“Of course I did! I’d been to your flat to see what had happened to my brother. When I got there, your man was unconscious, and Lucy— Lucifer Stride—looked as if he were dead. Frank was just coming round. I managed to get him downstairs and into the car, and then she—” he nodded towards Olivia— “began to follow me. I didn’t—”
He was interrupted by a groan from his brother.
Rollison turned to Olivia. “I’m going to tie Frank to the chair,” he said. “I want you to get a detailed statement from him. I’ll take his brother in the next room and get one from him. If their stories tally, there may be some truth in what they’re saying. If they don’t—”
“They will!” gasped Bob Webb. “They will, I swear it.”
* * *
The two statements tallied in practically every detail. The brothers were private inquiry agents, they had been employed by Mrs Abbott to get information regarding Madam Melinska, they had got the information statement by statement, they had compiled the dossier and had brought it to her in London. Bob had been to see her that afternoon, not to get the dossier back but to give her further information. And he swore that she had been alive when he left.
Once Mrs Abbott had realised that Rollison was going to help Madam Melinska, she had bribed the brothers to help her frighten him off. Bob had made the ammonia bomb which Mrs Abbott had thrown at him screaming that she wanted to kill him. Frank had threatened him on the staircase of his flat. When Jolly had locked him in the bathroom he had, as Rollison had suspected, taken morphia so as to be proof against questioning. Both brothers admitted carrying morphia—they sometimes smuggled political prisoners over various borders in Southern Africa, said Frank, and morphia kept their charges quiet. He had come round to find both Jolly and Lucifer Stride unconscious, and a few minutes later his brother arrived and helped him downstairs and into the car, and they had driven straight here.
“But why here?” Rollison had asked sharply. “This is Lucifer Stride’s flat. What connection have you got with Stride?”
“Stride’s flat be damned,” Bob had exclaimed. “It’s ours. Stride was only staying with us. He’s been working for us. We paid him to get information about Madam Melinska from the girl—Mona Lister.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clean Sweep
“The problem is, what are we going to do about the Webbs?” Olivia demanded. “I don’t think—”
She was interrupted by a heavy knock at the front door, followed by a long, loud ring.
“It looks as if we don’t have to make a decision,” Rollison said.
“What do you mean?”
“Only the police would make such a din,” Rollison told her, and opened the living-room door as a man called out in a deep but clear voice:
“Open, in the name of the law!”
“Coming!” Rollison moved towards the front door and opened it on three men, one of them Clay. He stepped aside and two of them pushed past, while Clay stayed with him.
“We know Miss Cordman’s here,” said Clay. “One of our boys saw the Morris in the drive.”
“Perceptive of you.”
“And the Webbs.”
“So you know who they are,” sighed Rollison.
“We had a long cable from Bulawayo,” said Clay with obvious satisfaction. “We know what they’ve been doing—and we know how well they succeeded. We took the opportunity of visiting Miss Cordman’s apartment—just in case she had been attacked there.”
“Oh,” said Rollison, his heart dropping.
“What’s that you said?” demanded Olivia, coming out of the living-room. “You went to my apartment?”
“And found the reports on Madam Melinska,” announced Clay with heavy satisfaction. “I’d like to know where you got those, Miss.”
Rollison answered for her, telling Clay the story of his visit to the Space Age Publishing offices. As he finished, the two brothers slouched into the hallway, each handcuffed to a detective.
“We only did our job,” blustered Frank, “we didn’t kill anybody, Inspector—straight up we didn’t.”
Bob was more truculent.
“He’s the guy who’s caused all the trouble.” He nodded towards Rollison. “Just like the bloody police to pick on us. We’ve done nothing. Why don’t you arrest him?”
“That’ll do,” said Clay sharply. He nodded to the detectives. “Take them to Cannon Row, I’ll be over soon.”
The men went out, leaving Olivia, Rollison and Clay alone. Clay turned to Rollison. “Found out what Stride was up to?” he demanded.
“According to the Webbs, he was using Mona Lister to get information about Madam Melinska—for which the Webbs paid him.”
Clay pursed his lips.
“Sounds a bit far-fetched to me. Would the girl be likely to betray her accomplice? She must have realised that if Madam Melinska ended up in the dock, she’d end up in the dock with her—as she has done. There’s more in this than meets the eye.” He studied Olivia thoughtfully. “What do you think about it all, Miss Cordman?”
“What do I think? I think the whole thing’s ridiculous. Why the police want to bring this absurd charge against Madam Melinska I can’t imagine. She’ll be acquitted, of course,” added Olivia, with well-assumed confidence, “and then you’ll all look pretty silly, won’t you?”
Clay said drily: “From what I’ve seen from those reports, she’ll get seven years at least.”
Olivia gasped. “Oh, no!” She swung round to face Rollison, seizing his hand. “You’ve got to save her. You’ve got to, it will be a tragedy if you don’t.”
“For you and The Day because you’ve sponsored her?” asked Rollison mildly.
“Rolly, you are a beast. She must be innocent. She must be.”
Very slowly, Rollison said: “I certainly hope so, Olivia.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Olivia passed a weary hand over her forehead.
“But what about the murder? What about the attack on you on the Embankment? What about the attacks on Lucifer and Jolly? If the Webbs weren’t responsible, then who was?”
“Let’s make quite sure that the Webbs weren’t responsible,” Clay said smugly. “And now there’s no need for us to keep either you or Mr Rollison any longer.”
Rollison smiled. “Thank you, Inspector. My car’s just round the corner, but I don’t expect Miss Cordman feels much like driving, so I’d be grateful if someone could run the Morris back for me.”
Clay nodded, and taking Olivia’s arm, Rollison ushered her out of the flat and led the way downstairs.
Several policemen were stationed outside Number 5, but no one was near the Bentley.
Rollison saw Olivia in, then got in himself and took the wheel. She sat very still and was uncharacteristically silent as he drove. There was little traffic going in the London direction, but a lot coming towards them.
“Clay will be good when he’s had more experience,” Rollison said.
Olivia sniffed.
“I won’t be sorry to get some sleep,” he added, pulling up at the traffic lights at Swiss Cottage. Olivia sniffed again, and glancing down, he saw that she was crying, big tears rolling down her cheeks. “Hey, hey!” Rollison protested, with the embarrassment of seeing a woman cry. “It isn’t as bad as that!”
Through her tears, Olivia said: “Yes, it is.”
“But surely—”