarity, strangely at variance with the formality of her previous references to Slatter.