Poison For the Toff

by John Creasey

  Her face was set, and by her side was the monosyllabic Tips.

  ‘Why, hallo,’ said Rollison, brightly. ‘I say, Mary, I am sorry, but—’

  ‘You deliberately insulted me,’ said Mary, coldly, ‘and I can’t forgive you. If Tips were a man,’ she added with withering scorn, ‘he would make you do more than pretend you’re sorry. Anyone would think I stole the beastly arsenic.’

  ‘Now, come,’ protested Rollison, ‘I had to prevent a scare, and the only way I could do it was to be hard on you. It was in the public interest, you know.’

  ‘It made me look a fool,’ said Mary, unforgivingly, ‘is that in the public interest?’ There were spots of angry red on her cheeks. She turned away from Rollison, abruptly, and said: ‘Take me home, Tips.’

  ‘Can’t do, at the moment,’ said Tips with some embarrassment. ‘There’s a queue, waiting to be searched.’

  ‘To be what?’

  ‘Searched,’ said Tips. ‘Fact. Sorry.’

  ‘Do you mean to say I’m going to be forced to submit to another indignity?’ cried Mary.

  ‘Well, your fault you know,’ said Tips, flushing a dull pink. ‘If you hadn’t caused the sensation, it wouldn’t have happened. Not like this. Ought to have just said a word to Mr Rollison.’ The flush receded, and his voice grew stronger. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and picked up his plate of melting ice-cream. He put the spoon in his mouth, then suddenly stopped.

  ‘You—’ began Mary, and then turned and hurried towards the hall. She had not had a good evening, thought Rollison; but Tips was right, she had asked for much of what she had received.

  Tips put his hand to his lips. Only Rollison was with him.

  ‘Something pricked me,’ he said, in surprise. ‘I— ah!’ He lowered his spoon and in it was a tiny piece of glass. ‘I wonder how that got there. Nasty, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nasty is hardly the word,’ said Rollison, grimly. He raised his voice, startling the few guests who remained. ‘I’d like everyone who’s eating ice-cream to stop,’ he called, and the tone of his voice warned the guests of some impending sensation. Four people abruptly put down their plates, and Grice came hurrying from the hall. ‘The fact is,’ went on Rollison, as he drew up, ‘Tips has found a piece of broken glass in his ice-cream.’

  ‘Great Scott!’ gasped Grice. ‘Here—’

  He turned and half-ran towards the ice-cream container. Several other people came up to watch him. He spooned out a heap of ice-cream, and spread it on a plate. There were two or three suspicious little blobs, and he touched them with his finger; two contained a fragment of glass.

  ‘What the dickens is the matter?’ demanded Ronald Kemp, in bewilderment. ‘I’ve just been eating that stuff.’

  ‘Then you want an emetic, and you want it quickly,’ said Rollison. ‘So does everyone else who’s eaten the stuff since the arsenic was missed. Because it looks as if the tube went into the ice-cream bucket, and that means—’

  ‘No!’ gasped Flo Hardy, jumping forward. ‘No, it couldn’t have done, it—oh, I’m going to be sick. I know I’m going to be sick. I’ve eaten lashings of it.’ She looked white and ill. ‘Oh, I feel dreadful!’

  The faces of Ronald Kemp and several others were as pale as her own.

  Chapter Four

  After The Show

  Rollison put the morning newspapers aside, and lit a cigarette. He could hear Jolly moving about the flat, clearing up after the party of the previous night. Although the windows were wide open tobacco smoke seemed to be everywhere, mixed with the faint smell of whisky and gin. Rollison, however, was not thinking of these things.

  Jolly looked in at the door.

  ‘Is there anything else you want, sir?’ he asked, almost timidly. ‘A little more hot water or milk?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Rollison. ‘Breakfast in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said Jolly, and went quietly away.

  Rollison bathed and shaved, wholly absorbed in contemplation and reliving in his mind what had happened the previous night. Before he had allowed the remaining guests to leave the flat, he had summoned a doctor. A group of miserable people had been taken to a nearby nursing home, and probably they were still miserable, although Rollison had already telephoned and been assured that none of them was seriously ill.

