Instead, Chief Inspector Clay stepped into the passage, with Michael Fraser just behind him.
Rollison drew back.
Clay gave the broadest grin Rollison had seen on his big face.
“Good afternoon, Mr Rollison. I was coming to see you. I’ve some news for you. Lucifer Stride has made a statement exonerating Mr Fraser and his friends of the murder of Mrs Abbott, and accusing Bob Webb.”
“So the Webbs were lying,” exclaimed Rollison.
“Well, it was their only chance to save themselves,” remarked Clay, in the heartiest of moods. “Can’t give you the details, but the Webbs weren’t after the dossier, they were after jewels—apparently Mrs Abbott had a great deal of jewellery lying around her flat, and the Webbs got wind of it.”
He went almost gaily along the passage and Rollison watched him turn a corner, then followed Fraser into the inner office. Ted Jackson was standing with his back to the window.
“Did you hear that?” asked Fraser.
“Yes. Afternoon, Mr Rollison. Sorry we gave you an unfriendly reception the other day—but we were just so mad at you for defending Madam Melinska. We got the crazy idea we might scare you into dropping the case. But I guess you got your own back.” He passed an explanatory hand over his jaw.
“Forget it.” Rollison sat down in an office chair of black plastic and bright tubular steel. “So you’re in the clear regarding Mrs Abbott.”
“But still broke,” gloomed Jackson. “Cigarette?”
“Thanks.” Rollison lit up. “Clay was in a very expansive mood. Did he tell you anything else?”
“Only that my half-brother, Lucifer Stride, was also after the dossier,” said Fraser. “It seems that he’d talked Mona into doing something she shouldn’t—Clay didn’t say what, but he did say she was put up to it by Stride—and they were anxious to find out if the Webbs had got on to it. So Lucifer moved in with the Webbs and pretended to be working with them against Madam Melinska—in fact, he was trying to find out exactly how much they knew about Mona. Just what she has been up to I don’t know.”
“I think I can tell you,” said Rollison slowly. “How’s this? It seems that most of Madam Melinska’s clients came to her with money worries. I understand that Mona was always present when Madam Melinska gave her readings, so she would hear whatever advice Madam Melinska gave. Supposing, whenever she advised her clients to make an investment, Mona told them they must make this investment through Madam Melinska, and then intercepted the money before Madam Melinska saw it.”
There was a moment’s pause.
“It’s possible,” said Jackson.
Fraser looked shaken. “You mean Mona’s at the bottom of the whole thing, and not Madam Melinska. I can’t believe—”
“I can,” Jackson interrupted. “Sorry, Mike and all that, I know you’re still fond of the girl, but you know how persuasive that half-brother of yours can be. And she’s fallen for him hook, line and sinker.” He turned to Rollison. “In which case Madam Melinska’s in the clear. But you’ll never prove it. If she was in one of her trances she wouldn’t know what Mona told anyone, and Mona’s not going to admit anything. And according to the Webbs’ dossier they had the devil’s own job getting any of the clients to give evidence. Wait a minute, though.” He looked across at Rollison. “Wasn’t your aunt—?”
Rollison interrupted him. “She was,” he said grimly, “and I’ve just remembered something. She sent her cheque direct to Space Age Publishing, Limited, and that disappeared as well. Which rather makes nonsense of what I’ve been saying.”
Jackson looked at Fraser. Fraser looked at the floor. For a few moments there was silence.
Then Fraser turned to Rollison. “I didn’t want to tell you this, I didn’t think it had any bearing on the case, but now I suppose I’ll have to. You know that Lucifer once worked here?”
Rollison nodded.
“He used to be a nice enough boy, though he was always weak. Couldn’t stick to anything and easily influenced. Well, I’m afraid he got into a bad set, and turned into the black sheep of the family. I gave him a job in the firm hoping he’d pull his socks up—but he didn’t.”
“Go on,” said Rollison.
“Well, one day I discovered he’d been dipping into the till as it were. A great deal of company money had been finding its way into his pockets, and I dare say your aunt’s cheque was part of it. That’s another reason why we’re broke. Oh well, it never rains but it pours.”
“We didn’t prosecute,” added Ted. “After all, he is Mike’s brother. And we didn’t want that kind of publicity. But we’ve got it now,” he went on gloomily.
