CHAPTER THREE

INTEREST IN THE TOFF

ROLLISON replaced the receiver thoughtfully, stood for a moment contemplating a water-colour by de Wint, and then went into the hall. The footman was waiting for him.

“Tell Mrs. Barrington-Ley that I called,” said Rollison, “and ask her whether it will be convenient for me to see her about half-past six this evening.”

“Very good, sir.”

The footman was tall and young and good-looking. He smiled at Rollison who reflected that the man’s surprise when he had read the card had been a little overdone. On reflection, too, the behaviour of Barrington-Ley might be thought unusual, even for that sprightly and high-pressured man. Had they been expecting him to call?

If they knew anything about the photograph sent to him, that was reasonable.

Rollison hailed a taxi, looked out of the small window at the back several times, and suddenly he leaned forward and spoke to the driver.

“Go down New Bond Street and turn into the far end of Gresham Terrace, will you?”

“Okay,” said the driver.

A small green car which Rollison thought had been following him continued along Piccadilly. Rollison smiled at his fancy, lit a cigarette, and was soon put down outside the tall, narrow, grey-faced house in which he had a first floor flat. As he paid the driver, he glanced towards the end of Gresham Terrace.

The small green car turned into the road.

“Okay, ta,” said the taxi driver.

“Are you in a hurry?” asked Rollison.

“Got to earn me living,” said the driver.

Rollison handed him a pound note.

“Wait here for me until I come out or until the little Morris moves off. It it moves before I arrive, follow it as far as the petrol in your tank will take you.”

The driver scratched his chin. He was a youthful-looking man, clean-shaven and unusually presentable.