“I’m delighted to hear it,” said Rollison drily. “Tell me—do you think they could have tried to run me down? And attacked Lucifer Stride?”
“Not as far as I know, sir. I’ve checked their movements very closely.”
“Could they have murdered Mrs Abbott?”
“The man Jackson admits he was in Mrs Abbott’s flat and that he took away the file on Madam Melinska, but what Fraser and the girl say is correct, then he was back at the office with the file before Mrs Abbott was killed.”
“He was, was he? Going to charge him?”
“No decision has been reached, sir.”
“You’re commendably cautious. Chief Inspector—”
“Yes, sir?”
“Have you found out whether Madam Melinska has in fact substantial funds?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“If you find that she has, this will be evidence against her, won’t it?”
“Added evidence, sir.”
“Thank you, Clay, thank you very much; you’re being most helpful.”
“Thank you, sir.”
* * *
“Jolly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could anyone have known that we were on the threshold of our fiftieth case?”
“I’ve found no evidence to show that they could, sir. I’ve checked with three of the most attentive newspapers and their files show under forty cases.”
“So no one could have known.”
“They could have guessed, sir.”
“Or “seen”?”
“I suppose it is conceivable, sir.”
* * *
“Richard?”
“Why, hello, Aunt Gloria.”
“It’s nearly lunch-time, and I’ve been expecting you to telephone all the morning.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you, Aunt.”
“There is no need for schoolboy sarcasm. I understand from Miss Cordman that a quite remarkable demonstration of public faith has been shown and that eleven thousand pounds have been subscribed for Madam Melinska’s defence. She is deeply touched.”
“It’s a lot of money, Aunt. Do you think she might now be persuaded to say a word in her own defence?”
“Precisely what do you mean, Richard?”
“I’d like her to meet counsel.”
“I do not believe she would refuse, but you must ask her yourself.”
“I’ll do that. How is Miss Lister?”
“The young woman appears to be greatly distressed.”
“I’m not surprised. Aunt Gloria.”
“Yes?”
“I noticed that she was wearing some nice-looking jewellery, a diamond brooch, ear-rings and bracelet.”
“Your powers of observation were always reasonably good, Richard.”
“Thank you, Aunt. How are yours?”
“Are you asking me whether the diamonds are real?”
“Yes.”
“They are.”
“Three thousand pounds’ worth of real, would you say?”
“Approximately, yes.”
“Well, well. Thank you very much, Aunt.”
* * *
“Mr Richard Rollison?”
“Speaking?”
“Your call to Bulawayo, Rhodesia, Mr Rollison.”
“Thank you . . . Hallo, Bill. How are you?”
“Very well, old boy. Suspicious of you, though. Why this sudden call from the dear old homeland?”
“A rich banker like you must be used to such calls. Could you do me an unlawful favour?”
“It depends.”
“You’ve doubtless heard of Miss Mona Lister.”
“I have indeed.”
“Is she rich? And have certain fairly substantial sums of money been credited to her account recently? . . . Wait a moment, Bill. I’ve air-mailed you a list of the amounts concerned. If you could check it or have it checked—”
“Quite impossible, old boy. No banker can divulge a client’s private affairs except to the police.”
“I know. But if you return my list with credits she hasn’t received crossed off, and those she has received in all their virgin freshness, I can deduce as necessary, can’t I?”
“Richard, you are a cunning so-and-so.”
“No doubt.”
“I make no promises.”
“Tell me one thing.”
“If it’s not divulging private and confidential information, I will.”
“Have the police asked to see Mona Lister’s account?”
“No. They haven’t asked me not to answer any questions about her, either.”
“Bill, you’re a devious fellow indeed.”
“How like like to recognise like, Rolly! I’ll be in touch.”
“Soon, please. Just as soon as you can. I’ll be very grateful.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Almost The End
For two weeks Rollison waited.
He was not inactive. Letters still came in by the sackful, some enclosing a shilling or two, one a cheque for a hundred guineas, and the total of contributions rose by startling amounts daily. Every newspaper ran the story, and Rollison and Jolly were under almost constant siege.
“How much more for Madam M.?” asked the Daily Globe. “Already over thirty-one thousand pounds have been subscribed, an unsolicited tribute to the great faith that so many have in Madam Melinska and the mysteries of the influence of the stars.”
“How great a folly!” demanded the solemn Guard. “It is almost unbelievable that in this day and age, some twenty thousand people should contribute to the defence of such a woman.”
“Can the Toff save Madam M.?” cried the Daily Record.
And so the headlines ran, from day to day.
The Webbs, both charged with kidnapping, were remanded in custody. Rollison went to see them twice, but they did not change a word of their story.
Michael Fraser and Ted Jackson, of Space Age Publishing, sent Rollison the reports for which he had asked, but neither contained any information other than that which they had already given him.
Any faint hope of saving the company had now vanished. “The money just isn’t there,” said Michael Fraser.
A letter reached Rollison two days late because of the diversion of his post to The Day.
It was from Bill Ebbutt.
“There’s no more hard feelings down this way, Mr R., but if you ask me, it would be better if you stayed away until this fortune-telling case is over. About two to one against Madam M. in these parts, I’d say.”
Despite the many thousands of letters Rollison had received, this was probably representative of a good cross-section of the public.
“Oh, they’re crazy,” Olivia Cordman said. “You don’t want any more proof that the woman’s genuine, surely.” She was working all day and most of the night making sure that every letter was answered individually.
“Rolly,” said Roger over the telephone, “if you want counsel to appear for Madam Melinska at the Magistrates Court, he’ll need briefing today. Normally counsel wouldn’t appear at this stage, but Sir David Bartolph is interested—very interested. He’s a bit of a clairvoyant himself, you know. A lot of queer rumours circulate about him. Madam Melinska couldn’t do better and she could do a lot worse if she lets him go.”
* * *
“If you really believe I should, Mr Rollison, I will certainly see this legal gentleman,” said Madam Melinska.
* * *
At the time Rollison was telephoning Roger Kemp to tell him that Madam Melinska had agreed to see Sir David Bartolph, Chief Inspector Clay was in the small hospital ward where Lucifer Stride had just been taken off the danger list. Stride’s face and hands were white as chalk, and he looked a sick man. Clay sat by his side, like a watching bulldog.