  That had been only one of the consequences.

  Grice and the police had immediately sent out an SOS calling on all who had been to the party and warning them of the danger. Most of them had submitted to medical aid, but some, including Aunt Mattie, had refused to pay serious attention to the warning. It was possible that these would suffer for it; he was waiting apprehensively for a telephone call.

  It had been three o’clock before he had gone to bed, too exhausted to attempt to solve what lay behind the mystery. There was one superficial explanation: that someone had planned wholesale murder. Such an explanation might satisfy sensation seekers, but was too unlikely to appeal seriously to Rollison.

  The discovery had been made a little before midnight, and so had given the Press ample time to make the fullest capital out of the story. One of the newspapers had run a sensational article, inferring that it had been a deliberate attempt at mass poisoning, however, and several others had hinted at it.

  ‘But before we start suspecting,’ murmured Rollison, ‘it is necessary to know why it was done.’

  His talk with Aunt Gloria at the Marigold Club now seemed a long way off. At the time he had been inclined to agree that he needed lifting out of his moodiness, but attempted slaughter in his own flat was altogether too drastic a way of doing it.

  ‘Breakfast is served, sir,’ announced Jolly.

  Jolly could have spent little time in bed. The stale aftermath of the party had now magically disappeared. Outside, the morning was dull and sluggish, a slight drizzle barely stirring the air.

  Rollison was drinking his last cup of coffee when the telephone bell rang. He looked at the instrument gloomily as Jolly answered it.

  ‘This is the Hon. Richard Rollison’s residence,’ said Jolly. ‘I will see, Mr Grice. Will you speak to Superintendent Grice?’ he added, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. Rollison nodded and took the receiver.

  ‘Well, Bill,’ said Rollison, heavily.

  ‘Have you had any reports?’ asked Grice.

  ‘No bad ones,’ said Rollison.

  ‘Nor have I – yet,’ said Grice. ‘There are six reports of mild disorders among the revellers who were not examined.’

  ‘Over-eating,’ said Rollison severely.

  ‘Could be. You’ve had the report from the nursing home, of course.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your aunts appear to have escaped,’ said Grice, ‘and I’ve spoken to Mrs Morral. She also is all right.’

  ‘Katrina,’ murmured Rollison, frowning. ‘I think I might find out a little more about Katrina. Any news of the bearded man?’

  ‘I can find out nothing about him,’ said Grice. ‘No one seems to have brought him to the party. And the man with the hooked nose was a stranger, too. I’ve neither name nor address of either of them, and they were missing when the loss was discovered.’

  ‘I do remember that,’ said Rollison. ‘Three others were missing, weren’t they?’

  ‘All three were relatives whom your Aunt Gloria had invited,’ Grice told him. ‘One of them was Derek Morral. Apparently he stayed only for a few minutes, and went off when he saw that his wife was there. The other two were also relatives of yours.’ There was a laughing note in Grice’s voice. ‘I don’t think we need waste much time on such distinguished people, and I can’t imagine that—’

  Rollison said: ‘Bill, no favouritism. Put ‘em all on the list. I have a most uncomfortable feeling that this business has its roots in my benighted family, and that
Glory can tell us more about it than she has yet admitted. I’m going to see her this morning.’

  ‘Well, it can’t do any harm,’ said Grice moderately. ‘Oh, there’s one small thing, Rolly. The only two people who appear not to have eaten ice-cream were Katrina, Mrs Morral, and your Aunt Gloria.’

  ‘Oh,’ exclaimed Rollison, and added after a pause: ‘And Jolly. He never eats ice-cream. And what of the bearded man and he of the hooked nose?’

  ‘Florence Hardy remembers giving them some. She isn’t the fool she seemed last night.’

  ‘Well, that’s a comfort,’ said Rollison, ‘I mean, about Florence not being a fool. All right, Bill, many thanks. I’m sorry I’ve pitch-forked you into this. Have you seen the Daily Cry?’

