Accuse the Toff (15 page)

‘No, thanks,'said Rollison. ‘I've had one next door. Which is the room?'

‘I'll show you,' said Mrs. Mee.

She led the way up the narrow stairs and into a room leading to the right of a small landing; the lights in the room and the passages were shaded. The girl was lying against pillows, on a bed in a room with a small gas fire burning. Her cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes open very wide, looking a little too brilliant as if she were running a temperature.

It was June-Patrushka.

Rollison waited for Mrs. Mee to go while the girl stared at him without speaking. The door closed and Rollison approached the single bed standing against one wall of the room which was high enough only for that, a dressing-table and a small chair. Smiling crookedly and looking down at her, knowing that it was hardly fair to take advantage of her weakness and shock, Rollison dared not miss the opportunity of turning the situation to his advantage.

‘Hallo, Patrushka,' he said. ‘We both got wet.'

The way she started and moved back against the pillow at the name ‘Patrushka' satisfied him that he had made a good start.

 

 

She did not ask how he had heard of the name but recovered a little from the first shock and raised a right hand from the bedspread; the shaded light glinted on the three diamonds of her engagement ring. He thought that her cheeks were flushed a little more than when he had first entered.

‘You've been making inquiries, have you?'

‘They seemed to be necessary,' said Rollison drily. ‘And I'm not alone, Patrushka. The police are as interested and they'll be here before long to find out what they can about the attack on you. You haven't overlooked that, have you?'

‘No,' she answered.

‘And you haven't forgotten your fears of what will happen if they know that you're a Rumanian subject,' continued the Toff. ‘Or has that obsession left you?' He paused but as she did not speak went on: ‘Who told you that Patrushka was a Rumanian name?'

She said: ‘Why, it—'

She stopped in confusion and this time there was no doubt that her cheeks were more flushed. That did not rob her of her attractiveness and, by some miracle, her hair was smooth about her head, fluffy because of the wetting but not greatly out of place. Her eyes looked enormous and her lips were parted a little, showing a glimpse of white teeth. She looked half-afraid of him.

‘It isn't Rumanian, it's Russian,' said Rollison. ‘Any Rumanian should know that. Patrushka, you lied convincingly to me this morning but I told you at the time that I wasn't deceived, although I was nearer to it than you thought. You're as English as I am. That covers the first direct lie you told me. Yes?'

She swallowed hard. ‘I—'

‘You wanted to give me a plausible reason for keeping free from the police while searching for the black case and, knowing through the Red Cross that aliens are always in trouble and likely to suffer a lot of inconvenience over here, you put that up as an excuse. It might have served but your English is a little too good, and you use colloquialisms too freely, to be really convincing. But as an alias for the benefit of Peveril you chose a name at random that sounded foreign and you thought it would serve your purpose. Perhaps it did but it didn't stop Lie Number 2 when you denied knowing Peveril.'

She said in a low-pitched voice: ‘I had to tell you something.'

‘Yes, I suppose so,' said the Toff. ‘Tonight you're going to tell me the truth. Probably you'll just have time before the police arrive and I can help you with them if I'm sure that you've been frank with me. But if you try more evasions, I'll just give them my blessing and stand aside.'

He thought that she was scared of the prospect of police interrogation and he wanted her to be. But he was by no means certain that she would submit to his persuasion and could think of no yardstick by which he could measure her sincerity: her ability to tell a plausible story had been ably demonstrated that morning and he was in no condition to judge the truth of what she told him; that would be difficult enough in normal circumstances.

A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Still glowing under the promise of compensation the angular Mrs. Mee, who had powdered her face and dabbed a lipstick on her lips, brought in a tray on which were two large steaming cups of coffee. She was dressed in a black satin frock which rustled and crinkled, beamed upon them and put the tray on the dressing-table within easy reach of the bed.

‘I thought you might change your mind, sir,' she said. ‘You can't get too hot after what you've been through. And don't spare the sugar, don't be afraid of it.' Her beam widened, she was austerity unbending. ‘What a lucky girl you are,' she added archly and shook a finger at Patrushka. ‘If this brave gentleman hadn't jumped in after you, I wouldn't like to think what would have happened. Why, it's a wonder you wasn't froze to death as soon as you got in. Is there anything else you want, sir?'

‘No, thanks,' said Rollison, who had borrowed cigarettes and matches from George on the strict understanding that he would replace them.

The girl lay back more easily on her pillows and there was a different expression in her eyes, thoughtful, considering and surprised. Rollison was about to speak again when Mrs. Mee tapped again and entered quickly, her face set in lines of apology.

