John Creasey - The Toff and The Lady

He felt quite sure that if she had first sent the photograph to arouse his interest, and was now following that up, he would have got some indication from her reaction. She looked blank and a little impatient, and at the same time puzzled.

“I sent you the invitation to the Bal Masque , didn’t I?” she asked. “Why do you ask?”

“I had an unsigned letter to-day on die lines of your diatribe about the lady.”

Gwendoline sat very straight in her chair.

“I do not send anonymous letters!”

“People do unexpected things when they’re driven to desperation,” said Rollison. “It rather looks as if someone else takes an equally poor view of the loss of memory, doesn’t it?”

“That shouldn’t surprise you.”

“I suppose not. Have you ever talked to the woman?”

“No.”

“Nor met anyone who knows her well?”

“No. If I could give you any more information I would, but surely you’ve enough to start work on.”

“I could hint broadly to your father”

“No!” Gwendoline rose abruptly from her chair and stood over him. “No, you mustn’t do that. He would know in a moment who had put you up to it. If I thought it would do any good to question him I would speak to him myself, but there must be some reason for him keeping it secret, or he would have told us by now. Rolly, don’t be indiscreet. I’m relying on you to—to make sure that”

She broke off, at a loss for words. Rollison stood up and lit another cigarette for her. He promised her that if there seemed any way in which he could find out the truth, he would try to help. The suggestion of speaking to David Barrington-Ley had upset her so much that he found it necessary to talk for several minutes before she calmed down and looked at him a little shamefacedly.

“I’m afraid I’ve been nearly hysterical,” she said.

“Not a bit! And I’m glad you managed to stop me from talking to Hilda before I saw you. How did you find out that I might be going to see her, by the way?”

Gwendoline stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Were you at the house?”

“Yes.”

“What on earth made you go there?” demanded Gwendoline. “Jolly told me that you were out, I’d no idea where you’d gone. Rolly! Did you know there was any reason to think

that this woman was trying to influence David?”

“I hadn’t a notion,” said Rollison. “The anonymous letter included a photograph, and a photograph and a story were in The Record. As I told David, when I met him coming out of the house, idle curiosity took me along. So you see I’ve already an excuse for being a prodnose!”

“I can tell you one thing,” said Gwendoline. “Nothing you say will make mother change her mind; when she’s set on helping someone in distress there’s just no holding her. Don’t let her think that you’re unfriendly towards this woman, will you? Otherwise she’ll probably get difficult and be as unhelpful as she can.”

“I’ll be very tactful,” Rollison promised.

He saw her to the door, and she hurried down the stairs. Looking out of the window, he could just see her on the pavement immediately beneath him. She spoke to the taxi driver, who was still there. The man’s words floated upwards.

“Sorry, I’m engaged.”

Gwendoline walked on, and Rollison looked towards the little green car. It began to move. He stepped swiftly to the door and called for Jolly, and his man appeared from die main bedroom.

“There’s a taxi downstairs,” said Rollison. “The driver’s acting under my orders and is about to follow a green car that’s just started after Miss Barrington-Ley. Hurry, Jolly!”

“At once, sir,” said Jolly, and, taking his bowler hat and his furled umbrella from a hall-stand, he hurried downstairs. Rollison returned to the window in time to see him step into the taxi as it moved after the little green car.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE TOFF MEETS THE LADY

ROLLISON turned away from the window and sat down. He leaned back and contemplated the ceiling, lit a cigarette and, after a few moments, hummed, Why oh Why oh Why with some gusto. He was not thinking about popular songs, however. He was thinking of the curious fact that the Barrington-Leys appeared to be associated with the mysterious lady, and the even more significant fact that Gwendoline was greatly disturbed. Her excitement and hysteria—and in so staid a person as Gwendoline her behaviour had amounted to hysteria—had not quite rung true. It would not surprise him if she had behaved in this manner solely in order to arouse his interest—with the same purpose, in fact, as the sender of the photograph.

One fact had emerged, obvious enough and yet he had missed it before. The photograph had been sent before the lady’s arrival at Barrington House. Consequently the sender could not have expected him to see another likeness in The Record.

The grandfather clock behind him struck one o’clock.

He sat up, stubbed out his cigarette, and picked up his hat. He wished he could have followed the green Morris, but there was no telling how long that trail would take.

He had lunch at a small restaurant which served the flat in Gresham Terrace, and then took a taxi to the Lawley Nursing Home, which was in Grosvenor Place. He was most anxious to meet the lost lady.

A stately, well-preserved woman in a navy blue dress received him. With his card in front of her, she was very gracious; how could she help Mr. Rollison?

Rollison said, mildly, that he would very much like to see the patient who had lost her memory.

“Why, do you know her?” asked the stately woman, who was the matron.

“I think I might,” murmured Rollison.

“I do hope you do,” said the stately woman. “We all feel so desperately sorry for her, Mr. Rollison; we have had some experience of amnesia cases, you know, and I assure you that there is nothing more distressing. She is not well, of course, but we have little doubt that she will soon be physically herself. As for her memory”

“Time will tell.” said Rollison.

“Exactly! And if she sees someone whom she knows, it might bring everything back to her. You won’t mind if I come with you, I hope? I can watch the patient closely when she sees you. I’ll first make sure that she is awake,” the matron added, “it would be a pity to disturb her is she has fallen asleep.”

“If she has, I’ll come again later,” said Rollison.

He waited in the office while the matron was out, and he looked about the room with casual interest. There were photographs of royalty and other distinguished patients, and on every hand there were evidence of a discreet effort to impress visitors.

After five minutes he began to fidget. At the end of ten minutes he stood up, and almost immediately the door opened. A young nurse who looked a little scared entered, coughed in some confusion, and said:

“Matron says, sir, if you don’t mind, sir, perhaps it would be better if you were to come back to-morrow morning.”

“To-morrow,” ejaculated Rollison.

“Yes, sir. This way out, sir.”

“What room is the patient in?” asked Rollison.

“Number 4, sir, this way out, sir.” She led the way to the front door, and only when she reached it did she realize that Rollison was going in the opposite direction. She exclaimed in concern. Rollison ignored her; he had seen that the door of a room on the ground floor was marked 4. As he stood outside it for a moment the nurse came back, speaking in a low-pitched but appealing voice: the patient could not be allowed visitors that day. Rollison held up his hand, and succeeded in silencing her as he listened to the murmur of voices from the room beyond. First there were two voices, then only the matron’s, raised a little so that he could hear every word. She was holding a disjointed conversation.