by John Creasey
‘Moving day,’ said Rollison, blankly.
‘There must be a door, sir,’ said Jolly.
‘I never liked secret doors,’ said Rollison, but he went round the walls, examining them closely. Only one could possibly hold a concealed door, for two were outside walls and a third bordered the passage.
The wallpaper was a heavy cream with narrow, decorative strips running downward every two feet or so, strips which might easily conceal the sides of a door. As he examined them, Rollison came to the conclusion that they had been put there for that purpose.
‘Shall we tear them off, sir?’ asked Jolly, softly.
‘We can try,’ said Rollison.
He stood on a chair and worked downwards from the picture rail, and Jolly worked upwards from the wainscotting. They removed two pieces and found only the blank wall behind them. At the fifth strip they found the door.
It stretched from wainscotting to picture rail.
‘What now, sir?’ asked Jolly, still whispering.
‘I doubt if we can open it,’ said Rollison, inserting his knife into the narrow gap. It made no impression at all. ‘We’d better find out what’s next door,’ Rollison said. ‘It’s a house in a terrace, remember.’ He led the way into the hall, talking all the time. ‘Now other things are becoming obvious, Jolly. Morral left, or was taken away, through the next-door house, that’s how the police missed him. And someone came through from next door and played tricks with the lift. We don’t know where Katrina stayed on her nights out, but it was probably next-door.’ He walked quickly down the stairs, and Jolly had difficulty in keeping pace with him. At the foot, he said: ‘I think you’d better telephone the Yard, Jolly, and have a flying squad sent here. We don’t want the whole thing messed up. There’s a call-box in the main road.’
‘I don’t like leaving you alone, sir,’ said Jolly.
‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Rollison, shortly.
‘Will you stay outside?’ asked Jolly.
‘I’ll watch my step,’ Rollison assured him.
In the first faint light of morning, he watched Jolly walking towards the corner of the street. As Jolly reached it, a milk van rattled past, bottles clanking against their metal containers. The man was whistling, and Rollison was grateful for the noise, which covered Jolly’s footsteps and any noise that he might make.
Like 25a, the next-door house had been turned into flats, and the front door was unlocked. Rollison shone his torch on to the name board; but the spaces for the names of the tenants of both the top-floor flats were empty.
The house was very silent.
He tiptoed up the stairs and reached the third floor. There was a light beneath the doorway on the right, the doorway of the flat which adjoined Derek’s. There was no sound of movement, and he stepped closer to the door, examining the lock.
It should not be difficult to open.
He put his hand to his pocket, to draw out his knife, when he heard a rustle of sound behind him. In a flash he turned round, and was met by a fist driven viciously at his face. The blow landed on the cheek and he lost his balance. He caught only a vague impression of the man who was attacking him before a second blow struck the back of his head. He collapsed, conscious but helpless, his head whirling, misty lights in front of his eyes.
A soft voice said: ‘What shall we do?’
A man’s hoarse whisper answered: ‘Leave him.’
‘Dare we?’
‘Leave him! We must get away!’
‘But it means leaving all this!’
‘We must get away!’ repeated the man. ‘We’ll drag him inside.’
The man bent down. Rollison opened his eyes, in an attempt to see who it was, but the first flicker of his eyelids attracted attention. The man straightened up and struck him again and this time he lost consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Simplicity
Jolly was bending over him when he came round, and there were other people in the room. One was Inspector Hill, and Rollison saw his red-rimmed eyes and knew that Hill was fit to drop.
‘Don’t get up too quickly, sir,’ said Jolly, earnestly.
‘I’ll manage,’ said Rollison. ‘I’ve often felt worse.’
His head was throbbing, but he did not think he had been out for long. He sat up, then got to his feet with Jolly’s help. The policemen were moving about the flat, talking in undertones, and Hill was sitting at a bureau, making a pretence at going through the papers he found there.
‘Is the furniture here?’ asked Rollison.
‘Everything, as far as I can see,’ said Jolly.
‘Curious thing, that furniture removal,’ Rollison remarked.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it now, sir, if I were you.’
