The Toff and the Fallen Angels (3 page)

Rollison flickered a glance at Jolly, who immediately began to serve their guest, while he looked straight into Naomi Smith's eyes, feeling great warmth for her.

‘On the strength of your feeling,' he said, ‘I will help if I can.'

Jolly's expression relaxed into obvious approval, and Naomi Smith caught her breath, as if the suddenness of Rollison's decision took her by surprise. But in a moment she was gripping his hand, and her eyes blazed with rare radiance.

‘Oh, thank God!' she exclaimed. ‘Thank God!' She held tightly for a few moments, then suddenly released him and turned away; for the second time her eyes were dimmed with tears. Almost blindly she picked up her knife and fork, beginning to eat as if she had no idea what was in front of her. ‘I really didn't think you would, I couldn't believe you were all you're said to be.'

‘I'm probably half as bad as my enemies say and half as good as my friends would like to believe,' Rollison said, to ease the tension. He paused, to eat; and Jolly came and poured out wine for the Toff to taste and approve. For the first time, Jolly was noticed; and smiled at. ‘But the one person who probably sees me as I am is my Aunt Gloria,' went on Rollison.

‘Oh?' said Naomi, blankly.

‘She also has a heart of gold and a helping hand for fallen angels,' Rollison told her. ‘So I've had some experience.'

‘Good gracious!' exclaimed Naomi.

‘Now what I need, and do take your time about it, is the full story of what is going wrong among your young women, and why you think that someone is trying to make the hostel fail. What do you call the hostel, by the way?'

‘Smith Hall,' she answered.

Rollison's eyebrows shot up.

‘Named after you?'

‘Yes.' She was suddenly almost gay. ‘It's a big old house in Bloomsbury, very handy for London University. The girls originally called it “Smith Hall” for a joke, now the name has become a fixture.' She went on talking, as she ate, with an easy control of words which Rollison found himself enjoying almost as much as he enjoyed the sound of her voice. ‘The house was much too large for the half-dozen or so girls we had when we started and we used only the ground floor. Gradually we've opened all the rooms. It's been a remarkable success in a lot of ways - the sponsors put up the money for basic alterations and the fallen angels did all the decorating and arranging.' She paused. ‘I
must
stop calling them fallen angels!'

‘It sounds all right to me,' murmured Rollison.

Her plate was nearly empty and he got up and went to the hotplate.

‘Some pie?'

‘I—oh, may I? It's very nice . . . They do their own cooking and the housework, too, it's quite remarkable how with a community of twenty-five there's someone good at every job . . . Even babysitting!' She looked up as if wondering how he would react to that.

‘It seems a nice self-contained unit with the inevitable flaw,' Rollison remarked.

‘Flaw?'

‘Yes. No all-one-sex community can
really
be fully effective, can it!'

‘No one attempts to stop them from having boyfriends in,' said Naomi Smith. ‘It really is a
very
modern establishment, Mr Rollison.' She ate for a few moments and then went on: ‘I suppose it isn't easy to explain attitudes. You see, my sponsors and I believe in the same fundamentals. The personal life of all individuals is their own, providing only they aren't a burden on, or a charge to, the community.' She looked at Rollison very straightly. ‘Would
you
agree with that, Mr Rollison?'

‘I can see problems in living like it, but the theory attracts me,' answered Rollison. ‘In this case, however, they
are
being a burden and a charge - if not on the community, then to a band of generous people. Naomi - answer me another question, please.'

‘Of course,' she said.

‘You aren't asking me to sponsor or go along with what you're doing, are you? You're simply saying that you need help because you're under some kind of threat which you can't handle yourself, and are nervous that if this threat gets out of hand it might lead to publicity of a kind you don't want.'

‘That is the situation precisely,' she agreed.

‘Good. What, also precisely, is the trouble?'

She finished eating and put her knife and fork down: he had already noticed how she gave herself time to think before answering any questions of importance; she was a most capable woman. Jolly appeared, as if by magic, cleared away and then produced a strawberry flan and cream as well as cheese and biscuits, and left coffee on the hotplate. Rollison cut the flan into generous portions, as Naomi gave her answers.

‘Two of the girls have really been frightened away.'

‘Frightened away,'
echoed Rollison. ‘Help yourself to cream. Are you sure?'

‘Yes. I'm positive.'

‘Did they tell you so?'

‘No, but they were obviously frightened, and until about two months ago, were thoroughly happy. They began to change. The whole atmosphere changed, there were quarrels and tensions which had never taken place before. I put it down to the influence of one or two of our new residents, but I couldn't really trace it to them. What was a happy community - and I mean that - has become tense and edgy. Good friends have become suspicious of each other. The trust that once existed has almost completely gone. It—it's not really easy to explain in a short time, but I do assure you that it's happened.'

‘You aren't doing so badly,' said Rollison drily. ‘Have there been any thefts?'

