“It shall be done,” said Henri.
From Blott’s to Gresham Terrace was only a three minute drive. Five minutes after he had slipped out of the staff exit of the restaurant, Rollison entered the hall of the Gresham Terrace flat and called: “Jolly !”
Jolly appeared.
“Sports jacket, flannels, brown shoes, pretend I’m going to Lords,” said Rollison. “I’ve got ten minutes.”
“At once, sir!”
Rollison disappeared into the bath-room and took from the cabinet a small box of theatrical make-up. It did not contain everything theatrically necessary, and a star would not have been pleased with the curious assortment of grease-paints, spirit, brushes and accessories—and would have been puzzled by the number of false moustaches and false beards. Rollison eschewed grease-paint, but smeared spirit gum on a small moustache and a Van Dyck beard. As he did this, peering closely into the mirror, Jolly came in. In ten minutes, Rollison was changed; and although no one who knew him well could have been deceived, the beard and moustache made a marked difference to his appearance. He took a pair of black cotton gloves from his wardrobe, tucked them into his pocket and glanced at himself in the mirror.
•Will I do?” he asked Jolly.
That will suit your purpose, I have no doubt, sir.”
“Good! I’m leaving the car in Leicester Square, fetch it for me in twenty minutes or so.”
“Very good, sir. May I inquire——”
The young woman who telephoned at four o’clock last night has been following me about all the morning,” said Rollison. “I am now going to follow her. Any word from Mr. Wardle?”
“He will be happy to meet you at the Aeolian Hall at 5 o’clock this evening, sir.”
“Good,” said Rollison, and went out
Rollison sat in the taxi, near Blott’s, and watched the restaurant door. There was a possibility that the girl had already left; there was no way of telling without going into the restaurant, and he did not want to do that So he smoked a cigarette and chatted with Perky Lowe. Perky, who had helped him before, was a short man with a huge, turnip-shaped head, on the back of which he wore a green cap, as a kind of halo. His eyes were merry and his manner bright He had a snub nose and discoloured teeth, and smoked continually.
“How’s business, Perky?” asked Rollison.
“Pretty good, considering,” said Perky. “Cor strike a light, I never thought I’d see the day when torfs argued wiv each other for the priv’ledge of riding in my cab !”
“It’s a nice change for you,” said Rollison.
“Gets a laugh out of it, I do,” said Perky. “People ain’t arf perlite, too, and they don’t tip thruppence no more. They crosses me palm wiv silver, as if I was a ruddy fortune-teller. Know where we’re going,” Mr. Ar?”
“I may send you off on your own a bit later on,” said Rollison.
“Well, I won’t get lorst,” said Perky with a vast grin. “An’ I’ve got me spanner.”
He had an encyclopaedic knowledge of London and it was his boast that he knew the name and position of every road, street, mews, square and block of buildings in the City, West End and near suburbs.
Rollison had given his instructions when the girl came out of Blotts and stood looking up and down, obviously not pleased with herself.
There she is,” said Rollison. “Don’t lose her.”
“Bit of an eyeful,” approved Perky.
The girl turned left and walked along Coventry Street, and the driver moved off as soon as she had gone a dozen yards. She kept looking round, as if hoping to find a free taxi, and actually put her hand up as Rollison’s passed. Perky backed into Wardour Street and then invented a little trouble with his engine. The girl walked past, still hailing taxis; opposite the Warner Theatre, she was lucky.
“Now we can move,” said Rollison.
“Okay!” breathed Perky.
His was a newish cab; the girl’s an old one which made a circuit of Leicester Square and then returned along Coventry Street and went along Piccadilly. Near New Bond Street, it turned right, took another turning and then swung into a narrow cul-de-sac. Rollison’s taxi went past
“Dead end, sir,” said Perky. “Lilley Mews, this is,”
“Stay as near as you can, will you?” asked Rollison.
He got out and walked briskly towards the mews. The girl had paid off her taxi and it was swinging round. She disappeared into the doorway of a dingy-looking building. In fact, all the buildings here were dingy, except a garage which had a bright coat of green paint. There were several lock-up garages, but other buildings—which had once been stables—had been turned into flats or houses.
Rollison went first to the garage, but luckily no one came to attend him. He stepped from the garage to the doorway through which the girl had disappeared. On a small plate fastened to the door were the names: Miss Pauline Dexter— Flat 1. Mr. Oliver Merino—Flat 2.
The door stood ajar.
Rollison pushed it open and looked into a narrow passage. Facing the door was a short flight of stairs and at the top of that, a freshly painted red door on which was the white numeral, 1. The stairs went higher, with iron railings protecting them; the door of Flat 2 was immediately above that of Flat 1.
He examined the lock of the lower flat, smiled because the tenant doubtless thought it was burglar-proof, then left the building and went back to the garage. A small man with long, greasy hair and long, blackened nails and dirty overalls came out and looked at him with disfavour. Rollison asked if there was a garage available for the night The garage-hand said no, there wasn’t, and didn’t add that he was sorry. Rollison asked if he could recommend a garage and the garage-hand said no, he couldn’t, and did not appear to be upset about that Rollison said it was a pity, and a pound note appeared in his right hand. The other pushed his fingers through his hair, to get it out of his eyes, and said:
“Wait a minute, I might be able to fix sunning.”
He returned after five minutes and said that Number 5 was empty for three nights, only for three nights, but number 9 might be empty after that. Thirty shillings a week and they were lock-ups. Rollison added thirty shillings to the pound which had already changed hands, and inspected garage number 5. It was spacious and empty, except for an old tyre and one or two dented cans, but what interested Rollison was the fact that it had a small window, about head-high, fitted with plain glass. From the window he could see the doorway through which the girl had gone.
“Yes,” he said, “this will do nicely.”
“Ain’t a better in London,” said the garage-hand. He handed over a bent key, and disappeared.
Rollison turned away, just as the girl came out of the doorway into which she had disappeared.
With her was a tall man of striking appearance, who—and Rollison’s eyes crinkled in a smile at the sight—had a fine, neatly trimmed, black beard. He was massive, had a prominent nose, a fine, full mouth and square chin, and he walked with easy grace. He was dressed in a light brown suit of American cut, and wore a wide-brimmed, beige-coloured felt hat—a Stetson, no less. The girl talked to him briskly as they walked towards one of the garages, and the man opened the door with a key. Rollison strained his ears to catch what she said, but succeeded only in hearing odd snatches.
They went into the garage, which was two removed from number 5; car doors slammed, an engine purred, and a minute later a luxurious cream Chrysler nosed into the mews. There was just room for the car to turn; the driver, the man, judged it to a nicety.
Rollison walked after the car rapidly. It was held up at the end of the mews by passing traffic, and Rollison reached Perky’s cab before it had gone far.