‘I can’t help worrying about it,’ said Rollison, peevishly. ‘What about fingerprints?’
Hill said tiredly: ‘We’ve found none yet, they must have worn gloves.’
‘Very thoughtful people,’ said Rollison. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Yes, go home and sleep,’ growled Hill.
‘Helpful, grateful fellow,’ said Rollison, ‘but there’s something in it. May I borrow a car?’
‘Gibson will drive you round,’ said Hill, and returned to his papers. Jolly shot him an angry glance, and Gibson came forward, to help Rollison down the stairs. By the time he reached the hall he was walking without assistance. He got into the back of the car, and it was about to start off when Hill came hurrying from the house.
‘I say, Rollison,’ he said impulsively, ‘I do appreciate all you’ve done. I’m afraid I’m tired and irritable, but I am grateful. I’m sure Merrick will be, too.’
Rollison smiled. ‘All is forgiven!’
‘That’s very nice of you,’ said Hill. ‘Do have a good sleep, old man, we shall want your help again later in the day. Look after him, Jolly.’
As the car moved off, Jolly said sternly: ‘I do not think I have ever met a policeman for whom I have less regard, sir. How is your head?’
‘No worse than I deserve,’ said Rollison.
It was good to get home and into bed, to feel a cold compress on his forehead, and to hear Jolly talking soothingly. Then Jolly switched off the light and went out, while Rollison, snug and warm, felt his mind wandering, wandering, back to that infernal ice-cream. Then, suddenly, he was wakeful. He called out for Jolly, who came hurrying in.
‘Jolly, telephone the hospital where Mr Morral is lying! There’ll be a policeman by his bed. Find out the name of the man who suggested Derek should go to Gordon’s agency,’
‘Supposing Mr Morral is asleep, sir?’
‘They’ll have to wake him up,’ said Rollison. ‘I’ve got the answer to the ice-cream. ‘
‘You have, sir!’
‘Yes. What fools we were. The only one who could safely play tricks with it was Florence Hardy, who doled the stuff out. And if it was Tips who sent Derek to Gordon’s agency, we’ve got them both.’
Jolly said: ‘Hadn’t I better ask the police to watch Mr Tippets and Miss Hardy before I do anything else, sir?’
‘If you like,’ said Rollison, ‘but they won’t take fright, they feel too safe.’
Next morning, Tips and Florence came into the living-room, glowing with excitement and the joys of life. Rollison had probably guessed before, they told him, that they were getting married. It was to be that very day and they hoped he would act as witness at a quiet little affair at the registrar’s office; if, of course, he felt well enough.
‘Oh, I’m all right,’ said Rollison, looking at the beaming Tips. ‘Why were you so reluctant to let the world know about the engagement, Tips?’
Tips shrugged. ‘Always been rather that way. Hate publicity.’
‘Well, congratulation
s!’
‘Thanks,’ grinned Tips.
‘Honeymoon?’ asked Rollison.
‘Oh, a little trip to the country,’ said Tips, ‘nothing very grand. Comfortable and on our own, and that’s what matters most. Came to thank you, you know, for bringing us together. Hadn’t met before your party, so it had some good results. Any news of how things are going?’
‘We had some excitement last night,’ said Rollison.
‘Yes, I heard. Read it in the newspapers. They made much of the Toff.’
‘Well, he comes in useful when they’ve a blank line or two to fill up,’ said Rollison lazily.
‘I see Katrina has been released, and Derek’s all right,’ said Tips. ‘Can’t forget what they were like that night at Kundle’s, you know. Absolutely on top of the world. Smashing show they put up, too. Shame they’ve had so much trouble. Er—Florence has something to tell you.’
Florence was suddenly sober, and a little embarrassed.
‘As a matter of fact, Rolly, it’s a small thing, and I don’t really want to talk about it on this day of days, but Tips says you ought to know. It’s about Katrina. There’s all this mystery of why she won’t say anything, but I think I can solve it.’
‘Then don’t waste time,’ said Rollison, leaning forward.
