John Creasey: Stars For The Toff

“So she was right,” Rollison said.

“When I was a kid I got tired of being told how long my mother had to wait for me. It’s— it’s uncanny. And Mona told me—” Stride caught his breath. “There can’t be anything in it, can there? No one can see into the future or into the past?”

“I shall need a lot of convincing,” Rollison said reassuringly.

Stride nodded, opened the door and marched out. Rollison watched him walk down the stairs, his jauntiness gradually returning, but he did not look round from the first half-landing.

As Rollison closed the door, Jolly appeared.

“Did you hear that?” Rollison asked him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it nonsense?”

“I would prefer to suspend judgment,” Jolly said handsomely. “Do you intend to ask Miss Cordman to stay for lunch?”

“No, I’ll get rid of her,” Rollison said. “I—”

A scream cut across his words making the two men spin round. There was a flurry of footsteps in the living-room, what sounded like a struggle, and confused shouting:

“Let me go . . . let me go!”

“Hold her!”

“Stop him!”

Rollison had a vision of Mrs Abbot attacking Mona, but as he burst into the living-room he saw Olivia Cordman holding the struggling girl, Mrs Abbot gaping, Madam Melinska standing by the window and looking down into the street.

“. . .Stop him!” cried Mona, as Rollison appeared. “Don’t let him go, they’re lying in wait for him! They’ll kill him!”

She pulled herself free, darted past Rollison and rushed to the door. Rollison hesitated for a split second before turning and rushing after her. He reached the door first, opened it, and bellowed:

“Stride! Come back!”

Only the echo of his own voice answered him, hollow and unrewarding. Just behind, the girl was sobbing:

“They’ll kill him, I know they will!”

Rollison raced down the stairs, alarmed in spite of himself. Reaching the passage, he saw the street door was closed—Lucifer Stride had not lost a second. Rollison sprang towards the door and swung it open—and three things happened almost simultaneously.

A car engine roared with sudden, menacing harshness.

Lucifer Stride, halfway across the street, hesitated and stood with his hands raised, as if mesmerised, as the car raced towards him.

There were two sharp raps as something smashed on the bonnet and against the windscreen.

Rollison, bounding across the pavement, saw the car swerve, saw a white cloud rising from it. He did not stop moving but grabbed Lucifer and pulled him back to safety. He saw Mona, ashen-faced, staring at Lucifer. Two or three people along the street were standing and gasping as the car narrowly missed a lamp-post, and came to an abrupt halt—then both doors swung open and two men scrambled out and began dabbing frantically at the windscreen. Rollison, springing in pursuit, had sufficient time to notice they were both tall, both dark-haired, before he kicked against a raised paving stone and went sprawling. He managed to protect his face with his arm but jolted himself badly, and lay for a few seconds, hearing the harsh revving of the car engine and knowing that the men had got away.

He picked himself up, cautiously. Lucifer Stride was leaning against the railings, much as Mrs Abbott had leaned against them an hour or so earlier; the girl was standing beside him. Then two women and an old man came hurrying up, and Jolly appeared at the street door.

Rollison brushed some dust off his jacket.

“Call the police, Jolly?”

“They are on their way, sir.”

“Didn’t get the number of that car, did you?” Rollison asked. “Or recognise either of the men?”

“No, sir. I didn’t get a clear view at all.”

“What hit the windscreen?”

“Two packets of flour, sir,” Jolly said.

“Quick work, Jolly.” Rollison gripped his man’s arm. “But for that they’d have got Stride.”

Grabbing the young man and the girl by the elbows, he hustled them into the house. They moved mechanically. As the door closed behind them the girl began to shiver and her lips quivered as words tumbled out:

“It—it—it’s horrible—horrible! I hate it. I tell you I hate it!”

“What do you hate?” asked Rollison sharply.

“I hate seeing things!” Mona Lister cried. “I can’t help it. I do see them and I wish I didn’t. I

“Mr Rollison,” said Lucifer Stride in a shaky voice, “she told me what was going to happen to me, and it did happen—exactly the way she said it would.”

Rollison could see both incredulity and panic in the watery eyes.

CHAPTER SIX

The Girl Who Couldn’t Help Seeing

Rollison followed Lucifer Stride into the living-room. Mrs Abbott hadn’t left her chair, Madam Melinska still stood near the window, Mona Lister was standing staring blankly at the Trophy Wall, while Olivia Cordman was at the telephone, talking very quickly and distinctly.

“Yes, that’s right . . . Jolly . . . Yes, but for him the man would have been seriously injured . . . Yes, the police are in the street now . . . What? . . . Oh, she has it, don’t make any mistake, she has it, this isn’t phoney . . . Must go now . . . yes, I’ll be in touch.”

She rang off, her face glowing with excitement.

“Rolly, you saw what happened. You do know she has it, don’t you?”

“Who has what?”

“Mona has second sight.”

“If only I didn’t,” cried Mona, spinning round so that her shirt swirled and her hair swung. “I’d give anything not to hava it. Anything!”

“My dear child,” said Madam Melinska, “it is a wonderful gift, and you should cherish it.”

“But I hate it, I hate it!”

“And you ought to be ashamed of yourself for encouraging it.” Mrs Abbott said bitterly to Madam Melinska.

“You know, Mrs Abbott, you really must pull yourself together,” said Madam Melinska gently. “The child has always had this gift. Trying to crush it out of her can only do harm. Mona, child, you should go and lie down.”

“I don’t want to lie down!”

Madam Melinska looked at Rollison, without speaking, and he found himself turning to Mona and taking her arm. She did not resist as he led her to the spare bedroom, the door of which stood ajar. The bed had been turned down; Jolly was at his absolute best today, thought Rollison.

That door leads to a bathroom,” he said, pointing. Try to sleep, Mona—and try not to worry.”

“How can I help worrying?” she asked distractedly. “How would you like to be able to foresee horrible things happening to your friends?”

Rollison didn’t answer. Her eyes looked so tired that he felt quite sure that she would fall asleep the moment he left her. Closing the door firmly behind him, he rejoined the others; but no sooner had he done so than the front door bell rang yet again. This would be the police, of course, to question Lucifer Stride.

It was.

They asked all the usual questions, and Lucifer told them exactly what had happened, but made no mention of Mona’s prophecy.

“And you’ve no idea why these men should attempt to run you down, Mr Stride?”

“None whatsoever,” said Lucifer, almost superciliously; he had regained a little of his composure.

Rollison and Jolly explained their part in it, Madam Melinska and Olivia Cordman confirmed what they had seen from the window, and twenty minutes later the police left.

“Rolly, my love,” said Olivia Cordman as the door shut behind them. “I really must fly, do give Lady Hurst my regards and tell her I’ll do everything I can.” She beamed at Rollison, then turned to Madam Melinska and said almost cooingly: That is understood, isn’t it? I do have an option on your story until six o’clock this evening?”