“I have his ticket in front of me, and on it your address is quoted as his English destination.”
“You know,” Rollison said. “I wish he would come. I would like to ask him a thing or two.”
“Well,” Grice said, “he can’t.”
The phrase struck an ominous note and moved Rollinson’s emotions from bewilderment with an under-tone of frustration to apprehension. He did not ask why Thomas G. Loman could not come to see him, but knew of at least one very good reason: that he was dead.
Grice went on slowly, as if grudgingly : “Not yet, at all events.”
The devil, thought Rollison, he’s having me on. Aloud, he asked: “Is he hurt?”
“He’s unconscious.”
“What put him out?” demanded Rollison, sharply.
“A shot of morphia,” Grice stated, without any hesitation at all. “When the aircraft arrived at Heath Row this morning he was found unconscious in his seat. At first the stewardesses thought he was asleep, but it is much more than that. He’s in the airport hospital now, and I’ve just had the report saying that he’s under morphine and that there are hypodermic needle punctures in his right and left forearms.” There was a long pause which could only be called pregnant, before Grice demanded in a voice laden with doubt: “Are you sure you don’t know him? Are you sure you’re not up to something you’ve forgotten to tell us about?”
Very slowly, Rollison answered: “I am quite sure, William.”
“Then why the devil should he have been coming to see you?” demanded Grice. “He’s got no luggage and no money in his wallet. His American passport is valid. Either he left New York quite empty handed or else he’s been robbed.”
4
“BILL,” ROLLISON SAID with quiet persistence, after a long, pregnant-type pause, “I can’t answer any of the questions about this man because I don’t know a thing about him. Unless —”
“
“Unless he’s using a false name, which would presum-ably mean using a false passport,” Rollison finished.
“I have known friends of yours do such things,” Grice observed, cuttingly.
“Bill,” said Rollison in his gentlest voice. “You aren’t exactly in the friendliest of moods this morning, are you?”
There was a short pause, followed by a staccato exclamation, before Grice said in tacit agreement:
“I must have got out of bed the wrong side. Can you go to the airport?”
“To identify the man, if by chance I do know him under some other name?”
“Yes.”
Rollison pondered. He had a committee meeting for a fund-raising group for Cancer Research but they could get on without him, and he had a luncheon appointment with, his accountant, who could easily be put off; and in any case a ‘no’ would probably make Grice’s mood even more difficult. So he said in the most conciliatory tone:
“Yes, Bill, I can leave here in twenty minutes or so. Will you be there?”
“I wish I could be but I’ve a Commissioner’s meeting,” Grice answered. The overhanging threat of that could partly explain his mood. “You know Paterson of the Airport Police, don’t you?”
“Slightly.”
“I’ll tell him to expect you,” Grice promised. “And thanks.”
“I really can’t wait to meet Thomas G. or C. Loman,” Rollison told him.
“I’ve just made sure it’s G., as in George,” asserted Grice.
“Thanks. I’ll let you know how I get on,” Rollison promised, and rang off.
For a few moments he sat back, frowning at the ceiling, and did not look round when Jolly came in. Jolly would have heard the conversation on the kitchen extension: it was accepted that he should listen to all but personal calls, thus saving the need for explanation on matters he would need to know about in any case. “What do you make of it?” Rollison asked.
“Peculiar is one word, sir.” Jolly came further into the room.
“Suspicious?” asked Rollison.
“In the sense that this could be an attempt to involve you in some affair without you knowing?” asked Jolly. “Yes.”
“Conceivably so,” Jolly admitted. “Yes indeed, sir, that is possible.”
Rollison pushed back his chair, stood up, and jingled coins and some keys in his pocket. He studied Jolly in a preoccupied way, and the flat was silent as the two men were still. The shadow of the Trophy Wall seemed to loom about them until Rollison threw the shadow off and said lightly:
“Telephone apologies for my two appointments, will you?”
“I will indeed, sir.”