‘No, not so far as I know.'

‘Then where does the lack of trust come in?'

‘A creeping fear is a tenuous thing not easy to pin down. Each example of it, when reported, seems trivial. The young mothers appear now to be frightened of leaving their babies unwatched.'

‘Do you mean the
babies
are hurt?'

‘The mothers are afraid they might be.'

‘But why?'

‘That's exactly what I want you to find out,' said Naomi simply. She finished the strawberry flan on her plate, and looked at him again with that frank, penetrating expression he was becoming used to. ‘In one way that's what most hurts and worries me. At one time they trusted me implicitly. They don't now. They don't come and confide or ask my help as they used to. They are as suspicious of me as they are of one another. I believe most of them would leave if they had anywhere to go, but they haven't.'

‘Naomi,' said Rollison. ‘Answer me another question. Do you really think that Smith Hall is in danger of being ruined - or are you afraid that you, personally, might be forced to leave and be replaced?'

She did not avert her gaze.

‘I don't think it would be continued without me. I don't mean that I am indispensable in the actual work, but I don't think the sponsors would go on paying the cost if I were to leave. I can't be sure, of course, but Professor Nimmo assures me he would withdraw his support - and if he were to withdraw I'm sure the others would, too.'

‘So you've discussed this with them?'

‘Of course,' answered Naomi.

‘Who are they, apart from Professor Nimmo?'

‘There are four others,' she said, looking about her. ‘Did you notice where I put my handbag? Ah, there—' she moved to get up, seeing the bag on the table by her chair in the big room, but Rollison, moving with almost startling speed, fetched it for her. ‘Thank you.' She opened it, and took out a small, printed brochure. ‘All the details are in there. We use that to show the girls whom we think could benefit.' She watched him glance down the list. ‘Do you recognise any of them?'

He read:

Professor Arthur Nimmo Chair of Political Science.

Professor George Brown Chair of Philosophy.

Dr William C. Carfax Chair of English Literature.

Professor Keith Webberson Chair of European Languages.

Dr O. J. Offenberger Chair of Advanced Mathematics.

‘I know Keith Webberson,' Rollison remarked, and reflected that he could get a completely objective report from a man with whom he had been both at school and at Oxford. ‘And I've heard of Brown and Carfax by reputation - Offenberger is a new one on me. And these all give tuition free?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do any others?'

‘There is a consultant staff of twenty-one.'

‘Good lord!' exclaimed Rollison. ‘You really go for it in a big way. And do all of these know all you've told me?'

‘Oh, yes,' answered Naomi Smith. ‘And much more - I've confided with them as the trouble has developed. And I know you know Keith Webberson - he suggested that I should get in touch with you. In fact he offered to approach you himself but I thought you might help for his sake and I wanted you to decide on—on the merits of the case as far as I could present them to you. And you really
will
help?' She seemed only half-convinced.

‘I've no second thoughts,' Rollison said. ‘I gather you've room for one or two more angels.'

They both smiled.

‘Three, in fact - one of them left to get married last week, as well as the two I have mentioned.'

‘If I happen to know of a young woman—'

‘Oh,
no
!' cried Naomi Smith. ‘You haven't—'

Rollison, pouring coffee, found himself spilling it as he spluttered with laughter.

‘No, I haven't qualified a young woman to enter Smith Hall!' he said. ‘But I have in mind one who is an angel aloft, as it were, and who is pretty bright at Social Science and has a good inquiring mind. By freak of chance, her name is Angela, and if I know Angela, she'll jump at the chance of joining you. As one of the girls themselves, she might win their confidence.'

‘A new girl might, I suppose,' conceded Naomi. ‘Of course—it's an excellent idea—my goodness! You believe in acting quickly.'

‘But not fast enough,' said Rollison.

‘I don't understand you.'

He covered her hand with his.

‘The thought of waiting for another angel to come and settle in and then start investigating casts you down,' he said. ‘You're so deeply worried about it that you can't wait to start. Isn't that how you feel?'

After another of her pauses, she said slowly: ‘You really are a man of remarkable perception, Mr Rollison.'

‘Or Richard. Or Rolly - as you prefer. Angela apart, I won't be idle.'

‘You mean you've other ideas already?'

‘No ideas, but some experience,' answered Rollison. ‘Have you a list of the names of the residents, their home and backgrounds and history?'

‘Yes,' she said at once. ‘It's wholly confidential, of course.' She opened her bag again. ‘I can rely on you keeping it to yourself, can't I?'

‘Yes,' said Rollison. ‘Unless it reveals crimes which the police have to know about. If it does, I'll tell you first.'

This time, the envelope she handed to him was much bigger and bulkier. Inside were sheets of thin but glossy surfaced paper, and he drew them out. On the top left hand corner of the first was a photograph of a girl with a wide smile - a brunette with shortish hair and particularly big and attractive eyes. The sheet itself was a copy made from an original typewritten document. There were entries under a variety of headings.

