“Don’t for heaven’s sake tell Jolly,” said Rollison wryly.
“As a matter of fact, sir,” Jolly said, coming from the door, “I wondered whether in these circumstances Mr Ebbutt’s men might have a change of heart. Their—ah—wives might have some sympathy with Madam Melinska.”
“But you can’t let a lot of ex-prize-fighters do this kind of work,” protested Olivia. “Rolly—do you know what?”
“What?”
“The Day is fully equipped to handle this sort of thing. Our record was fifty-three thousand competition entries in one day. We’ve nothing big on at the moment. I’m sure that our Mailing and Receiving Department would be glad to cope.”
“And what a story for The Day,” said Rollison drily.
“Exactly! It would be a sensation. And we wouldn’t charge for opening and sorting everything.” Olivia added ingenuously.
“Telephone your Mailing and Receiving Department, straight away,” said Rollison.
Before he had finished speaking, the telephone was in her hand. As she waited, there was a ring at the door, and Jolly moved towards it. At the same moment the unlisted telephone rang. Olivia talked, Rollison talked, Jolly and an unseen man talked at the door.
Rollison’s caller was Roger Kemp, his solicitor.
“Rolly, I’ve been through all the papers I’ve got, all the reports I’ve heard, and I’ve been through all my contacts at the Yard, and I’ve talked with counsel. Your Madam Melinska hasn’t a chance in a million.”
On the other telephone, Olivia was beaming with delight.
“Not one in a million,” echoed Rollison, his heart dropping.
“She might get a reduced sentence if we plead that she was in a trance and unaware of what she was saying, but we would have to convince a jury that she really does go into these trances and there are a lot of people who simply wouldn’t buy it.”
“Wonderful!” Olivia was saying, ecstatically.
“And that’s the best you can do?” asked Rollison lugubriously.
Jolly came in, carrying a thick wad of buff-coloured envelopes. Rollison saw but did not recognise them, thought “More letters,” and heard Roger Kemp say:
“You are sure you want to go on with this aren’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Yes, send a van,” cried Olivia. “And I’ll come back on it.”
“Up to you,” the solicitor said, “but she could be fooling you. So far the one argument in her favour is that she appears to be nearly penniless. If that were proved to be untrue, then she would get a very stiff sentence for trading on the gullibility of the public and betraying trust. But you know that.”
“How long?”
“I’d guess seven years.”
“Seven years? echoed Rollison.
Olivia replaced her receiver and came towards Rollison, but at the sight of his expression, the sound of his “Seven years? she stood stock still.
“. . . so be absolutely sure of yourself,” the solicitor said. “May I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead.”
“Let me arrange a meeting between you, Madam Melinska and counsel.”
“I’ll think about it,” Rollison said. “Thanks, Roger.” He rang off, and looked into Olivia’s troubled eyes. “The law doesn’t share anyone’s faith,” he said. “Like Clay said, she could get seven years.”
“It’ s—impossible!”
“It isn’t, my dear. It’s grimly possible.”
Olivia was silent for a long time; then, suddenly, her face cleared and she gave a bright little laugh.
“It isn’t going to happen—you’re going to save her. Rolly, it’s all arranged, The Day’s sending a van and two men, you and Jolly won’t have to do a thing, and you can get the best counsel in all England with this money. My, what a story this is going to be! You needn’t worry, I know it’s going to be all right!” She flung her arms round him and gave him a hug.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Jolly.
“More letters?”
“Telegrams, sir.”
Tele—good Lord!”
“Oh, they’ll come by the hundred,” Olivia declared. “I tell you, you’re only just beginning to understand what people think about Madam Melinska. And they’re right, Rolly, you’ll find out!” She hugged him again, and asked in the same breath: “What shall we do with the money? Open a Madam Melinska Defence Account with it?”
Rollison said slowly: “No. Just a Madam Melinska Account.”
“Rolly, she won’t touch the money.”
“That’s good,” said Rollison.
“You still doubt her, don’t you?” Olivia said. “I—what’s that?” She ran to the window and looked out. “It’s the van! I’ll go and let the men in!”
Before Jolly could open the door she reached it and went bounding down the stairs. As she did so, the unlisted telephone bell rang again.
Rollison lifted the receiver.
“It’s the telephone answering service, Mr Rollison,” a girl said. “There are several calls which I really think you ought to make—two to the B.B.C. about appearing on a news programme tonight, and three from Independent Television. I’ve a note of the people concerned, if—”
“Just tell them I’m very sorry,” Rollison said.
“You don’t want to appear on television?”
“Not tonight,” Rollison said. “How are the other calls coming in?”
“We’ve two operators doing nothing else,” the girl said. “And all except a few are wishing you luck.”
“What about the few?”
“Abusive, sir, but nothing to worry about— not everyone believes in Madam Melinska, I’m afraid.” The girl laughed. “You’re sure about the television?”
“Positive,” said Rollison firmly.
He rang off as Olivia and two youths came upstairs for the mailbags. As she went out, shooing the youths before her, she called:
“Rolly, I keep meaning to find out how Lucifer is. Do ring the hospital.”
He had completely forgotten Lucifer Stride.
* * *
“He is doing as well as can be expected, sir.”
“Is he out of danger?”
“No, but every hour improves his chances.”
“Good. Has he had any visitors?”
“The police are at his bedside, sir.”
“Ah, yes. They would be. Thank you.”
* * *
“Is Chief Inspector Clay in, please.”
“One moment, sir—”
“Clay speaking.”
“Rollison here. How are you this morning?”
“Very well, sir, thank you. How are you?”
“Coping with many thousands of gifts for Madam Melinska’s defence.”
“Thousands?”
“Many thousands.”
“Really, sir—they always say there’s one born every minute!”
“Yes. Have the Webbs talked?”
“They haven’t changed their story in any degree at all.”
“Believe them?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
“No, I suppose not. Clay.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Have you talked to Michael Fraser, Edward Jackson and Jane somebody at the Space Age Publishing offices?”
“I have, sir. And they confirm your story.”