“We’re the people associated in the public’s mind with Madam Melinska’s’—he corrected himself— “Mona s swindle. Oh, all right, Mike, Lucy’s swindle. No one’s going to invest with us now. If we could only keep going for another six months or so we might weather it—but what with Lucy helping himself so liberally, and now this, we haven’t a hope.” He looked at Fraser and shrugged helplessly. “Oh well, we did try.” Then making a brave attempt at flippancy, he turned to Rollison. “You haven’t got thirty thousand pounds to spare, have you?”
Rollison stared at him, blankly.
“Damn it, can’t a man make a joke?” demanded Jackson. “Pretty good effort in view of the state of the market.”
“Wait!” cried Rollison. “Wait!” He sat staring at the two men as if he could see right through them, then said in a strained voice: “Get me Roger Kemp on the telephone, will you? His number is . . .” As he waited, he still stared and a new hope began to put fresh blood in his veins. “Roger? . . . Roger, what would happen if Madam Melinska did put the money into Space Age Publishing? . . . The police wouldn’t have a case, then, would they . . . ? You’re quite sure? . . . Well, well, well!” He beamed up at Fraser and Jackson. “No, don’t go. Roger, I told you about these people who’ve sent all this money for Madam Melinska’s defence; there’s no reason why she shouldn’t invest it in Space Age Publishing, is there? . . . No legal reason why the money shouldn’t be used that way? . . . Wonderful!”
He rang off.
Ted Jackson was at the door.
“Jane, call the works, tell ‘emwe’re going on—fix the advertisements we cancelled. Yes, we can guarantee them, we’re back in business!” He swung round.
Michael Fraser was gripping Rollison’s hand.
“It’s the nearest thing I’ve ever known to a miracle,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t try,” said Rollison. “One condition— that once you’re back on your feet, all the people who’ve subscribed get their money back—or equivalent shares in Space Age Publishing.”
“Guaranteed!” cried Jackson. “Wait until the world hears about this.”
“But the world mustn’t hear,” said Rollison firmly. “At least, not yet. I want this to be sprung in Court.”
* * *
Olivia Cordman looked up from her office desk in a small room near High Holborn. Her spectacles gave her a touch of severity; here she was very much the editor. Rollison rounded the desk, took her hands, pulled her to her feet and kissed her.
“Rolly! I didn’t know you felt like that!”
“That was just a “thank you” kiss,” said Rollison. “Here’s one to say: “You’re the most perspicacious woman’s feature editor in the world.”“
It was several seconds before he let her go. When at last he released her, she drew back, breathless. “Rolly, you idiot, what on earth’s all this about. Whatever’s happened?”
Rollison told her.
* * *
There was not an inch to spare in Court on the morning of the second hearing, but this time Rollison sat on a bench behind Roger Kemp and Bartolph. In the public gallery Lady Hurst contrived to look as if she had enough room. The newspaper benches were overflowing. When Nimmo came in, brisk and businesslike as ever, the oak-panelled room was as crowded as the London Underground during the rush hour. Almost as soon as Nimmo sat down, the door beneath the dock opened and first Madam Melinska and then Mona appeared. The formalities were over in almost record time.
“How do the defendants plead?”
“Not guilty, your honour,” said Sir David Bartolph. “With your permission, sir, I would like to submit evidence forthwith and to plead that there is no case to answer.”
Nimmo looked across at Clay, sitting with the Public Prosecutor’s solicitor.
“What have the police to say?”
“We have more than enough evidence to justify asking for a committal for trial,” the Public Prosecutor’s man said, while Clay looked almost smug.
Nimmo darted a glance from one to the other. “I’m quite sure you wouldn’t waste the Court’s time, Sir David.”
“Thank you, your honour. I shall most certainly try not to. The facts of this case are simple. The accused are charged with misleading investors about the value of shares in a company known as Space Age Publishing, Limited, and also with misappropriating money paid for the shares bought on their advice. I herewith submit two facts and, if you wish, can produce witnesses to testify. First, that capital representing the full face value of the shares under discussion has been placed at the disposal of Space Age Publishing, Limited, by Madam Melinska. Second, that the orders received by Space Age Publishing, Limited are more than sufficient to ensure a profitable trading year and the payment of a dividend which will be guaranteed. In view of these facts I do not think there is a case to answer.”
Sir David Bartolph sat down.
