“A nurse,” answered Rollison, with resignation. Loman looked astonished. “You call her —” he broke off, and smiled.
He had half-smiled before, just showing his white teeth set in the angular lower jaw, but this was the first time Rollison had really seen him smile as if he were deeply amused. It created deep lines at his eyes and others at the corners of his mouth, and it sank his jaw inches lower than its norm. Also, it wrinkled his nose at either side; there was no doubt at all that it made him look remarkably like a horse; a happy horse, Rollison thought with helpless indulgence.
“I don’t mean the blonde,” he said. “I mean the automobile!”
“Oh, the Bristol.”
“Come again.”
“The Bristol. B-R-I—”
“I know how you spell the name of the maker,” interrupted Loman. “You don’t have a name for her?”
“No.”
“I thought all the British had a name for their auto-mobiles. Like Genevieve, or something.”
“Genevieve —” began Rollison, and then he laughed outright. “Did you see the film of the old crocks’ race?”
“I surely did, answered Loman. “It was a dandy. So you don’t have a name for this beauty?”
“I’m afraid not,” Rollison said.
Loman shrugged, and they turned into the door of the house where Rollison lived. The tall American had to duck to get beneath the lintel, and once inside, stood and gaped up the narrow well of the staircase and the narrow staircase itself, with its wrought iron balustrade and the purple carpet. He held on to the rail as he went up ahead of the Toff, paused at each half and each main landing to look down, reached the landing before the Toff’s and stood still.
“Why don’t you find a name for your car?”
Rollison said amiably: “If you really want me to, I’ll consider it.”
“Sure, I want you to. An automobile like that shouldn’t be anonymous. Mr. — Rolly. Will you tell me something?”
Rollison thought: He can’t put the subject off much longer, and said: “Yes.”
“What happened to your automobile?” asked Loman. “In what way do you mean?”
“The holes. The dents. The gashes. Boy, they certainly made that automobile of heavy grade steel, any ordinary auto would have been like a pepper pot. It didn’t happen long ago, the edges where big pieces of metal tore through the steel are bright as silver. No oxidisation. So — what happened to the Bristol, Mr. — Richard?”
Rollison started up the stairs, but suddenly Loman gripped his arm with powerful fingers, and unless he wanted a struggle, it would be folly to pull himself free.
He saw the front door of his flat open an inch and had no doubt that Jolly was behind it, listening: he would have wondered why they were taking so long getting upstairs.
“A youth on a motor-cycle threw a hand grenade, but missed the window,” Rollison said clearly. “It struck the ground and went off : the Bristol caught most of the splinters.”
The door opened wider, an indication of Jolly’s concern.
Thomas G. Loman’s mouth dropped open and he took his hand away.
“Today.”
“In England?”
“At London Airport,” Rollison asseverated.
Thomas G. Loman blinked, closed his mouth and gulped, then slowly shook his head and said in a hopeless- sounding voice: “England is a surprising country. It sure is.” He started up the stairs again, still shaking his head — until Jolly opened the door wider still, showing his concern.
They were at the top landing.
Loman looked at Jolly as if at an apparition: the black jacket, grey cravat, striped trousers and highly polished black shoes. The sparse grey hair, too, and lined face. The melancholy brown eyes were turned towards Rollison and not until he was satisfied that his employer was unhurt did he acknowledge Loman, inclining his head and saying:
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Jolly,” Rollison said. “Mr. Loman will be staying with us for a few days. And meanwhile, if lunch hasn’t spoiled —” He paused hopefully.
“Will ten minutes be all right, sir?”
“Perfect,” said Rollison. “You look after things in the kitchen, I’ll take Mr. Loman to his room.”
Jolly went the back way; Rollison led Loman into the study-cum-living room and saw him rake the Trophy Wall with his gaze. They both paused for a few moments, not saying a word, before Rollison led the way by the other passage to the spare room. This was small, but had a large bed across which even a man of six feet six could sprawl. Rollison saw at a glance that Jolly had cleared away the usual vanities and accessories that delighted a woman and had put out a set of silver backed brushes and silver combs. Some leather containers were there for