Name: Elspeth Jones

Age: 22

Subject: Languages

Next of kin: Father (Estranged)

Next of kin address: 41 Senneker Street, Birmingham, 15.

Other relations: See list attached.

Married or Single: Single - (1 child) - father unknown, Elspeth will not name him.

Income: Nil.

There followed a brief case history of Elspeth Jones, who had been disowned by her widowed father when he had been told that she was pregnant. Rollison did not read it all, but skipped to the bottom paragraph, under the heading: Personality and Talents

A very pleasant and straightforward person with exceptional sense of loyalty. Without bitterness either towards lover or father. Lively, a good sense of fun, a good sense of colour and decor. Wholly trustworthy and likeable with a well-developed sense of integrity.

Rollison looked up.

‘Do you ever take in young women without being sure they are trustworthy and likeable?' he asked.

Without a moment's hesitation, Naomi said: ‘Yes, of course. Smith Hall is not a place where people are prejudged. Some very unusual individuals are quite brilliant - all we do is create the conditions for them to study in their own specialised field. You would hardly complain if a man with a most unpleasant personality helped to find a cure for cancer would you? We have had some very off-putting girls, but as I said, until two months ago they all got along very well. Newcomers sometimes take some time to settle in, and are not always accepted quickly - that is one reason why I had momentary doubts about your Angela. Do you
really
think she will be prepared to help?'

‘I'll know before the day's out,' said Rollison. ‘And as soon as I know, I'll telephone you. That's a promise.'

Angela's rosy cheeks were glowing, her blue eyes were bright, her plump and bouncy body seemed to quiver with excitement. She was short, only just five feet, but no one ever thought her small. Some called her a roly-poly and that, though old-fashioned, was very much on the ball. She wore a miniskirt which rode high above her stalwart calves and trim ankles, and a loose-fitting scarlet jumper with a polo neck. Her hair, golden in colour, had a silken lustre.

‘Gorgeous!' she gurgled. ‘Absolutely gorgeous, Rolly. Bless you for thinking of me.'

‘Knowing you, could I have thought of anyone else?' asked Rollison.

‘I'd have hated you for life if you had. I've always wondered how it would feel to live branded by one's own indiscretions. The incredible thing is that it happens so much today. Anyone would think that reasonably educated angels would know this was the Pill Age.'

The Toff evaded that challenge neatly.

‘So you'll do it,' he remarked.

‘Rolly, darling, when can I start?'

‘Very soon, I imagine. Tomorrow say?'

‘Tomorrow is the day! Rolly,
bless
you! At long last I'm going to see how the other half lives.' She bounced out of her chair, opposite his in the Gresham Terrace flat, and kissed him on either cheek. ‘Does Old Glory know about this?'

‘Not yet,' said Rollison.

‘I daresay that's wise.' Angela, suddenly even more ecstatic, sat on his knee and flung an arm round his neck. He needed no reminding that she was a very feminine young woman and fleetingly thought of his morning talk with Jolly. Angela simply regarded him as an uncle; masculine certainly, but hardly male in the exciting sense. She hugged him. ‘You're the absolute pet,' she told him. ‘Now I can have two of my lifelong dreams fulfilled - to see the seamy side of life, and to play detective.'

‘Angela,' said Rollison, regarding her severely. ‘This is not a game.'

‘Rolly, don't be silly, I know it's not.' She stiffened theatrically, holding him at arm's length. ‘
Richard
,' she said in the tone all the family used when about to disapprove of him. ‘Don't tell me you think I'm incapable of being serious!'

‘You're quite capable,' Rollison assured her. ‘The point is, that this is one of those occasions to use that capability, and not indulge in the light-hearted frivolity you semi-intellectual young people find so necessary.'

‘Of course, I gather that, and the fact that the wrong timing is the very snag over which your semi-intellectual angels have fallen.'

Rollison chuckled.

‘Your point,' he conceded. ‘Will you have another drink?'

‘You mean, won't I get off your knee and allow you to breathe more freely.' She kissed him on the forehead. ‘No, I won't have another drink and I won't play the fool any more. I'm absolutely thrilled at the chance, and truly grateful. And—' she hesitated for a studied effect, then went on: ‘I won't let you down.' She was suddenly all movement again, as she sprang off his knee like an India rubber ball. She neither looked nor behaved like her twenty-four years. ‘There's just one thing. What will happen when the others find that I'm not really qualified?'

Rollison looked at her solemnly. ‘With a turn like that, no one would suspect you were cheating.' Before she recovered, he moved towards the telephone. It was five minutes to seven, and he was alone but for Angela, this being Jolly's evening off. He dialled the number of Smith Hall, and Naomi Smith answered in that unmistakable voice which attracted Rollison in a way he had seldom been attracted before.

