Stars For The Toff

by John Creasey

  “Will you?”

  “My pleasure,” the young man said, taking the key.

  Once inside the flat, Rollison could find his way blindfolded, and he went straight to the bathroom, the young man by his side. He groped for taps; they were turned on for him, the water mixed to tepid warmth. He bathed his face gently, and when he had finished, the young man handed him a towel. Rollison dabbed himself dry, and found he could see quite well; most of the pain had gone.

  “Thanks,” he said gratefully.

  “At your service,” the young man said. “Feeling more yourself?”

  “Much more. Let’s go into the living-room.”

  Rollison led the way, noting how the other’s gaze moved swiftly to the Trophy Wall and was held in fascination. He waved his guest to a chair and proffered cigarettes from a carved Malaysian box. The young man selected one with care.

  “My name,” he said, “is Lucifer Stride.”

  “Ah,” said Rollison. “Lucifer Stride. Where you in Court this morning?”

  “I was. Tell me, Mr Rollison—” the young man leaned forward in his chair— “do you think you can help Madam Melinska and Miss Lister?”

  Rollison, vision now nearly normal, was watching him intently. His visitor’s eyes were sharper than he had thought, rather deep-set and close together. His age was around the middle twenties. By the intensity of his expression, Rollison could see that the asking of this question was the entire purpose of his visit.

  “I’ll certainly do my best,” he answered lightly. “Though I haven’t had a chance yet to study the case.”

  “But Madam Melinska isn’t guilty, sir, I know she isn’t. Nor Miss Lister,” the young man added hastily.

  “How do you know?” Rollison asked sharply.

  The close-set eyes dropped to the floor, evading Rollison’s penetrating gaze. “I— er—I—”

  The front door bell cut sharply across the stranger’s fumbling attempts at explanation.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Flat Full

  Rollison wondered what was going through the young man’s mind. Who was he, he wondered, and what was his real interest in the case. Oh well, he would have to find out later.

  “Come and see this,” he invited.

  Followed by the stranger, he went into the hall, and standing a few feet from the door, looked upwards. Over the lintel was a small periscope-type mirror, and this now showed a miniature reflection of Jolly, the woman who had thrown the ammonia, and a policeman.

  “Old-fashioned, but effective,” remarked Lucifer Stride. This few minutes respite had given him a chance to recover his sangfroid.

  “An anachronism,” thought Rollison, as he opened the door.

  Jolly, standing nearest to him, looked searchingly into his face, was obviously reassured, and immediately relaxed.

  “Mrs Abbott, sir,” he said.

  The woman looked dazed, and now the weal on her cheek was much redder and more noticeable. The policeman was holding her arm.

  “Come in, Mrs Abbott,” Rollison said, and for once wished there was another woman in the flat. He led the way to the living-room. Jolly moved ahead and pushed a pouffe into position in front of an armchair. Mrs Abbott was helped into the chair, only Lucifer standing aside with real or affected indifference. Jolly disappeared.

  The policeman turned to her reassuringly. “Now don’t you worry, you’ll be all right now you’re with Mr Rollison.” Anxiously he added to Rollison: “You don’t intend to make a charge, do you, sir?”

  “No,” Rollison answered.

  “Very generous of you, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a lot to do downstairs.”

  “What’s happening in the street?” asked Rollison.

  “Everything’s quieter, but we had to arrest three of the young women, sir.”

  “I see,” said Rollison, glumly. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But don’t be surprised if some are,” interpolated Lucifer.

  The policeman looked at him, appeared ready to ask questions, thought better of it and went towards the door. Rollison saw him out, returning to find Jolly sponging Mrs Abbott’s forehead, with Lucifer looking on sardonically. There was now time to study the woman. She was in her middle fifties, Rollison judged—her grey hair seemed to be naturally curly, and in a rather heavy, almost masculine way, she was good-looking. Her eyes were closed, as if she felt relaxed and soothed by Jolly’s ministrations.

  Jolly drew back.

