by John Creasey
Whether Mary Henderson had been a party to that burglary did not really matter. She would, of course, have to be watched, and the opportunity of finding out more of her part in the mystery would eventually present itself.
Not many men were so gifted that they could break into a flat with such speed and efficiency. The fact that Katrina’s near-murderer had done so once, suggested that it was he who had taken away the contents of Lorne’s wallet. The police were now busily engaged in a search for him, and for Lorne.
Handicapped as he now was, Rollison could do little about that; but he might be able to learn a great deal from Katrina, Derek and Old Glory.
He wished that he had been able to give Grice a better description of Katrina’s assailant. He had gathered that the fellow was shabby and needed a shave, but his features had made no impression. Probably this was partly due to the fact that he had wrongly assumed that the man was of no importance; now that his opinion was so drastically revised, he found it easy to believe that the shabbiness and unshaven chin had been a disguise. There was one other thing that he had been able to tell Grice; the man was on the plump side; but it was little enough, even with that.
Gordon, however, could probably be persuaded to give further information to the police. An interview with Gordon was high on Grice’s list of priorities.
Rollison suddenly thought of Jolly.
It was not like Jolly to be away for so long without reporting by telephone. He had followed Gordon, and it was possible that Gordon had gone some way out of London. Perhaps the police would be unable to find him. Rollison began to worry about Jolly, and to heighten his anxiety, Old Glory finished her letter and turned from the desk.
‘Where is Jolly?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Rollison.
‘I always understood that he was most reliable,’ said Old Glory provocatively.
‘Jolly’s doing what I told him to do,’ said Rollison, a little wearily. ‘You’re not being helpful, Glory. There are times when you are more than a little like Aunt Mattie.’
Lady Gloria laughed, and rested her hand on his shoulder.
‘I suppose I asked for that, Rolly,’ she said, ‘but you must admit the whole thing is very provoking – though more for you than for me, I suppose. Tell me what you want me to do.’
Rollison said: ‘That’s much better. Now tell me. What was your real reason in bullying me to give a party?’
She laughed again; and it was possible to see her as she had been in her youth, vivacious and full of vitality, as remarkable a woman then as she was now.
‘I wanted to bring Derek and Katrina together, and I thought that was the best way to do it,’ she said, ‘and I also wanted you to—’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Rollison. ‘I know of one, and guessed the other. Did Katrina come to see you?’
‘No. When Derek and she parted, I went to see her,’ said Lady Gloria. ‘She convinced me that whatever she did when she went away, she was not unfaithful to Derek. Derek would not believe that. I was a little troubled,’ Old Glory went on, ‘when I received two or three unpleasant letters—’
‘Addressed in red ink?’
‘Yes. You startled me when you referred to that,’ said Gloria. ‘I didn’t realise how quickly you would set to work. They were foolish letters, of course, telling me to mind my own business and not to interfere with Derek and Katrina. I once even thought that Derek had written them himself, but I don’t think so now. This man Lorne appears to be the culprit.’
‘Possibly,’ admitted Rollison. ‘Grice will want to know all you can tell him about them.’
‘Do you mean that you don’t think Lorne is the man?’
‘I’m taking nothing for granted, yet,’ said Rollison. ‘It all goes much deeper than I had thought, certainly deeper than you had thought.’
‘I suppose you mean that you cannot understand why Lorne thought it necessary to part Derek and Katrina to obtain information about the relics?’
‘Yes,’ said Rollison, slowly, ‘and I can’t yet understand why someone decided to kill Katrina, and also to risk killing a dozen other people in the attempt. However, that started it as far as I’m concerned. I think that when we know the secret of the ice-cream, we shall have the solution to the whole mystery. This sounds very kindergarten but I think it’s true. I wish—’
The telephone bell rang.
Lady Gloria answered it, and Rollison watched her in the soft light shed by the single lamp. She spoke quietly, sitting down as she did so; and then she jumped up in alarm and exclaimed: ‘Jolly! Are you sure?’
‘What is it?’ called Rollison, anxiously.
Gloria said: ‘They’re going to raid the museum tonight, Jolly says so. What do I dial?’
‘Put the receiver back, leave it for twenty seconds, that should clear it, then dial Whitehall 1212,’ said Rollison, almost distrait. ‘More haste, less speed, remember. That’s right … Now lift the receiver …’
As she obeyed, Derek came out of the next room.
The police were not able to estimate how many people took part in the raid on the Oriental Museum. Not until afterwards was it discovered that several men had stayed behind after the doors had been closed for the night, hiding themselves in the larger rooms, until the moment to strike had come. Then the police inside the museum were overpowered with comparative ease; the curator, who had stayed late, and the special nightwatchman had also been put out of action. The keys to the vaults were obtained without difficulty, and the three precious crates were first opened, to make sure that the contents were genuine, then refastened and carried to a small van which was standing in a side street. Before that was done the three patrol policemen were deliberately distracted by a sound of breaking glass from another part of the museum. From start to finish the raid was carried out with remarkable efficiency.