  ‘I certainly have,’ said Grice, grimly. ‘And the headline: Who Tried to Murder the Toff?’

  ‘Well, someone was bound to resurrect that soubriquet Nicknames stick.’

  He thought he heard Grice chuckle as he rang off.

  Rollison lit a cigarette, and turned thoughtfully to Jolly.

  ‘Come and sit down, Jolly. Now, what do you really make of last night’s show?’

  ‘Very little indeed, sir, I’m afraid,’ said Jolly, sitting down primly on the extreme edge of a chair. ‘I have given the matter some thought, but I was aware of nothing at all unusual until the tube was found to be missing. I did not notice anyone showing particular interest in it, although I have tried to recall everyone who paid close attention to the souvenir wall. Comparatively few did, sir, because most of them had seen it before.’ Jolly folded his hands across his stomach, and added miserably: ‘I should have removed that tube. I feel responsible for it, sir.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Rollison crisply. ‘The damn thing was put there on my instruction. There is some small satisfaction in learning that the whole lot seems to have been put into the ice-cream. The stuff has been analysed, and judging from the samples, most of it is still there. So it can’t do harm elsewhere.’

  ‘That is a very great relief,’ murmured Jolly.

  ‘The question is,’ said Rollison, ‘was arsenic put into the ice-cream deliberately, as some of the papers assume, or did the thief panic after the discovery, and get rid of it in what seemed the easiest way possible? Anyone standing near the kitchen could have dropped the tube in, and Miss Hardy was doling it out without looking, half the time.’

  ‘I should not have allowed her to accept the responsibility for serving the ice-cream, even though she was most insistent,’ said Jolly, remorsefully.

  ‘Was she so insistent?’ asked Rollison.

  ‘Oh, very, sir.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rollison. ‘Well, stop apportioning the blame and stop reproaching yourself. I am going to see my Aunt Gloria.’

  ‘Shall I ring for an appointment, sir?’

  ‘No,’ said Rollison, ‘I’d rather catch her unprepared.’

  It was a little after ten o’clock when he left Gresham Terrace. An empty taxi passed him, but he did not hail it. He walked more briskly than of late, and now there was nothing aimless about him. It was undoubtedly true that he felt very much more himself than he had for many months – six months, as Old Glory would probably emphasise.

  The same three elderly ladies were sitting at the window as before; the same middle-aged woman met him in the hall and wanted to know whether he had an appointment. The only thing different from the morning of his first call was that the young maid did not appear almost immediately afterwards. He glanced idly through a magazine on the hall table, feeling uneasy about the delay.

  The middle-aged woman reappeared at last, to say that Lady Gloria was not in her room.

  ‘Have you looked inside?’

  ‘No, sir, the door is locked.’

  ‘Take me upstairs, please,’ said Rollison abruptly.

  His manner was sharp and over-ruled the woman’s hesitation, and without another word said she led him to his aunt’s room. Rollison tried the handle of the door, then knocked loudly.

  ‘Are you all right, Aunt Gloria?’

  There was no reply.

  He knocked again, and the woman protested: ‘Please, sir, not so much noise.’

  Rollison said: ‘Is there a master key?’

  ‘Not this room, sir.’

  ‘When was Lady Gloria last seen?’ asked Rollison, taking a penknife from his hip pocket, and selecting a thin blade.

  ‘Last evening, sir, before she left to visit you.’

  ‘Do you mean she hasn’t come back?’ exclaimed Rollison.

  Now the woman was really agitated.

  ‘She left instructions that the front door was not to be bolted, sir, as she might be back late. We have no staff on duty after eleven o’clock. No one heard her return, but I assumed— Mr Rollison! What are you doing?’

  ‘Unlocking the door,’ said Rollison grimly.

  The woman stood by, protesting vainly as he inserted the thin blade into the keyhole. It was not a difficult lock to turn. In less than thirty seconds it clicked back and Rollison opened the door.

  He stepped inside.

  The room was in perfect order, and even the gloom of the morning did not detract from its charm. The divan bed was made, and the bedspread and eiderdown were unwrinkled. Rollison took these facts in, and then asked: ‘Who makes the bed?’