  “A cup of coffee, madam?” he suggested, and without waiting for a reply he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

  Rollison and Lucifer Stride stood looking at Mrs Abbott, who kept her eyes closed. After a few moments Stride moved to study the Trophy Wall. Suddenly Mrs Abbott opened her eyes and looked straight at Rollison. Not long before she had cried in rage: They killed my husband. And I’d like to kill you.”

  Rollison smiled at her.

  “Hallo,” he said. “Feeling better?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You look better,” Rollison said. “Why did you throw that ammonia at me?”

  Still she didn’t answer.

  “Better still,” said Rollison, “who paid you to?”

  In a flash, she cried: “No one paid me!”

  Lucifer stood with his head tilted back, as if he were trying to see the bullet holes in the crown of the old top hat. The light from the window glinted on his hair, making it look like spun gold. Rollison moved away from the woman, who was staring at him as if in horror and alarm. Jolly came in, with a tray. Rollison did not repeat his questions but turned away.

  “I did it because of my husband,” Mrs Abbott cried.

  “I’m sorry about your husband,” Rollison said gently. “What happened?”

  “That devil killed him.”

  Jolly was pouring out coffee.

  “Which devil?” inquired Rollison.

  “Madam Melinska!”

  “When?”

  “It was last year, she—”

  “But Madam Melinska only arrived in England a few months ago.”

  “My husband met her in Rhodesia,” said Mrs Abbott. “She got her talons into him just like she got them into those other poor fools, and persuaded him to give her money. She was going to invest it for him, if you please! I told him not to trust her, but he would do it and he lost every penny.” Her face was twisted, her lips working. “And then he killed himself.” She stretched trembling fingers for the cup Jolly held towards her. “And all because of that woman, that—that bitch!”

  “Or witch?”

  Mrs Abbott caught her breath.

  “What do you mean—witch?”

  “Some people call seers witches.”

  “She’s no seer, she just pretends she can look into the future. She doesn’t care what lies she tells anyone provided she can get her hands on their money. She—”

  The telephone bell rang, and she broke off. Rollison moved towards it and lifted the receiver, thinking more about what Mrs Abbott had been saying than about the call. Was she speaking the truth, and was Madam Melinska responsible for her husband’s death? Or was she lying?

  “This is Rollison,” he said into the telephone.

  “Hallo again, Richard,” said Lady Hurst. “I will say that you excelled yourself this morning.”

  “I’m delighted you approve,” said Rollison mildly.

  “I approve very much. There is another thing I would like you to do for me, Richard.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bring those two unfortunate women here.”

  “To the Marigold Club?” Rollison asked, not really surprised.

  “Yes. They will be much safer and will certainly be subjected to much less annoyance and publicity,” said his aunt. “I have two adjoining rooms ready for them on the second floor. When do you think they can be here?”

  “I really don’t know, Aunt,” Rollison answered. “The Features Editor of The Day to
ok pity on them, and I imagine is now offering them a fortune for their story.”

  “Far more than it’s worth, I’ve no doubt,” Lady Hurst prophesied. “But they’ll need all the money they can get. Find them, Richard. I would like them both here as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” said Rollison meekly, hearing the telephone click as she rang off.

  He put the receiver down slowly, aware of Lucifer Stride watching him, of Jolly going back to the kitchen, of Mrs Abbott having a second cup of coffee. His aunt’s voice seemed to echo in his ears; she was right, too. The two women would need all the money they could get. And this pointed to a strange, almost bewildering fact. Madam Melinska and Mona Lister had lured thousands to the Court; they were front page news. These were the days in which a well-known astrologer could make a very good income indeed from a column in almost any newspaper or magazine.

  Why, then, were these two so poor?

  He moved across to Mrs Abbott, who now gave the impression that she was on the defensive; Rollison could not make up his mind whether to bully or to humour her and decided on humouring, at least for the time being.

  “Did your husband see Madam Melinska very often?”

  “Often enough.”

  “Was she a popular seer?”

  “Too popular, if you ask me.”

  “Did she earn much money?”

