John Creasey - The Toff and The Lady

“I will see to that,” said the matron. “I suppose I’d better do it myself. Is there anything else you would like?”

“Several things,” said Rollison, “including a word with the police. May I use the telephone?”

She said Yes,” not very graciously, and went out. Rollison dialled Whitehall 1212, but did not wait to speak to Grice. He left a message which should bring Grice here hot-foot, rang off and moved to an oak filing cabinet by the side of the desk. He was not in view of anyone who might pass the window, but he looked at the door from time to time as he pulled open the filing cabinet and ran through the manilla folders inside. Under “N” he found “ Nurses ” . On the matron’s desk was a time-table of duties, which confirmed that Nurse Armitage had been on duty in Room 4 that afternoon. He picked out the card about Nurse Armitage, reading:

Armitage , Phyllis Jane, 6a Leeming House, White Court, Kensington.

Age: 26.

Certificates: S.R.N.; S.C.M.

Previous experience: Castle Nursing Home, Leamington

Spa. Seaview Maternity Home, Bournemouth.

References: Attached. Excellent.

Reports: After 1 month, most satisfactory.

He read the address again, murmuring to himself: “ Phyllis Jane Armitage, 6a Leeming House, White Court, Kensington, aged 26.” Then he replaced the folder, without looking at the various letters attached, and closed the filing cabinet. His hand was on the telephone when the matron came in, carrying a large bottle of a clear green liquid, and a white record card.

“I have it,” she said, unnecessarily. “The contents are quite uncontaminated, as far as I can find on a quick analysis, Mr. Rollison.”

“I didn’t think they’d try to polish off the entire nursing home,” said Rollison, mildly. “The police will be here soon. Would you prefer to tell them what happened, or shall I wait?”

“I would much prefer to be on my own.”

“Then I won’t embarrass you,” said Rollison. “Will you tell Superintendent Grice that I have the medicine glass?”

She was obviously about to ask him to leave it behind, but he smiled at her from the door and disappeared before she could protest. She sat back and looked at the door, frowning, still greatly upset, and she was sitting like that when the police arrived.

In his taxi Rollison took out the glass, sniffed the contents but recognized no particular smell. He put a two-shilling piece into the glass, so that it lodged itself half-way down, like a stopper, then carefully wrapped it up again in the handkerchief and put it back in his pocket, lodged against his wallet so that it could not move on its side. Grice would not like him taking the glass away, and would express himself colourfully if the dregs of the dose were lost.

The taxi turned off Bayswater Road into Queen’s Road, and, a little way along, pulled up sharply as the driver saw the nameplate on the wall of a narrow turning— White Court. There was just room for the taxi to get into the Court, and beyond there was plenty of room for a cab or a small car to turn when on full lock. White Court consisted of a dozen tall, drab-looking houses, packed tightly together. Only one of them had been painted recently. Outside it hung a notice board: Leeming House—Furnished Flatlets. Rollison saw that as they passed a laundry van drawn up just outside Leeming House; and then he forgot it, for parked behind the laundry van was a small green-painted Morris car.

CHAPTER FIVE

PHYLLIS JANE ARMITAGE

“CAN’T get by the house, mister,” said the taxi driver, “I’LL have to drop you further back.”

“As far back as you can, please,” said Rollison. “And wait, will you?”

The cab pulled up. As Rollison climbed out a sombre figure, dressed in black, appeared in the doorway of one of the houses. He did not venture far into the cul-de-sac, but attracted Rollison’s attention by raising his furled umbrella. Rollison joined him, and smiled a greeting.

“Where lone trails meet, eh, Jolly?”

“They appear to, sir.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A little more than an hour.”

“Where’s the taxi?”

“Waiting for me in the main road, sir. I thought it best to make sure that I had some means of transport available.”

“Quite right,” said Rollison. “What else?”

“There is nothing of great moment,” said Jolly. “The driver of the car is a good-looking young man of quite pleasant aspect. After leaving Gresham Terrace, Miss Barrington-Ley secured a taxi. I expected that the young man would follow her, but he did not. He went to a popular restaurant and had lunch, and I thought it wise to do the same and thus to keep him under my eye. He gave me no reason for thinking that he knew that he was being followed, sir, and I am sure that I did not attract his attention. From the restaurant he went to an office in the Strand—I have the address, and I was able to find out which office in the building he visited. It was a firm of accountants, sir, next door to a firm of solicitors of the same name.”

“I see,” said Rollison. “And then?”

“He was there for some time, but I thought it might be wise to wait and follow him to his next destination,” said Jolly. “He left the office a little after four-forty-five, and came straight here. It is now nearly six o’clock. I am afraid” — Jolly looked apologetic — “that I have not yet discovered which particular flatlet that young man has visited.”

“He might live there,” Rollison said.

“I think it unlikely, sir. He spent some time looking at the board on to which the cards of the residents are pinned. After he had done that, he first left his car outside, sir, and I followed on foot—he went out and brought the car into the Court. On that occasion he gave me the impression of being very pleased with himself.”

“So he’s found his quarry,” mused Rollison.

“Presumably. May I inquire what brought you here?”

“Someone has no love for the mysterious lady,” said Rollison, “and the someone may be Nurse Phyllis Jane Armitage, of Flatlet 6a. Stay here, and if the man comes out alone, follow him.”

“Supposing the lady comes out alone, sir?”

“I’l l follow her,” decided Rollison.

He walked close to the walls of the houses, so that he could not be seen easily, nodded to his cabby, who was reading a paper-covered book, and entered the gloomy doorway of the house. It was gloomy because the landing windows were boarded up, but it had recently been repainted, and there was a smell of paint in the passage. On the first floor landing two men in overalls were busy on the woodwork. They paused and wished him good-day. He nodded amiably, but wished them anywhere but at Leeming House. However, when he reached the next floor and glanced down, he saw that they were beginning to pack up for the end of the day’s work.

On that floor was Flatlet 6a.

It was one of two flatlets on the right-hand side of the landing; those on the left-hand side were number 5 and 5a. Except for the murmur of voices from the workmen, there was no sound, although he pressed his ear close to the door of the nurse’s flat, in the hope of hearing a snatch of conversation. Instead, he could get no confirmation that anyone was inside.

He hesitated before he examined the lock of the door. It was old-fashioned, and anyone with a pen-knife and some dexterity could open it. He had a pen-knife . . .

The front door opened on to the small, gloomy hall, a box of a place from which two doors led. Both doors were closed, now he could hear the murmur of voices, and one of his fears —that the nurse might have been hurt—faded. He stepped close to the door from which the voices were coming, and heard a girl say sharply: