John Creasey - Stars For The Toff

“ 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.”

“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.”