  “Earn? She’s never earned a penny. But she’s swindled thousands out of the poor devils she’s taken in. Don’t believe this story about her being poor—she’s got a fortune salted away somewhere. You be careful of that woman, Mr Rollison—she’s a snare and a delusion. Any man who falls under her spell will find himself penniless when he wakes up to what she really is.”

  There was venom but also an apparent ring of truth in the words. Rollison moved back— and as he did so, the front door bell rang once again. This time, Lucifer Stride moved towards it, but Rollison went ahead, while Jolly’s footsteps were audible as he approached from another passage. So, all three men stood together looking up at the periscope mirror.

  There, on the doorstep, were three women.

  One was Olivia Cordman of The Day one was Mona Lister; the third was Madam Melinska.

  Lucifer made a faint whistling sound and looked at Rollison, eyebrows raised. Jolly pursed his lips. Before any of them moved the bell rang yet again. Olivia Cordman, small and red-haired and impatient, seldom waited long for anybody.

  Rollison said: “I’m going back into the living-room. Make sure that Madam Melinska comes in ahead of the others.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Jolly.

  For a few seconds Lucifer Stride appeared to be undecided as to whether he should stay in the hall or follow Rollison. Then, as Rollison strode forward, he asked:

  “May I join you?”

  “Yes,” said Rollison briskly. He hurried back to the living-room, followed by Lucifer. “Go over by the far window—you can see them both from there.”

  Lucifer obeyed, moving very soft-footedly, and Rollison stood with his back to the fireplace so that he too could see both Mrs Abbott and the doorway; he recalled the venom in her voice and the way she had tossed the ammonia ball at him. All she could throw this time was the cup and saucer; uneasily, he wished he had taken them away from her but it was too late now, for Jolly was saying:

  “Good afternoon, madam.”

  “Is Mr Rollison in?” asked Olivia Cordman.

  “Yes, madam, if you will please step this way—”

  Jolly manoeuvred so that Madam Melinska came forward first. Rollison tried to glimpse the faces of both women, but he was most anxious to see Mrs Abbott’s. So far, she had no idea who was coming in.

  Then Madam Melinska appeared.

  Rollison saw her stop short; heard Mrs Abbott exclaim and saw her spring to her feet. For a moment he was afraid that he had done the wrong thing, that she would attack the other woman; but all she did was to stand by the chair.

  Madam Melinska glanced towards her, her face expressionless. Then she saw Rollison, and the smile she gave him was gentle and quite delightful.

  “I am very glad to meet you, Mr Rollison.”

  Olivia Cordman, obviously puzzled, followed her. She looked at Mrs Abbott, started to speak, and then thought better of it, obviously thinking it wise to await events.

  Then Mona Lister appeared.

  Rollison realized on the instant that Mona Lister both knew and feared Mrs Abbott. He saw her expression of astonishment, the way she stood stock still, hands raised as if ready to fend off an attack. Olivia Cordman’s eyes sparked with interest. Lucifer took two long strides forward.

  Then Mona cried: “Don’t let her touch me! Keep her away? She cowered back against an astonished Jolly.

  Mrs Abbott actually raised the cup, as if to throw it, but Rollison stepped forward swiftly and knocked her arm aside. The cup fell on to the carpet but did not break.

  “Take that girl out of here,” hissed Mrs Abbott. “Take her away or I’ll choke the life out of her.”

  She took a step forward, as if to prove that she meant exactly what she said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Protection

  Rollison watched with bated breath, keenly aware of the reactions around him: Olivia Cordman’s fascinated interest, the calmness of Madam Melinska, the anger of Mrs Abbott, the fear of Mona Lister.

  Of her fear, there was no doubt at all.

  “I tell you—” hissed Mrs Abbott between clenched teeth. She looked about to launch herself forward.

  Mona screamed.

  Lucifer Stride moved very quickly, stepping between the woman and the girl. He thrust his left arm towards Mrs Abbott, pushing her back into her chair, then put his right arm protectively round Mona’s shoulders.

  “Mr Rollison,” he declared, in that affected drawl, “I would have you know that that woman is dangerous.”