‘Well, I may be wrong’, said Florence, round-eyed, ‘but Katrina once nearly broke down and told me she was afraid that Derek was—well, she seemed to think that Derek knew more than he pretended of what has been happening. It’s absurd, of course, but she believes that Derek is responsible for it. I wouldn’t have said a word, only after what happened to Derek last night, no one can possibly believe that of him. You see, she wouldn’t let him down. It was rather – wonderful, wasn’t it?’
‘I suppose it was,’ said Rollison, slowly. ‘Yes, very wonderful. Loyalty and love, a good mixture. But where did she go o’ nights? And what had she to do with Lorne and Jacobson?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’ demanded Florence, and went on intently: ‘She wanted to find out the truth, she thought she could do it by meeting the men with whom she thought Derek was working. Now that we all know Derek couldn’t have done it, it doesn’t matter. Will you tell Katrina soon?’
‘I’m expecting her in half-an-hour,’ said Rollison. ‘She was released this morning, and has gone to the hospital.’
‘I’m so glad! And you will be a witness? The—er—ceremony is at two-thirty, at the Marylebone Registry Office.’
Rollison said, half-laughing: ‘And where’s the reception?’
‘Oh, we’re not worrying about that!’
‘What? No ice-cream?’ asked Rollison, lightly.
Tips said quickly: ‘Don’t mention that stuff, Rolly. Unpleasant associations. Come on, Florence, we’ve much to do. Do come, Rolly. Thanks for everything. Sorry I couldn’t help more.’ He got up, and took out his cigarette-case. ‘Quite safe, this time,’ he added, with a grin.
‘You should know,’ said Rollison. He also stood up, and rested a hand on Florence’s shoulder. It did not appear to be a particularly friendly hand. ‘Florence,’ he said, ‘I wish I could give you my blessing. I can’t, of course. Wasn’t it a pity you dropped the whole tube in, glass and all, and not just the arsenic. Careless, don’t you think?’
Florence stared at him, and there was utter silence in the room.
The silence lengthened. Tips stood with the cigarette case held out for a petrified few seconds, then snapped it shut and put it into his pocket. He kept his hand there, ‘Gone mad?’ he asked.
‘Gone simple,’ said Rollison. ‘How often I’ve talked of the simple things. Of course Florence was the dispenser of arsenic. She was most insistent on taking over the ice-cream. Jolly told me so. Nicely planned, wasn’t it? A pinch of arsenic in the ice of everyone who might cause trouble, and then she spoilt it by dropping the whole tube in – why didn’t I think of it before?’
Tips said: ‘You’re making a fool of yourself.’
Rollison said: ‘Oh? Sure it isn’t the other way round? I know you’re holding a gun, but you won’t improve matters that way, you know.’
Tips said thickly: ‘I haven’t a gun, but I’d like to break your neck! Apologise to Florence.’
‘How can I when she’s the villainess of the piece?’ asked Rollison. ‘Jolly, telephone Inspector Hill—’
‘Keep away from that telephone!’ cried Tips, and he snatched an automatic from his pocket and pointed it towards Jolly. ‘Don’t move, Jolly, or—’
Rollison pushed Florence forward, and she bumped into Tips. Tips staggered back, and Rollison went after him, gripped his wrist and forced him to release his hold on the gun. Tips tried to struggle, but Rollison’s hold was too painful; the blood drained from the man’s face.
Florence rushed towards the door, but Jolly reached it first. Tips said in a strangled voice: ‘What in the world makes you think Florence—’
‘Why waste time?’ Rollison asked, and let him go, picked up the gun and dropped it into his pocket. ‘You knew all the time, Tips, didn’t you, but you were so much in love with her that you didn’t let it stop you. Reason for the secret engagement and hurried wedding, a husband cannot be forced to give evidence against his wife.’ He laughed, harshly. ‘I don’t know whether to be sorry for you or not.’
Tips said: ‘Rollison—’
‘It had dawned on me before you arrived,’ Rollison said. ‘That simple explanation of the ice-cream on the party night I should have thought of it before. Stupid of me. But once having dawned I knew there could be no doubt. When did you find out? Did you see her drop the tube in?’