Nothing else was stolen.
Chapter Twelve
Week of Suspense
It was nearly one o’clock when Jolly reached Gresham Terrace. Immediately, he told his story. He had followed Gordon to a house near Woking, and Gordon had stayed there for some time. Hidden behind a clump of shrubs Jolly had seen the shabby man arrive, most surprisingly, in an expensive car. Soon afterwards, others had arrived. Jolly deduced from this that an important conference was going on in the house.
He had found a way in, and overheard plans for raiding the museum. Then he had tried to get out. Almost at once he had been caught and locked in one of the rooms of the house. By then he knew the others, including Gordon, were going to the scene of the robbery. They had left him alone, apparently satisfied that he could do nothing to prevent their scheme from being carried out.
Now he blamed himself for not having telephoned Scotland Yard, but pointed out that he had not known Rollison was incapacitated.
‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Rollison said, reassuringly. ‘It would have made no difference, anyhow, the goods were on the road long before Grice got there.’
‘If you say so, sir,’ said Jolly gravely. ‘But there is one point I find more than a little puzzling.’
‘Only one?’ murmured Rollison.
‘As this one concerns me personally, I have singled it out for attention,’ said Jolly, with great dignity. ‘I will freely admit, sir, that I did not expect to leave that house alive. I cannot understand why I was left there, unhurt, and not too securely fastened in.’
Rollison said: ‘In our experience, few people commit murder for murder’s sake. You were no immediate danger to them, as far as they knew, and there was no need to have your death added to their other crimes.’
‘Maybe, but had I escaped earlier, I might have prevented the robbery,’ said Jolly.
‘And had you escaped earlier, you might have found someone waiting for you outside,’ said Rollison with a grin.
Jolly looked at him in some dismay.
‘Do you know, sir, I had not thought of that!’
‘You would have done,’ said Rollison, consolingly. ‘Exactly where was this house?’
‘In Forest Avenue, Woking,’ said Jolly. ‘It was only partly furnished, and I think when the police make inquiries they will find that it is unoccupied.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Rollison, and stifled a yawn. ‘Well, what are we going to do for the night?’
‘With your permission, sir, I will make do with an easy chair,’ said Jolly. ‘As Mr Morral is here, there is no need for Lady Gloria to remain. I think we will be well-advised to allow her to return home. She is not young, and she really should rest.’
‘All right,’ said Rollison, ‘that seems reasonable.’
Lady Gloria raised no objections, and Jolly obtained a taxi for her; she refused any escort home. Rollison meanwhile struggled to get his clothes off, but could not succeed without Jolly’s help.
‘Well, it looks as if I’m out for the rest of this show,’ Rollison declared sourly.
‘I don’t think it is going to end as quickly as all that, sir,’ said Jolly.
‘Grice will move heaven and earth to get those cases back,’ declared Rollison. ‘He might even get them tonight.’
Grice, however, had nothing to report next morning.
The house at Woking proved to be untenanted, and the little furniture there had been left for sale by the previous tenant. Gordon had disappeared, and the scared girl in his office said she could tell the police nothing. The only agent Gordon had employed for two weeks was the shabby man: there was no record of the man’s name or address, and no trace of him.
Although there was a description of the van which had been used for the removal of the crates, it was not discovered until two mornings later, when it was found abandoned in a wood near Woking. The police found no fingerprints and nothing to indicate who had used it, but they did learn that it had been stolen from a bakery in the East End of London, although to make identification more difficult, the name and address of the baker had been painted out.
As the days passed Rollison found his enforced inaction more and more infuriating. Katrina had already left the flat, with Derek, for Green Street. Nothing had been said, but obviously they had agreed to live together again.
One of the most curious things, Rollison thought, was the fact that they had talked little about the past events. As far as he knew, Katrina had given no explanation of her association with Lorne and the man with the hooked nose. The police could get nothing from her, and it was reasonable to assume that Derek had fared no better; yet he appeared to ignore that, now. The sudden crisis, the moment when he had realised that she had been so near to death, had broken down the barriers of suspicions and restraint.
But Rollison wondered if either of them was really happy.
Katrina’s gravity remained; she did not smile; she had a simple, almost childlike manner, which Rollison had found curiously attractive when he had first talked with her, but now he found himself wondering whether it were a deliberate pose.
Derek, although quiet, was reasonably cheerful. He had photographs of the relics as well as of all the more important jewels. He gave a set of similar ones to Rollison, and to Grice.
There was no sign of Lorne, who had vanished as completely as the others.
The newspapers, thriving on the robbery, had exaggerated Rollison’s part in the affair, and the word ‘Toff’ appeared freely in the headlines. The main point of interest was, of course, the three missing relics. Every newspaper employed an ‘expert’ to write articles about the dancing girl, the stool and the idol, and most of them differed in detail. There was general agreement, however, on the value of the relics; no paper put them lower than two hundred thousand pounds, none more than a quarter of a million. The figures themselves may have impressed the general public, but they did not greatly impress Rollison. The thieves would be quite unable to sell them at anything like that amount; the most likely thing, he thought, was that they would be stripped of their jewels, and each jewel would be put on to the market separately.