  ‘The chambermaid, sir.’

  ‘And she hasn’t been in here this morning?’

  ‘No,’ said the woman. She looked round distractedly. ‘I do hope that nothing is wrong, sir. I’ve never known Lady Gloria stay away for a night without first advising us, not all the time she has been here.’

  ‘Send for the chambermaid, please,’ said Rollison, crisply, ‘and make inquiries about last night. Someone would have heard Lady Gloria come in, if she was late,’

  ‘Not necessarily, sir, because—’

  ‘Please do what I say,’ said Rollison.

  He went to the telephone on the writing table as the woman hurried out, and dialled Whitehall 1212. He was soon speaking to Grice.

  ‘Bill, have you seen Lady Gloria this morning? Or heard from her?’

  ‘No need,’ said Grice cheerfully. ‘She doesn’t eat ice-cream.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Last night. At your flat. Why, what’s the trouble?’

  ‘She didn’t return home,’ said Rollison. ‘See what you can find out, will you?’

  He rang off as the chambermaid came into the room. The girl, however, could only confirm what the older woman had already said.

  Several pleasantly excited, elderly ladies came in. They slept in rooms on that passage, they said, but none of them had heard Gloria return. One declared that she had not slept until five o’clock, she never slept during the night, only during the early morning; and she was quite sure that she would have heard any sound in the passage.

  Then into the room came a tall, handsome woman dressed severely in blue, a woman with grace of carriage and charm of manner. She also looked extremely capable.

  Introducing herself as the manageress, she led Rollison to her office.

  Two or three people whom they met on the way murmured: ‘Good morning, Miss Page.’ But though she inclined her head graciously and answered each of them, Rollison felt sure that her mind was elsewhere and that she was greatly preoccupied.

  Her office was pleasantly furnished, tidy and businesslike. A young typist was sitting at a desk, and Miss Page addressed her briskly.

  ‘Go and collect the breakfast dockets, Alice, and come back in half-an-hour.’

  The girl hurried out, with a sidelong glance at Rollison. Miss Page indicated an armchair, offered him a cigarette, and then looked at him severely.

  ‘Do you realise that you have created a great deal of dis
turbance in the club, Mr Rollison?’

  ‘If I have, I’m sorry,’ said Rollison. ‘Do you realise that Lady Gloria was at a party last night where many of the guests ate arsenic, and that, as she hasn’t returned, there is the possibility that she may have been taken ill on the way here?’

  Miss Page’s poise and serenity of expression disappeared. She looked at him in growing consternation. After a pause she picked up a folded newspaper, and pointed to the headline.

  ‘At this party?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rollison, ‘a somewhat highly-coloured description. But true enough to show the seriousness of my aunt’s disappearance. The police are looking for her, and apparently no one here can give us any help towards finding out what became of her. You may be able to help in other ways. Had my aunt received many visitors lately, do you know?’

  ‘She has more visitors than most of our resident members,’ said Miss Page, now more composed. She moved to a filing-cabinet, extracted a manilla folder full of papers, turned the papers over and at last selected one and brought it to the desk.

  ‘There have been no new visitors for Lady Gloria except you yourself – ten days ago – and a Mrs Morral,’ she said, studying the papers.

  Rollison said: ‘Katrina Morral?’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Miss Page. She looked at him steadily. ‘She has been here five times within the last month. Of course, on other occasions she may have come with Lady Gloria. We keep records only of callers who come without a member to accompany them.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rollison, and added slowly: ‘You keep very thorough records, don’t you?’

  ‘Since there was a burglary here, eight months ago, we have considered it necessary,’ said Miss Page. ‘Is there any other way in which I can help you?’

  ‘Are you sure Lady Gloria has had no other visitors?’

  ‘Quite sure, unless, as I said, she brought any in with her,’ repeated Miss Page. She took off her horn-rimmed spectacles, revealing remarkably clear and attractive eyes. ‘Mr Rollison, I want you to answer me one question, please.’