Rollison had heard him and taken everything in, but had hardly seen him, for Madam Melinska’s eyes were turned towards him, Rollison, and there was such benignity in them, such gratitude, that he could not look away.
Suddenly it dawned on him that the Court was in an uproar.
Over on the Press benches, Olivia Cordman was jumping up and down excitedly. The crowded public benches were a mass of laughing, waving women. As the news spread, the queues of people stretching for nearly half a mile in each direction began to cheer; the police were helpless, traffic jammed and stayed jammed, and it seemed as if the cheering would never stop.
It was three hours before it was safe for Madam Melinska, Mona and Rollison to venture out, and Lady Hurst was waiting at the Marigold Club when they arrived.
“I must say I am very pleased with you, Richard,” she said. “It was highly gratifying. Don’t you agree, Madam Melinska?”
“I do indeed,” Madam Melinska said, taking Rollison’s hands in hers. “Mr Rollison, you will never really believe in your heart, you will always have doubts, and this is you, and I would not have it otherwise. Yet you are a man of great faith. What other man would attempt so often those tasks which the world believes are impossible?”
She paused, then drew him forward and kissed him on either cheek.
Rollison’s aunt wiped away what looked remarkably like a tear.
* * *
“And now there’s nothing left for you to do,” said Olivia gaily.
Rollison looked across a dining-table at the Savoy Grill, where she sat happy and slightly flushed with wine.
“Don’t you believe it,” he said. “Now that I’m on the board of Space Age Publishing I have to make sure that all those little people get full value for their money. I had a talk with Mona, by the way. As Jackson thought, the girl was completely infatuated with Stride, and prepared to do anything he asked. It was he who thought up this little investment racket, and so under his thumb was she that she agreed. But she’s come to her senses at last— and given Michael Fraser a cheque for every penny of the money she had from Madam Melinska’s clients.”
“So they’ll get their investments in Space Age Publishing after all,” said Olivia. “And Mike will get the investment money as well as Madam Melinska’s defence money. That ought to put him back on his feet.” Suddenly she looked grave. “But poor Mr Abbott—if it hadn’t been for Mona he would never—”
Rollison interrupted her. “It wasn’t because of the money he lost that Abbott committed suicide. He’d plenty to spare. After all, he left his wife pretty comfortably off, didn’t he— especially judging by all that jewellery the Webb brothers had their eye on. I’ve been having another chat with Michael Fraser—he used to be engaged to Mona and knew the family pretty well—and he says that Mrs Abbott’s possessiveness grew and grew until it was almost a disease. Abbott felt he just couldn’t stand it any longer. And you remember—” Rollison looked across at Olivia— “it was this same possessiveness that drove Mona away from home.”
“But Mrs Abbott told us—” Rollison raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Oh yes, she told us he’d killed himself because of the money he’d lost—in point of fact I think she’d fooled herself into really believing it, just like she’d fooled herself into believing that Madam Melinska had come between her and Mona— but this was because she simply couldn’t face up to the truth.”
“So she built up a great big hate against Madam Melinska and paid the Webbs to dig up anything they could that would reflect against her?” asked Olivia.
“She did. But it was Lucifer Stride’s little scheme for making easy money that the Webbs dug up—although they didn’t know that it was Stride’s scheme. In Mrs Abbott’s favour, all the evidence did point to Madam Melinska’s guilt.”
“She should have known Madam Melinska wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Olivia flatly. “I knew. But there’s still an awful lot unexplained. Who tried to run Lucifer Stride down outside your flat? Who tried to run you down? Who murdered Mrs Abbott? Who attacked Lucifer and Jolly—?”
“Easy, easy,” teased Rollison. “Not so many questions at once.”
“—the night I was kidnapped,” finished Olivia. “Don’t be a beast, Rolly. You know I’m dying to hear.”
Rollison laughed at her eagerness. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Four answers in one. The Webb brothers. You remember that Stride was pretending to work with them in order to find out if they’d discovered that it was Mona, and not Madam Melinska, who’d stolen the investment money?”
Olivia nodded.
“Well, the Webbs hadn’t found out about Mona—but they did find out that Stride was spying on them. They didn’t know what information he was after and they didn’t know whether or not he’d got it, but as they’d been pretty bad boys one way and another they got thoroughly rattled and thought they’d better dispose of him. Their first attempt was when they tried to run him down in Gresham