Grice, of course, was fully prepared for such an attempt. He obtained exhaustive descriptions of each article, and set his men to watch every known jewel-fence. Throughout the country the same close watch was kept, but nothing had as yet transpired.
Sitting in an easy chair, with one leg up and the other nearly back to normal, Rollison looked at Grice, who had just come in, and asked whether there were any further reports.
Grice shook his head with a grunt of dissatisfaction.
‘No, nothing, I’m afraid.’
‘I suppose it is early,’ said Rollison, musingly. ‘They won’t start to sell until the heat’s died down. Have you discovered anything fresh about the reaction on the original owners?’
‘A temple in Siam is so remote,’ said Grice, reasonably. ‘Each of the three things is of great importance there, but I can’t think of them as anything but precious stones. How did Morral first get on to them?’ he added. ‘I’ve never had a really satisfactory answer from him, nor from his wife.’
‘In some ways they’re a curious couple,’ admitted Rollison. ‘All I know is that Derek had an official appointment in Siam before the Japs took over, and he managed to get these things sent to England. Then he was recalled, made arrangements for their safe keeping, and immediately after was posted to Russia. He speaks Russian fluently and I’m told he did a useful job out there.’
‘I imagine that he would,’ said Grice. ‘What about his wife?’
‘English father, Polish mother, spent most of her life in Poland. I don’t know any more,’ said Rollison.
Grice surprised him by saying: ‘I know a little more. She was in Warsaw in 1939, lived pretty grimly for two years, and then managed to escape to the Russian lines. What she did then, I’ve no idea, but as a refugee she would hardly expect to move in the same circles as your cousin.’
‘No,’ admitted Rollison, ‘but she did meet him, and that’s all we can say about it.’
‘Leaving that for a moment,’ said Grice, ‘my chief worry is, that she will say nothing at all. You realise, don’t you, that she is the only person known to have been acquainted with Lorne before this trouble brewed up?’
Rollison nodded.
‘I’ve questioned her closely,’ Grice went on, ‘but she will not say a word of what happened during the periods when she left Morral. On that alone I should be justified in detaining her as a material witness.’
‘I doubt it,’ declared Rollison. ‘You’ve no direct evidence that Lorne had anything to do with the robbery. You think he had, and so do I, but that’s not proof. Therefore, we can’t assume that she could help us to find anyone who could explain the robbery.’ When Grice did not answer, he went on: ‘You must realise that, too, or you would have taken more active steps. I’m glad you haven’t. I’ll learn the truth from her, sooner or later.’
‘But will you pass it on to me?’ asked Grice, sceptically.
‘Yes certainly, if it’s material evidence.’
‘All right,’ said Grice. ‘Now, there’s the other thing. Presumably Lorne knew Katrina before she came to England.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? As soon as she reached England with her husband, Lorne got in touch with her. Not only that, he was able to exert some influence.’
‘I wouldn’t take it for granted that they were known to one another before she got here,’ said Rollison. ‘It’s likely, I grant, but it can’t be assumed.’
‘Then what hold has Lorne got over her?’
Rollison said: ‘They could have used threats against Derek. Whatever we don’t know about her, we do know that she is in love with him. I’ve watched them closely and I’m sure
of it.’
Grice gave a defeated grin.
‘Out of my province, old chap.’
‘And he with her,’ declared Rollison. ’There remains the grounds of serious trouble between them, and I’m as interested in seeing them happy as I am in finding the sparklers.’ He leaned forward, lifting a wooden box from the table. ‘Ever seen these?’ he asked, and began to put the photographs Derek had given him on the table, as if he were laying out playing cards for patience.
Each photograph was of a single jewel, or a cluster of jewels. Grice shrugged.
‘I can’t tell one from another, though I’ve seen them often enough. There are copies in every police station in Great Britain.’ He picked a card up. ‘One’s got to have a certain flair for jewels, I suppose, and you’ve got it and I haven’t.’
‘Well, I’ve managed to memorise them,’ said Rollison, ‘all but one or two. Jolly’s been playing the same game.’ He shuffled the photographs, and left them in a single heap.
Grice chuckled.
‘Well, I’m more at home dealing with ice-cream laced with arsenic – though I still think it might have been an accident.’
Rollison shook his head.
‘Not a hope. One day perhaps we’ll feel safe enough to take bets on it! Meanwhile, I give you warning: in two days’ time I shall be up and about again. I want to have another shot at finding these things.’ He tapped the playing-cards.
‘Well, take this for your comfort. No one will be able to get them out of the country,’ said Grice, confidently.
He had barely taken his leave when there was a brisk ring of the front door bell, thrice repeated. As Jolly opened the door, Sheila Gregory’s gay and confident voice could be heard: ‘Hallo, Jolly, how well you look! Is he in?’
‘Yes, Madam,’ said Jolly, primly.
