Doc pursed his lips. “No one can tell you that,” he returned. ‘That is a voodoo secret.”
“That’s something you’ve got to find out,” Rollo said, piling butter and marmalade on his toast. He bit into the soggy mess and chewed contentedly.
Doc gave a short, hard laugh. “It can’t be done,” he said.
Rollo glanced at him, saw he meant it and sighed. “It’s a pity,” he said, “but if you say so, I suppose—”
“You have a good reason for asking?” Doc said, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Yes.” Rollo finished his toast and wiped his thick fingers on his serviette.
The two men looked at each other.
“If there isn’t anything else,” Doc said softly, “I think I’ll be getting along. I’ve got some reading to do.” But he made no move to get to his feet.
Rollo sighed. He regretfully decided that he would have to tell Doc.
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” he said. “I’ve been given a commission. You can help.”
Doc Martin smiled. “Anything I can do,” he said, waving his small hands.
“I know.” Rollo had difficulty in hiding a sneer. “It’ll cost me plenty, but you’ll do what you can.”
Doc Martin wasn’t offended. He smiled again. “I have to live,” he said, rather unnecessarily. “Experts are always expensive. What is it?”
Rollo told him about Kester Weidmann’s visit, but he did not mention the eleven thousand pounds.
“Butch find out who he was?” Doc asked.
Rollo hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “He phoned me this morning. It’s Kester Weidmann.”
Doc Martin drew in a sharp breath. “The international banker?” he said, leaning forward. “He’s worth millions.”
“I know,” Rollo said sadly. “That’s why I want your help.” He stared at Doc for a second. “He’s mad. Did you know?”
Doc frowned. “Are you sure?”
Rollo nodded. “No doubt about it. He’s as mad as a hatter.”
Doc got to his feet and began to pace the large room. He had difficulty in suppressing his excitement.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked abruptly.
Rollo pulled at his underlip. “We have got to find someone who knows about voodooism,” he said. “That’s the first thing.”
Doc Martin came to the foot of the bed and rested his hands on the walnut bedpost. “What’s it worth?” he demanded, his eyes glittering.
Rollo thought quickly. Doc was too smart to be fobbed off with a hundred or so. He decided that he would have to make a sacrifice. “A thousand to you,” he said.
Doc Martin smiled. “That wouldn’t interest me,” he returned. “This business is likely to be very difficult. I’m too old to bother with small stuff now. No, I wouldn’t do it for that.”
Rollo pushed the tray off his knees with sudden vicious impatience. “You’ll take what you get and like it,” he snapped.
Doc Martin shook his head. “No,” he repeated calmly. “This is something you can’t do yourself. You must be fair.”
Rollo glared at him, but Doc did not flinch. “How much?” he asked angrily. “How much do you want?”
“A third,” Doc returned. “That’s fair. It’ll be big pickings. The more I get for you, the more I get for myself.”
Rollo relaxed back on his pillows. “You’d better be careful,” he said slowly. “I can do without you, Doc. I can throw you back where I found you.”
“I don’t think so,” Doc returned, walking with stiff, uneasy steps to the chair and sitting down. “I’m useful to you. You can trust me.” He glanced at his fingernails and then looked up quickly. “I am, perhaps, the only one you can trust.”
“What do you mean?” Rollo demanded, immediately suspicious.
“I am old,” Doc returned. “It doesn’t pay old people to be disloyal Young people are different. They have their lives ahead of them.”
Rollo leaned forward, his fat face congested. “What do you know? What are you hinting at?”
Doc shook his head. “Nothing.” He looked away, wondering if he had said too much. “I was just saying you can trust me.”
“Don’t you think I can trust Butch?”
Doc smiled secretively. “I don’t know anything about Butch. I don’t think I want to.”
Rollo stared at him for a long time, but Doc did not lower his eyes. Rollo leaned back on his pillows again and grunted.
“You be careful,” he said, as if he were thinking aloud. “One of these days you’ll open your trap once too often.”
“I’ll be careful,” Doc returned, delighted to see that he had made Rollo uneasy. “We agree then—a third?”
“A quarter,” Rollo growled without much hope.
“A third.”
“Weidmann’s coming tomorrow,” Rollo reminded him. “We must be ready.”
Doc got to his feet. “We will,” he said.
“A millionaire and a lunatic. A delightful combination. This may mean anything. You realize that?” Rollo grunted.
“I wonder if you do,” Doc said, staring at him. “I wonder if your mind is big enough. It could be a million, you know.”
Rollo’s eyes darkened. What was the old fool talking about? He was crazy. The most he hoped for was eleven thousand pounds.
“A million?” he repeated. “Where do you get that talk from?”
Doc drew a deep breath. “I understand lunatics,” he said gently. “Properly handled they are easy to milk. Weidmann is worth at least three million, if not more. If we handle this right, we can squeeze him dry.”
* * *
Susan Hedder got off the bus at the Green Man, a public house that faced Putney Heath. She glanced at her wristwatch and found that she had a few minutes to wait before ten o’clock. She wondered if the chauffeur would keep the appointment.
The previous evening had been a frightening and thrilling experience. Now that it was over and she was still alive to tell the tale, she was glad that she had gone through with it.
The extraordinary thing about the business was that she no longer minded about George. In fact when she finally reached her bed-sitting room in the Fulham Road she had not even thought about George. Admittedly, she had not gone to bed until past two o’clock, and she was very tired. Even then, she did not sleep. She had imagined that she would have been very miserable about George when she was alone, but George had just not entered her mind.
“You got here all right?” the soft, timbreless voice said, breaking into her thoughts.
She turned quickly. Her heart gave a little bound and began to beat more quickly.
She scarcely recognized the chauffeur. He looked even younger now that he was out of uniform. He was bareheaded and he wore a pair of baggy flannel trousers, a drab grey sports coat and a faded blue shirt. His hair, long and untidy, fell over his right eye and she noticed that his tie and shirt were frayed.
In spite of his shabbiness, she thought he looked more human out of uniform. If it were not for his bleak, stony eyes, she would have looted upon him as a rather ordinary young man, perhaps a student of sorts, but most certainly not a person to fear.
His eyes made her uneasy. They were cold, unfriendly, cynical and bitter.
“Hello,” she said in a small voice, feeling suddenly shy of him. “I was wondering if you were coming.”
“What happened?” he asked abruptly. “Did you follow him?”
“Yes.” Susan hesitated and then plunged on. “But I want to know who you are first. I was stupid last night. I shouldn’t have done it. I—I might have got into trouble.”
“Never mind who I am,” he returned curtly. “I paid you, didn’t I? I didn’t ask a favour.”
“You didn’t follow him then?” His eyes had become cold. “You were scared. Then why have you come here? To return the money?”
She was half-angry now. “I did follow him, but I want to know who you are first. I’m not going to tell you anything until I know that. I don’t like any of this. I didn’t like him either.”