Tips did not speak. Florence stood by the door, Jolly’s hand on her arm. She looked very tiny and lost, standing there staring round-eyed at Rollison.
‘So you did,’ said Rollison. ‘Mary didn’t take the arsenic, of course, Florence did. Mary was afterwards persuaded to “confess”, which wasn’t difficult as she had worked for Lorne and Jacobson for so long. Mary was doubtless proving difficult when Lorne went to see her, that’s why he killed her. Florence has also worked with Lorne and Jacobson for a long time, I’ve no doubt. And so heard of those priceless relics, and started to work on Katrina. How did you persuade her to leave Derek so often?’ When she did not answer, he went on: ‘You may as well answer now, you know. I’ve asked her to come here, by the way.’
Into the silence that followed, the front door bell rang. Rollison took out the automatic and covered Florence, while Jolly went to open the door. In came Katrina, brighter-eyed than Rollison had seen her except on that night at Kundle’s, but she drew back quickly when she saw Florence and Tips.
‘Katrina,’ said Rollison, gently, ‘did Florence tell you that Derek was planning to steal those jewels? Did she convince you that you could only prevent it by going to see Lorne and Jacobson?’
Katrina said: ‘Why, yes, she believed—’
‘She believed nothing of the kind!’ snapped Rollison. ‘What on earth made you take her word for it?’
Katrina said: ‘Derek was—was so strange, so worried about the jewels, he—’ She broke off.
‘He knew that thieves were after them,’ declared Rollison, ‘and was afraid you were involved. It would never have worked with average people, but with romantics like Derek and you it worked perfectly. You didn’t know that Tips and Florence had a flat next door to you, did you? One with a door which led into your living-room, and of course they heard the talk about the jewels from that doorway, and so began the whole affair. Lorne, Jacobson, Gordon, all were in it from the beginning. All worked for you, Florence, didn’t they?’
Florence, standing motionless, did not speak.
Rollison went on: ‘You see how easily it all fits into place now, Katrina? You could have told us how Florence had convinced you that Derek was behind it, which meant t
hat you were dangerous, and so they planned your death. Earlier, through Lorne, they made you stay away from Derek. If they could have kept you estranged, there would have been less danger. But you couldn’t keep away. You were going to my party, they heard you and Old Glory discuss that at the flat, and there and then came the inspiration; murder, among a crowd, murder with dozens of suspects. And Lorne and Jacobson, of course, were better dead than alive. So Florence invited them and planned to dose them also.’
‘Is it possible?’ gasped Katrina.
‘Look at them,’ said Rollison, scathingly.
‘Rollison, I—I’m in love with Florence, I had—’ began Tips, but he stopped when Rollison swung round on him and cried: ‘You’ve not a hope, Tips, of convincing me. You were in it from the start, for you were the shabby man! You were at the docks last night, you arranged for the cases to be shipped aboard the Baku, cases which were to be taken off at Rangoon, the first port of call. When the jewels were safely out of England, you could sell in Burma for far higher prices than in England. And you tried to strangle Katrina, you tried to drown Derek, you had planned to get him from the hospital and make him disappear. With the furniture gone it would look like flight, well-planned, well-meditated flight. You went wrong once,’ he added, in a calmer voice, ‘you let Florence wear that brooch, a piece of foolish bravado. You didn’t think the individual stones would be recognised, did you?’
‘But Rolly, they, too, were hurt, they were poisoned—’ Katrina exclaimed in distress.
‘Insulin is no danger to anyone who has prepared against it, ‘ said Rollison. ‘And Florence is a diabetic, so has access to insulin. You see how it all fits in? All right, Jolly, open the door and call the police. You see,’ he added to Tips and Florence, ‘they’ve been watching you all day. I asked them too.’
Superintendent Grice had a new face. It changed him, but there was no obvious disfigurement.
‘After forty years or so of the same mug one gets tired of it, it’s not bad to have a change,’ he said gaily. He sat in an easy chair on the verandah of a convalescent home in Surrey, and looked at Rollison, who lounged back in a deck-chair, talking, more volubly than usual, to hide the affection and admiration he felt for this brave man.
