“Yes?”
“You wouldn’t know why everyone wants Selby Farm, would you? You wouldn’t know what makes it so valuable ?”
“I don’t know yet,” answered Grice, “but it’s one of the things I’m going to find out. Now, let’s go downstairs.” He pressed a button for the lift. “On the way, you can search your conscience and decide what you’re going to put in the statement you’re going to make when we all get to the Yard.”
“Me too?”
“You especially.”
The lift came up, and the doors opened automatically. Rollison stood aside for Grice to pass, then followed him, and Grice pressed the button for the ground floor. After a pause, the doors began to close.
“Well, I didn’t think I’d be reduced to this,” said Rollison. He beamed, shouldered Grice to the back of the lift, and squeezed out between the closing doors. He had to pull his arm free to let the doors close. He pressed the button of the other lift, saw the Lift Coming sign light up, and wondered whether Grice would go down, stop at the next floor or press an alarm button and come back here. In either case Rollison had only a few seconds grace.
The second lift opened.
He stepped in and pressed the sixth floor button, to take him three floors up, and as he waited while the doors closed and it moved, he took out a cigarette and lit it. His expression was very bleak. The lift stopped and the doors opened. He stepped out swiftly and hurried along a passage towards a window which overlooked the street, then pressed the door-bell of the nearest flat. There was hardly a pause before footsteps sounded. An elderly man holding a book opened the door.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” said Rollison, “but I need to make an urgent telephone call. I wonder if you’d be good enough to allow me to?”
“Why, glad to,” the elderly man said, and stood aside; as Rollison stepped past him, he closed the door.
16
WARNING
Tex Brandt was still fascinated by the Trophy Wall. He would read a newspaper, put it down, and step across and study the articles on it; the rope, some chicken feathers and a cuckoo clock which cucked bullets seemed to hold his attention most. He would switch on the television, watch for ten minutes, and then with the singing or the dancing, the talking or the acting going on behind him, he would return to the trophies. He would open a book, pour himself a drink, light a cigarette; and keep looking at the wall. Jolly came in to ask him if he would like some coffee. “Sure, let’s see how you can make it,” Tex said, and stood up, drawn as if by magic to the wall. “You didn’t tell me what that top hat is doing on the top of the heap,” he went on. “Is that a bullet hole through the crown?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jolly, “and the bullet actually tore away some of Mr. Rollison’s hair, but did no harm. It was the first souvenir, and it amused Mr. Rollison to hang it on a nail in the wall. Then this collection somehow grew of itself. I confess”—Jolly was talkative, which showed that he also liked the Texan—”I was not enthusiastic at first, it had a melodramatic touch, if I may put it that way, and a kind of flamboyance. However, Mr. Rollison is a little melodramatic, and he also has a touch of the flamboyant, so it was in character.”
“And now you approve?”
“You might say that I am the curator, sir.”
“Is that so? Do you keep a catalogue ?”
“Yes, sir. I have always felt that the time would come when an eminent biographer would like to write Mr. Rollison’s life story, and I felt that the least I could do was to keep a brief, detailed account of each of the causes celebres which are indicated here.”
“I’d sure like to see that catalogue.”
“I will have to obtain Mr. Rollison’s permission,” Jolly declared. “He is a little reluctant to allow anyone but his closest friends to see it.”
“So he’s not so flamboyant after all,” observed Brandt. He looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven, I wonder how much longer he’ll be?”
Then the telephone bell rang.
“With your permission I will answer it here, sir.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Now the Texan seemed as fascinated by Jolly, who was so doleful looking in repose, so full of vitality when talking about the Toff.
“This is Mr. Richard Rollison’s residence.” There was a brief pause, and then Jolly’s eyes kindled. “Yes, sir, he is still here . . . What is that, sir?” Jolly glanced at the American, and his manner changed noticeably. He listened intently, said : “At once, sir,” and put down the receiver quickly. “You are to leave immediately by the roof,” he told Brandt. “The police are on their way to arrest you. This way, if you please.”
Jolly did not utter another word, showed no sign of surprise or alarm, just turned and hurried out of the room, with the Texan close behind him. Yet Tex cast a last glance at the Trophy Wall. Jolly led the way along a narrow passage and into a spotless kitchen, where chromium and tiles seemed to live together harmoniously. He opened a door which led to another door, and then said : “Excuse me, sir, we had better put out the light.” He flicked a switch, and everything went into darkness. He opened the outer door, and the grey light of night filtered in.
“Step very cautiously here,” he cautioned. “It’s an iron fire escape.”
“Sure.” Tex’s voice barely disturbed the quiet.
There was a faint sound, like an echo, as they stepped on to the iron platform. The outline of the steps leading downwards showed clearly, and below there was a pale courtyard. A shadow which might be the figure of a man was stationary at one corner.
Tex followed Jolly closely, to the wall.
“There are iron rungs here, sir. If you climb up them you will reach the roof of the building. The best way to turn at the top is to the left. It is a light night, and you will have no difficulty in seeing where you are going. The houses are all’ terraced, but the ninth one along has a very narrow gap. You will find more rungs, like these, leading down from the roof at this side of the gap, and leading to the fire escape. Anyone watching this house will be behind you then, and you need only take reasonable precautions to get away.”
The Texan whispered : “Sure, I understand.”
“When you reach the ground, you will find the narrow gap between the houses on your right. Take that, sir. Turn left, and then left again. It will bring you into Piccadilly Circus, with which I imagine you are familiar.”
“Sure, I know Piccadilly Circus,” said Tex, in a strangely subdued voice; it was not simply that he was whispering, it was as if he hardly knew how to find words. “Let me make sure I have it right. I turn right at the top, I climb down at the house this side of the gap, I go into the gap, I turn left and left again, and I’m right in Piccadilly.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Fine,” said Tex, with a little more vigour. “Jolly, will you tell me one thing ?”
“If I can, sir.”
“Why is Mr. Rollison doing this for me?”
“I have no doubt at all that it will serve an admirable purpose, sir.”
“Which means you don’t know,” said Tex. “I guess I don’t know, either.” He took Jolly’s hand. “Tell him I think he’s a mighty fine guy, will you ?”
“I will, sir.”
Now Tex gripped his shoulder, and there was fierceness in his whispered words.
“I want him to get that message verbatim. You understand?”
“Perfectly, sir. In your opinion, Mr. Rollison is a mighty fine guy.”
Tex choked back a laugh.
He turned, and began to climb up the iron rungs, going very cautiously first, but much faster before he reached the top. Jolly waited until he had disappeared, and marvelled that he hardly showed himself against the grey sky; it was unlikely that he would have been seen from the ground, even if someone had been watching all the time.
Jolly went back into the flat, closed both doors, and turned on the light. Then he went into the kitchen, and began to get the morning tea-tray ready. He was putting the finishing touches to it when the telephone bell rang. He moved to an extension which was just outside the kitchen door, and lifted the receiver.