‘I'm awfully sorry, sir, but a taxi-man downstairs says shall he wait, or shall he make a day of it? If you ask me, he's a bit worried about his fare, some people
are
the limit.' She sniffed righteously.

‘Yes, aren't they,' said Rollison. ‘Tell him to wait, please, and that it will be worth a fiver.' He turned back to Patrushka without waiting to see the avaricious glint in Mrs. Mee's eyes and heard the door close gently, accompanied by the exuding of a long, slow breath.

Patrushka completely ignored the interruption.

‘I was the only one around,' said Rollison apologetically. ‘And I wanted to talk with you, so there was nothing else to do.' His eyes were smiling but there was an underlying note of seriousness in his voice. ‘What happened to you before you—er—fell in?'

‘I didn't fall,' she said, and then abruptly: ‘But you know that as well as I do. I—I went to see the Jamesons but they were out.' She paused before going on: ‘I have a key to the cottage and I went in. Some men were waiting for me—I think Ibbetson was among them.'

‘He was,' confirmed the Toff.

‘The brute,' she said and shuddered a little; it was not affectation. ‘I don't know much more, except that they hit me over the head and I—I fainted. Before that I thought they seemed in a hurry to get me away. One of them said that there wasn't time to ask questions.' She stopped and leaned forward for her coffee. She wore a voluminous flannel nightdress, chastely drawn high at the neck and with half-length sleeves from which her rounded forearm poked modestly. ‘Thanks,' she added as Rollison handed her the cup and she took a spoonful of sugar. ‘That's all I
do
remember about it.'

‘I hope it is,' said Rollison.

‘I'm telling you it is,' said Patrushka. ‘I—I was in two minds whether to tell you all I can before that old bag of bones came in but now—well, I didn't realise that I owed you my life.'

‘I suppose it is a point,' admitted Rollison.

‘Well, my name is June Lancing, I
am
as English as you are and I lied to you this morning because I didn't want you to know what was happening. I thought you would be—be unable to get any further and that you'd just forget the affair. 1 knew you worked at the War Office, you see, and I thought you'd be too busy to give a lot of time to this.'

‘I am busy,' Rollison assured her. ‘This is a spare-time hobby.'

‘It hasn't been today!' There was a hint of a smile on her lips and, in spite of the questions and the crisis which he had forced, the brilliance of her eyes and the flush of her cheeks seemed less pronounced. ‘Oh, don't let's play on words, I'm tired of pretending. I've been pretending for so long. What do you want to know?'

‘How did you know that I was involved?' asked the Toff promptly, and her answer was as quick.

‘The Jamesons told me.'

‘How did you come to know the Jamesons?'

‘They worked for my father for a long time. That was before the war,' she added quietly. ‘He died and mother and I gave up our big house and took a London flat. The Jamesons owned the cottage here, so they came to live in it. We—we gave them a pension, of course. Mr. Roll—but what is your rank?'

‘Mr. will do.'

‘I was going to say, this
is
the truth.'

‘I'm not going to doubt where it can be checked easily,' said Rollison quietly and her cheeks flushed. But she went on without comment.

‘They told us that you'd been at the cottage and old Jameson remembered about you. Tom followed your—your adventures when he was younger and I remembered something about you, so I asked a friend what he knew of you. As soon as I knew that you were all right, I sent the black case to your office for safety. That was last night. I thought it would be easy enough to get it back. I didn't know what was going to happen.'

‘Not having second sight. So Lie Number 3 is that the case was stolen from you.'

‘Oh, no,' the girl said quickly. ‘It was stolen and then Peveril stole it from Ibbetson and I—well, I managed to get it back. I knew I dared not keep it for long, so I sent it to a Messenger Service and told them to address it to you and take it to the War Office first thing in the morning. I didn't think there would be more than one Rollison working there and—well, it seemed safer than the flat.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I've realised how easily flats can be broken into,' the girl replied quietly. ‘I thought I'd put it where it could come to no harm, this time. Then soon afterwards that brute Peveril forced his way into the flat. It—it was pretty bad for half an hour. He threatened some beastly things and I just couldn't stand out against him. Thank God he believed me!' she added and Rollison did not doubt her sincerity then. ‘Doesn't he make the hair rise up on the back of your neck?'

‘He hasn't yet,' said the Toff, ‘but if you mean does he strike me as being a poisonous customer, yes. But you nearly qualified for the insanity stakes, you know. If you took the trouble to inquire about me why the deuce didn't you make a job of it and come to ask me to help?'

