“I still say that his most remarkable case was the one about the voodoo doll. Did you read that?”
“Why, sure thing, I read all about it,” answered Loman. “It was fascinating, Jack. But the story I prefer is the one when he was helping those fallen women —”
“Angels.”
“Huh?”
“Fallen angels.”
“Sure, that’s what he called them,” conceded Loman, “but —”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Rollison strode forward into the room at a pace suggesting that he couldn’t get in fast enough and had heard nothing of what had been said. “Mr. Fisher, I can’t say how sorry I am that I’m late.”
“It’s perfectly all right, Mr. Rollison. Don’t worry at all.”
“Jolly’s got you a drink, I see?. . . How about another?” He refilled Fisher’s glass while the man stared at him as if not quite sure that he was real. Soon, he was drinking their health, they were asking questions about the past and the future, but neither mentioned the present until Fisher asked:
“Did they find that motor-cyclist?”
“They haven’t yet,” answered Rollison.
“But he’s the key to the whole thing!” cried Fisher. “Once they know why he tried to kill you the rest is bound to fall into place. Isn’t it, Mr. Rollison?” He spun round to Rollison for confirmation. “They mustn’t let him get away!”
“They’ll catch him, sooner or later,” Rollison said reassuringly.
“They should have caught him already,” Fisher de-clared angrily. “I —” He broke off, and forced a smile. “Well, I don’t want to spoil a wonderful evening like this by losing my temper, do I?”
“Lost tempers can do a world of good,” Rollison soothed. “I came nearer to losing mine this evening than I have for a long, long time.”
“You!” exclaimed Fisher.
“How?” inquired Loman.
“You can’t start a story like that and not tell us what happened,” protested Fisher.
“No, I suppose I can’t,” Rollison said. “Well, it was something like this.” He moved to his desk and touched a switch which meant that in the kitchen Jolly would hear what he was saying. “I came upon the motor-cyclist again, or he came upon me,” he went on. “He was in the home — the flat — of an actor who plays character parts, and whose wife is going to have a baby.”
He paused.
Both men stared, and he was sure that Jolly was sud-denly spellbound, pausing in the middle of whatever culinary art he was engaged upon. Very carefully, he went on:
“The motor-cyclist first wrecked the place, with a hand-grenade I suspect, and finished it off with a fire-bomb. All of us were lucky to escape with our lives.”
“Did the motor-cyclist get away again?” demanded Fisher.
“He did.”
“No wonder you were mad!”
“I wasn’t exactly angry about that, I was too glad to be alive,” Rollison retorted. “But I began to lose my temper when someone suggested that I’d thrown the bomb —”
“Who on earth accused you of
“The little
His championship of Rollison was almost too much to stand, Rollison thought; and wondered whether Fisher got all his thrills vicariously.
“Would you say that?” asked Loman, quietly. He had been eyeing Rollison very thoughtfully all the time. “In that condition women can say some wild things.” When neither of the others commented he added lamely : “I guess.”
“Women are always saying wild things,” grumbled Fisher.
“Richard,” asked Loman. “What made you angry?”
“They began to blame me when the woman had to be hurried off to hospital,” Rollison stated carefully.
Fisher groaned: “Oh, no.” He backed a pace to a chair and sat on the arm, gaping at Rollison, while Loman simply took another sip of his drink and remarked:
“They had to blame someone. Did the woman see the man or the motor-cycle?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Well, perhaps they didn’t believe in him,” said Loman, with a slow smile. “Perhaps they were ready to believe that the man who won all these trophies was capable of anything.” There was a hint of laughter in his eyes. “Now if they started to suggest the baby was yours —”
