Naomi’s eyes flashed, she rapped sharply on the table, calling them to attention.
“The very least you can do is show good manners!” she said icily.
Stung, Anne threw her head up, ready for argument. “But Mr. Rollison’s good manners didn’t prevent him from being three-quarters of an hour late, Mrs. Smith. Perhaps a little bird told him that we can’t be deceived any more, and that we’ve decided to leave here and make our own plans, instead of waiting to have our heads bashed in, or our babies bitten by rats. We’ve decided, too, that all these mysterious comings and goings are a waste of time, designed for the sole object of giving Mr. Rollison a sense of his own self-importance. Good manners will hardly disguise the fact that the promised miracle hasn’t come off.” There was a break in the young, scornful voice, and Rollison bit back the sharp rejoinder which rose to his lips.
“You’re all under great strain,” he said easily. “And that’s hardly surprising. The situation was bad enough when you had to come here; it’s still a cold and conven-tional world and you broke the rules. What’s happened now makes it ten times worse. Probably half of you think that some bigoted person is out to make you pay for it.” He paused long enough to look round at every face, let his gaze come to rest on Anne’s, and then went on : “I don’t think this is true. I don’t think these unfortunate people have been murdered in cold blood for the sake of a principle which is fairly loosely interpreted in this day and age. I think there is a very powerful material motive which no-one yet suspects. Whoever is behind these crimes stands to gain a great deal. I don’t, as yet, know what, and I don’t know who. I do know you can’t stand it much longer. The situation is unbearable, and I think tomorrow will see the end of it.”
Several faces lit up.
“And I think the end may come when the criminals make one final tremendous effort to force you out of here,” Rollison went on. “If you go, you’ll be playing into their hands, if you stay you may be in very grave danger indeed.”
When he stopped, no-one spoke until Naomi asked in a very quiet voice
“What do you advise, Mr. Rollison?”
“I can’t advise anything,” said Rollison. “I hope you’ll stay. If I’m right and it’s all over by tomorrow—”
“We still have our marching orders from Slatter,” Anne remarked. “We can’t win.”
“If it’s over by tomorrow,” said Rollison, quietly, “I think there’s an even chance that Sir Douglas will change his mind.”
“You mean there would have been if Anne hadn’t thrown that brick,” said the African girl, simply, and without bitterness. “You can’t seriously believe that Sir Douglas would relent after that.”
“I seriously believe it,” Rollison assured her.
“I think we all ought to make preparations to leave,” Anne said. “I—” She broke off as a bell rang sharp and dear, and suddenly her expression changed. Something like near-despair touched her. “I have to anyhow. That will be the police. This is arrest by appointment,” she went on. “They said they would come for me at half-past nine.”
Judy was staring at her helplessly.
“I have to go, too,” said Rollison. “I’ll come down with you.” Anne stood up, so tall and slim and strangely lonely and forlorn. “And I’m absolutely serious,” he said to the others. “I think tomorrow may be the last day.”
No-one spoke as he went out. Naomi jumped up, but he waved her back to her chair, and opened the door for Anne. There was a knock and a ring. He went ahead and opened the door cautiously, but this was no trick; there were three police officers in the porch, and the one in the middle was Adams.
“Miss Anne Miller?” he asked formally.
“Anne,” said Rollison, “if you need help, you have only to ask me.”
He heard Naomi hurrying down the stairs, obviously to offer what comfort she could. He nodded to the policemen and left the house.
There was no way of being sure the girls would stay on, but he believed they would. And if they did, and he was right in his supposition that tomorrow would see the whole hideous affair cleared up, then tomorrow would hold for them their greatest danger yet.
And he would have brought it upon them . . .
Two policemen watched him go.
Two policemen, obviously by coincidence, were standing outside Aldgate East Underground Station when he pulled up some distance away, and they were looking about them as if idly, but with particular interest at Gwendoline Fell, who stood by the side of her motor-scooter which was parked right outside the station. She looked questioningly at the policemen, then glanced round in Rollison’s direction. Her eyes lit up. The policemen, too, glanced at Rollison as Gwendoline went hurrying towards him, eager now as if to a lover. Rollison took both her hands.
“I was half afraid you wouldn’t get here,” she said, gripping tightly. “Are you all right?” She searched his face. “Don’t look so innocent!” she cried. “You were nearly blown-up, weren’t you?”
“That story’s got around, has it?” Rollison said, and laughed. “Yes, I survived. I’m afraid the car I’m now using isn’t big enough to put your motor-scooter in the boot.”
“I’ll leave it here,” she said, and they turned and walked back to Jolly’s battered Austin. She appeared not to notice its age and condition. “You’re going to get a front page headline in
“I don’t deserve it,” Rollison said. “Will it also be connected with Slatter?”
“Yes.”
“I hope to heaven I’ve done the right thing.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” said Gwendoline primly. “Off the record.”
He told her what he expected and had asked, and added as he drove along Commercial Road:
