“Slightly, sir,” confessed Jolly.
“And find out from her if she’s ever heard of a man named Merino in the motion-picture business. He’s a handsome beggar with a swashbuckling air and a black beard which matches his hair and eyebrows, but all might be false. He wears clothes of American cut and likes Stetsons. Also—quite casually if you can—find out what you can about Pauline Dexter, who seems to be under contract to the Meritor Motion Picture Company. Miss Lawley’s maid is almost certain to know a little bit about Pauline, even if the man Merino is unknown in the film world. Any news from Snub?” he added.
“A telegram, sir, saying that he hoped to be here by seven o’clock,” Jolly said.
“The Aliens?”
“I telephoned twice this morning and once this afternoon, and understand that Mr. Allen is in bed and that Mrs. Allen hasn’t been out to-day. Sam Willis also telephoned, to say that nothing had happened—he seemed a little disappointed, sir.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you,” said Rollison. He finished his tea. “I must be at the Aeolian Hall at five o’clock,” he added. “When Mr. Wardle and I have finished a grand tour, I should know more about In Town To-night than I do now, and perhaps more about the mystery.”
“And what time will you be back, sir?” asked Jolly.
“I don’t know, but I’ll dine out.”
He broke off, as the front door bell rang.
Jolly got up and went out. Rollison filled his cigarette case from a box on the desk, and listened to the conversation after Jolly had opened the door.
“Is this the home of Mr. Rollison?” asked a man with a deep voice.
“Yes, sir.”
“And is Mr. Rollison in?”
“I’m not quite sure, sir,” said Jolly. Were he not sure that Rollison should see this man, he would have answered with an emphatic “no”, because he knew how eager Rollison was to leave for the B.B.C. “If you will please come in, I will find out.”
“Thank you.” The man’s voice held a hint of laughter.
“Your name, sir, please?”
“Just say a friend,” said the owner of the deep voice. Jolly did not press the point but came towards the study. Rollison, already sure who the visitor was, saw him as Jolly pushed the door wider open. It was Mr. Merino.
CHAPTER NINE
MERINO
“Yes, Jolly,” said Rollison, “I can spare a few minutes.
“Very good, sir.”
Merino had made no attempt to push himself forward, and waited in the hall. He sounded delighted when Jolly said:
“Mr. Rollison is in, sir, and will see you.”
“Why, that’s fine,” said Merino. “Fine!”
Jolly took his hat and led the way to the door.
Rollison, who loved the bizarre, moved swiftly, lifted the hangman’s rope from the wall behind him and put it on the desk; the loop was near one end, and it looked exactly what it was. Then he stood up, smiling. Merino made no attempt to shake hands, but his white teeth gleamed vividly against his black beard and moustache. Rollison was impressed by his size, his animal grace of movement, and by the gleam in his large, wide-set grey eyes.
“So you’re Mr. Rollison,” he said. “I’m very glad to meet you, sir.” He pronounced “very” as “vurry”, and Rollison guessed that he came from the Southern States.
“And you’re Mr. Merino,” murmured Rollison. “Won’t you sit down?”
Merino’s smile broadened as he sat down and stretched out his legs. He didn’t speak until he had assessed every feature of Rollison’s face, and appeared uninterested in the fact that Rollison was studying him just as closely—even to the small mole on his right nostril and a small scar, about half an inch long, above his left eye.
“Cigarette,” asked Rollison, sitting down and pushing a silver box across the desk.
“No thanks—I only smoke cigars,” said Merino.
That was a lie; unless someone other than he had smoked two of the cigarettes at the Lilley Mews-flat.
“I must say I’m very glad to know you,” Merino said, “because I think you and I can do business together, Mr. Rollison. I think I ought to make a start by telling you that I’m a very bad man.”
Rollison’s eyes twinkled.
“I can well believe it,” he said.
“And one of the reasons I want to see you is to find out what kind of man you are,” said Merino. “You’re quite smart in a kind of way, although I don’t know that I like that particular way.”
“Well, you started it,” murmured Rollison.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning Byngham Court Mansions,” said Rollison.
“I suppose you can look at it that way if you want to,” agreed Merino. “Mr. Rollison, I’m not admitting anything. I’m not even accusing you of anything, although I will say that whoever came into my flat did a mighty good job. It’s a pity I didn’t leave the combination number in my desk. But that needn’t come between us, Mr. Rollison. I’ve come to show you something.” He put his hand to his inside breast-pocket and brought out a black jewel-case. He put this on the desk and pushed it towards Rollison. It caught against the rope; not once had Merino appeared to notice the rope.
Rollison asked: “What’s that?
“It’s just a sample from my safe,” said Merino. “Go on, open it. It won’t bite you.”
Rollison took a handkerchief from his pocket and held the case. He opened it by picking at the catch with his finger nail and, without once touching the case itself with his bare fingers, put it down, open, on the desk.
He did all this without a change of expression, a remarkable feat, because the sight in front of him was astonishing. There were three huge diamonds, stones which glittered and scintillated; beautiful things, worth a fortune.
“They would have been worth taking, wouldn’t they?” Merino asked.
“Perhaps your visitor only wanted to see what was there,” murmured Rollison.
“Perhaps.” Merino spoke more quietly, and his voice wasn’t so deep; it was the man who had telephoned the previous night and probably the man whose voice so frightened Barbara Allen.
“Maybe, too, he knows what he would have seen, now. There were several other cases; I just brought this along as a sample.”
“I’m not in the market,” murmured Rollison.
“Now that’s just what I want to find out,” said Merino. “Jewels fascinate me, I guess. And they’re big money. I’m used to big money in everything I do, Mr. Rollison, I’m not a chiseller. Big money speaks. You’re a good-looking man, aren’t you? And I guess you’ve a girlfriend tucked away somewhere, a girlfriend who would like to wear diamonds like these.”
Rollison said: “Ah.”
Merino had come to buy him off, and that in itself was a tribute. He showed no change of expression, but opened a drawer in his desk and took out a watchmaker’s glass and a pair of tweezers. Then he pulled the table-lamp nearer to him —it was a modern office type, which bent in all directions— and switched it on, although it was broad daylight. He picked up one of the diamonds in the tweezers and stuck the glass in his left eye. He was conscious of Merino’s steady gaze, but he did not hurry. He turned the diamond round and round, looking at the dazzling facets under the bright light, from all angles.
He put it down at last, let the glass drop and caught it.
“Sure, that stone’s real,” said Merino. “And it’s not so expensive as you might think. Say, Mr. Rollison, do you know the Riviera at this time of the year?”
“Yes.”
“Well, prices are inflated, I guess, but you could have a good vacation on the Riviera for six or seven hundred pounds. That would last you three or four weeks, if you didn’t have bad luck at the tables. That’s what this diamond would cost you—just six or seven hundred pounds !”
“And a trip to the South of France?”
“Why, surely. That goes with it,” said Merino.