John Creasey - Stars For The Toff

She gaped at him.

“Tell me—how long?”

“Why—why, we only met today. We—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“But it’s true!”

“You met him only this morning and you’re almost off your head with anxiety for him now. Tell me the truth.”

The girl said desperately: “It is true. We only met today.”

“How long have you known Lucifer Stride?” Rollison thundered.

The girl’s lips quivered, her whole body shook. Lady Hurst glanced anxiously at Madam Melinska, who kept a hand on the girl’s arm but did not interfere. Rollison leaned forward, accusingly, anger showing in his eyes and echoing in his voice.

“How many more are going to die before you tell the truth? He might die.”

“Oh, no. No!” Terror flared up in her. “He mustn’t, he mustn’t die.”

“ How long have you known him? ”

The girl closed her eyes and began to rock to and fro, to and fro, as if in an orgy of grief.

“Richard—” began Lady Hurst.

“ Quiet! ”

“Mona, my child,” Madam Melinska interpolated, “you must tell all the truth. Lying won’t help you or your friends any more. It won’t help Lucifer and it can greatly hurt you. What is the truth?”

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate everyone!” Mona cried. “I can’t help it if I can see what’s going on somewhere else, I wish I couldn’t, I don’t want to, don’t you understand, I don’t want to!” Tears began to spill from her closed eyes, but the body tension had eased. “I—I’ve known him for years. He—he came to Rhodesia to visit his brother, Mick—Mick Fraser.”

Madam Melinska glanced at Rollison and then asked the question which he was about to put. “Where does he live, Mona? Have you been to see him?”

“Ye—yes, I have. And I’m grown up, no one can tell me what I can do or what I can’t. Where I go is nothing to do with anybody.”

“Of course it isn’t,” said Madam Melinska soothingly, “no one’s going to stop your seeing him. Where does he live, child?”

“He—he—he has a flat in Hampstead.”

“What is the address?” Rollison asked sharply.

Lucifer and Mona, he thought. Lucifer and Mona. If he had read Olivia’s message correctly, she had been trying to tell him that both Lucifer and Mona knew where she was held prisoner. Could this be in Stride’s flat?

“It—it doesn’t matter—”

“Mr Rollison only wants to help him,” said Madam Melinska.

“He’s in hospital—only the doctors can help him now.”

Rollison stood up abruptly.

“It’s no use,” he said. “I’ll have to get on to the police.”

“Police?” echoed Madam Melinska.

“They’ll be able to find out where he lives. In fact it might be better if they had a look round instead of me. I must hurry,” Rollison added, and turned towards the door, wondering whether such a transparent ruse could possibly work. He was halfway across the room when Mona sprang from the couch and rushed at him, snatching his arm, pulling him round, beating at his chest and face.

“I’ll kill you; I won’t let you go to the police, I’ll kill you!”

He fended her off, gripping her wrists.

“If you give me Lucifer’s address then I won’t have to go to the police,” he said.

“Why do you want it?” she screamed.

“I want to learn all I can about Lucifer Stride. Mona, if I find anything bad—”

“ There isn ’ t anything bad! ”

“—I’ll come back here and tell you, then we can both decide what to do about it,” he said gently.

She stood silent, and he let her go. Her arms dropped to her sides, all the fight gone out of her; but her fear was very deep. She moved away a little, and then said:

“It’s 5 Hill Crescent Road. The house is divided into four flats. His is upstairs—Flat A. But you won’t find anything bad.”

Obviously she was terrified in case she was wrong, thought Rollison; and she would not feel so keenly unless she had reason to fear that she might be.

* * *

Rollison pulled the Bentley up in Hill Crescent, from which led Hill Crescent Road. Outside, the calmness of the night was in strange contrast to what had happened before. Cars were parked at intervals, here and there a light glowed at a window, and the street lamps were alight but strangely remote. Rollison approached Hill Crescent Road. Not far away was the dark silence of Hampstead Heath; in the distance, a glow in the sky from London’s West End, where the lights would soon begin to dim, for it was past midnight. Rollison, wearing rubber-soled shoes, reached the iron gate which led to Number 5. It squeaked as he opened it. A porch light glowed softly, but all the windows were in darkness. He closed the gate gently, stepped to the right, off gravel and on to grass, and approached the front door.

No one stirred.

Taking a pencil torch from his pocket, he shone it on to the lock. It was a straightforward Yale and easy to force, and in a few moments he was standing in the hall-way.

A flight of carpeted stairs led upwards to a small landing, and Rollison crept towards it. Soon he was standing outside a door beneath which shone a narrow band of light.

This was Flat A.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Spell-Binder

Somewhere in the flat across the landing, faint music came from radio or record-player. Apart from this there was silence. Rollison examined the lock, and found that this also could be forced without difficulty. Very soon the door was open and he found himself in a small, brightly-lit hall, from which led four doors.

A voice sounded in the room straight ahead, and for a moment Rollison stood still—then he breathed a sigh of relief. His hunch had paid off. It was the voice of Olivia Cordman.

“. . . you’re both utterly wrong. Madam Melinska is probably the best seer in the world—certainly she’s the most famous—”

“ In famous, you mean.” A man’s voice this time, and Rollison at once recognised it as that of the man who had telephoned him.

“That’s not true.” Olivia sounded angry. “If you knew what I know about her—”

“And if you knew what we know about her. All this second-sight and fortune-telling nonsense, it’s the biggest racket out.”

Rollison started. Surely that was the voice of the man who had held him up on the staircase at Gresham Terrace. Very gently, very quietly, he pushed the door open.

Olivia was sitting tied to a high-backed chair. The two men were watching her, their backs to the door.

“Pity you don’t have second sight,” said Rollison easily, “or you might have seen me coming.”

Both men swung round to face him.

There was just time for Rollison to see that one of them was indeed the man who had threatened him on the stairs, then to notice, with a start of surprise, the strong physical resemblance between them, before they sprang at him, their reflexes so perfectly in tune that they both moved at the same instant. He had anticipated what they would do and was ready for them; and hatred of what they had already done added power to the blow he rammed into one man’s jaw, the kick he landed on the other’s stomach. As they staggered back he went for them with a fury which almost frightened him, drawing back only when one lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and the other was draped across a chair. Rollison, breathing hard, brushed his hair back and smiled at Olivia.

“Aren’t you going to untie me?” she asked.

“Aren’t I going—”

“I thought you always moved fast:

He saw her mischievous smile, chuckled, then took a pen-knife from his pocket and cut the rope which bound her. “Have they hurt you?” he asked gently.