  “If it comes to that, so am I,” said Rollison. “If you manhandle anyone else in my flat, I’ll run you out by the seat of your pants.” He moved forward to Mrs Abbott, and looked down at her. “What’s this? A hate campaign?”

  She sat back in the chair, face suffused, eyes glittering.

  “Let’s have it,” demanded Rollison. “You wanted to kill me because I befriended Madam Melinska. What’s Mona Lister done to make you want to choke the life out of her?”

  The woman glared at the girl, but said nothing.

  “Listen to me!” ordered Rollison. “You threw ammonia into my face, you can get a long prison sentence for that kind of crime. Do you want me to charge you?” When she still didn’t answer but stared up at him defiantly, Rollison snapped his fingers at Jolly. “Jolly, telephone Scotland Yard, tell Mr Grice I’ve changed my mind about making a charge against the woman Abbott. I want—”

  Mrs Abbott gasped: “No! No, please— please don’t!”

  Rollison spun round on her.

  “Why do you hate Mona Lister?” When there was still no answer, he raised his voice: “Jolly!”

  “Mr Rollison,” interrupted Madam Melinska, “I think I can tell you. And it is quite understandable.”

  Rollison said gruffly: “Oh, is it?”

  “And I believe you will think so, also,” said Madam Melinska. “Mona is Mrs Abbott’s niece. They have been like mother and daughter for many years. After a conflict of loyalty Mona came to me, deserting her aunt. Can you be surprised at Mrs Abbott’s bitterness?”

  The soft, modulated voice held all of them in a kind of thrall: especially Olivia Cordman.

  When the older woman stopped, heads turned towards Mrs Abbott, and it seemed to Rollison that now they felt much as he, sorrow, not anger, for the woman who had lost first a husband then a niece who was like a daughter, to this gentle creature.

  Rollison asked gently: “Is that the truth, Mrs Abbott?”

  Mrs Abbott nodded; and there were tears in her eyes, tears, which seemed to create a relaxed silence until Lucifer Stride let Mona go, giving her shoulder a reassuring
pat as he did so. Mona stood for a moment without speaking. Then she said gruffly:

  “She drove me into leaving her.”

  “Mona, my child—” began Madam Melinska.

  “It’s no use trying to stop me—and it’s no use keeping on defending everybody,” Mona went on with unexpected spirit. “She made life absolutely unbearable both for me and for Uncle Harry. She—she’s so possessive, she thinks she owns everybody. And if they do any little thing she doesn’t like she gets into these terrible rages—terrible rages. They frighten me—they even frightened Uncle Harry. Oh, I’m sorry, Aunt Hester—” Mona turned towards her aunt— “I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t—but you do know it’s true.”

  She passed a shaking hand over her forehead, and Rollison could see that she too was close to tears.

  “And that was why you went to live with Madam Melinska?” he asked gently.

  The girl looked at him without speaking, and Madam Melinska answered for her.

  “Mr Rollison, it may help you to know that Mona has a remarkable natural gift of second sight, or clairvoyance. It was this gift which brought us together. Mrs Abbott is still a sceptic where foreknowledge of the future is concerned. But—” Madam Melinska’s mildly amused smile appeared again— “aren’t most people? Aren’t you?”

  Rollison felt as if he were at the wrong end of a rapier which pinned him against the wall.

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “Most Virgoans are,” declared Madam Melinska.

  “Most Virgo—oh.” Rollison had been born late in August and knew his sign of the Zodiac, but this had always been a matter for fun rather than serious consideration. He had a momentary flash of thought: How had she known his birth date? Then he told himself that she had only to glance at a Who’s Who to discover it.

  “As a matter of personal interest,” put in Lucifer quietly, “what is my sign?”

  Madam Melinska looked at him very directly. “You are a Gemini, probably born on the cusp. You have the fixity of purpose of all Taureans and the love of movement of Gemini people. I imagine you were born later than your mother had expected.”

  Rollison, startled by the preciseness of the answer, was astonished by the effect on Lucifer Stride, who now stared open-mouthed at Madam Melinska.