She said steadily: ‘It would have meant telling you what was in the case. I couldn't do that.'

The contents are as incriminating as that, are they?' asked Rollison quietly. ‘What kind of a mess have you got yourself into, Patrushka? Who in the name of heaven persuaded you to try to handle it on your own?'

After a long pause she said tensely: ‘I had to work on my own, I couldn't consult anyone else, I didn't know where it would lead to. I didn't get the case from Mr. Brett. I'm not engaged to his son.' Those admissions came abruptly. ‘I told you both those things to make it sound more convincing.' Her voice dropped to a lower pitch, quivering a little, and the cup and saucer shook in her hand. ‘I've told you that my father died and we had to give up the country house. That's true but he was murdered, I know he was murdered and the evidence is in that case. Brett killed him, I'm sure of it. He killed him and robbed the estate, he's like a great beast of prey, feeding on his victims. My father was one of a dozen, of a hundred! But Brett was too secure, no-one suspected the great Lancelot Brett of being a thief and a rogue and a swindler. Why, the Government consults him and entrusts him with its secrets; he's gone to America for them now; but if they knew the truth they wouldn't trust him an inch. I thought if I could get the case I could prove it. I know it holds all his secrets. My father told me he'd seen Brett consulting it. Don't look at me as if you don't believe me!' she flared up suddenly. ‘It's true!'

She glared at him and a little of the coffee spilt into the saucer while the Toff leaned forward and touched her wrist, a soft, almost caressing gesture of reassurance. He smiled a little, intent only on easing her feeling, suddenly bubbling up and showing the pent-up emotions within her. That persuaded him more than anything else of her earnestness and her conviction.

‘Yes, I believe you,' he said quietly. ‘Don't get worked up, Patrushka, I'll see you through. And I'll look after him, too.'

She gasped: ‘Him? Who do you mean?'

‘Whoever you're working for,' said Rollison gently. ‘Whoever you're helping. The man who gave you that engagement ring, I imagine, and because of whom you daren't confide in the police and you didn't want to confide in me. There is a “him,” isn't there?'

In a strangled voice she said: ‘Yes, but—how did you know?'

‘If all you've told me is true, and I think it is, you wanted to get the case open first, to extract something incriminating. Unless that was so you would have told the police at once or I'm no judge of Patrushka-June Lancing. Let it all come out now, even a half-truth or a single fact not disclosed might make all the difference between winning and losing.' Rollison talked to soothe her, using the first words that came into his mind, believing he had divined the truth and seeing confirmation in her eyes. He watched her closely, seeing her lips moving as her breathing quickened and her eyes, with their great lashes, wider open than he had ever seen them.

‘Oh, dear God!' she exclaimed. ‘I can't face it, I'm frightened he'll be found out. Oh, Gerry! Why did you have to do it, why couldn't you have fought against it?' She stopped, but her great eyes still stared at the Toff.

He sensed the depths of her emotion and forgot the questions crowding his mind in the revelation of a heart laid bare to him. To this girl the unknown ‘Gerry' mattered more than anyone or anything in the world.

In a brittle voice she went on: ‘Brett employed a secretary who knew almost as much as he did. Gerry killed him. The evidence is in the case. And I had it in my hands for hours. I had it in my hands but I daren't open it. I just daren't. I knew what would happen if I did. I could have destroyed it but it would have ruined the chances of bringing Brett's crimes home to him, as well as of freeing Gerry. I couldn't destroy it,' she went on tautly. ‘I couldn't do that, I couldn't let such a man go free.'

Quietly, not then comprehending, Rollison said: ‘Why couldn't you open it, Patrushka?'

He was not giving all his thought to what he said; he was thinking of the unknown Gerry to whom the contents of the case, if the girl were right, would bring home murder. He was thinking of the fact that Grice had the case and that there was little or no chance of examining the contents before the police did. He was wondering what Patrushka would think and do when she knew that he had given it to the police, was reproaching himself for having let Grice have it although in his heart he knew that it had been the right thing to do. He was strangely disturbed by thought of Gerry; the tension in the girl explained that to some degree. He was disturbed, too, because of the likely effect of the revelation on her. He did not stop, then, to reason out the probable truth of Peveril's and Ibbetson's search for the case although his mind did admit the probability that, if it contained such information against Lancelot Brett, it would be a weapon of untold value in the hands of a blackmailer.