‘This is Smith Hall.'

‘This is Richard Rollison, to tell you that Angela is prepared to fall.'

‘Oh, I'm
so
relieved,' said Naomi in a tone which was evident proof of her words. ‘The more I think of it the more I like this idea. How soon can she come?'

‘Tomorrow.'

There was a long pause, before Naomi said in a huskier voice: ‘I don't really believe in you, Richard. You're like something spirited out of Aladdin's lamp.'

Angela, close to Rollison, was mouthing and touching her lips and her right ear, in imitation telephoning. Rollison held on for a moment, relishing what Naomi had said, and then asked: ‘Would you like to speak to Angela now?'

‘Is she with you? . . . I'd love to.'

‘Hold on,' Rollison said. He held the instrument out to Angela, then went out of the room. He did not want Angela to think he did not trust her to say what was wise, for beneath her high spirits he had sensed a moment almost of resentment when he had warned her that this was not a game. He could have listened in on the kitchen extension or the one in his room or in Jolly's bedroom, but did not. Now that he was alone he was contrasting Naomi and Angela, and at the same time wondering what he had let himself in for. He could not even begin to think of a motive for what was going on. It could of course, he decided, be merely a matter of temperamental conflicts within the hostel. Each of the residents obviously had acute personal and probably emotional problems, and with high IQ were likely to suffer more from tension than folk who had a less highly tuned intelligence.

But Keith Webberson had sent Naomi to him, and Keith was no scaremonger, he must have some reason for anxiety. It was at least possible that Naomi Smith had not yet told him everything, wanting to make sure that he would help before unburdening herself of the whole truth.

He heard a faint click at the bedroom extension; Angela had rung off, he went to join her, and found her very much more sober, hardly smiling at all.

‘Hallo,' he said. ‘Problems?'

‘No,' answered Angela. ‘Not exactly problems, but Mrs Smith made it clear that she is really worried. I'm going to see her right away, Rolly - she's waiting supper for me. Apparently that's how she interviews all her prospective angels.' A flash of humour brightened Angela's eyes. ‘An angel who is about to fall salutes you!'

‘I'll be around to pick you up,' promised Rollison.

Five minutes later, wearing a knitted cloak drawn tight around the neck, Angela was about to leave. As Rollison saw her to the door, he remembered how upset Naomi Smith had been that morning at that very spot. He held the door ajar.

‘You're quite sure you want to go ahead?' he asked.

‘Absolutely positive, no shadow of doubt about it,' answered Angela.

‘You could run into a lot of troubles you don't expect,' he reminded her. ‘Promise me one thing.'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘Tell me everything you find out, at least once a day, and if you've the slightest cause for alarm, let me know at once.'

‘I will,' Angela assured him, earnestly. ‘It's a chance in a million, and I'll make the most of it.'

He saw her down to the street door, and watched as she drove off in a shabby and battered Morris 1000, scarred from ten years of heavy usage. Yet the engine purred. She waved, tooted and was gone. He returned to the flat, in a curious state of uneasiness. Ought he to have encouraged Angela to go? Should he have made more inquiries first? What was the simple truth about his own view of the matter? That he was in fact inclined to think that this was not a criminal but an emotional affair?

He closed his front door, walked into the big room, and telephoned Keith Webberson, who had a flat in St John's Wood. Webberson was a widower, a wealthy man whose life was dedicated to the spreading of knowledge and understanding throughout the world. He did this through his work, and he had devised methods of teaching English to illiterate people which were practised in much of the Commonwealth. And he did it also through voluntary organisations, serving on a dozen committees, including several attached to UNO.

The ringing sound went on and on. It was hardly surprising, Webberson was often out, but for a reason which he could not wholly understand, Rollison grew even more uneasy. He contemplated calling one of the other members of Naomi's group, but decided against it.

He tried to push the uneasiness away but it remained through supper, an indifferent Western and a bad documentary programme; even until Jolly came in, a little after eleven o'clock. He told Jolly what Angela had decided, was not wholly sure that Jolly approved. At twelve, he started to get ready for bed, and at twenty- minutes past the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver by his bedside.

‘Rollison.'

‘I've seen her, and I think she's absolutely remarkable,' said Angela. ‘If it were only to help her, I'd go to Angel Hall.' She said that quite naturally, not as a joke. ‘I'm moving in tomorrow. Aren't you pleased with your third-from-favourite niece?'

‘I'm very proud of her,' replied Rollison.

‘What a nice thing to say, even though it's been wrung out of you. Bless you, Rolly!'

She rang off; and Rollison realised that she was now wholly committed. Slowly he finished getting ready for bed, but he did not get to sleep easily; he was more worried than he had been for a long time.

Angela telephoned about half-past six next evening; the Friday of that week.

‘All's quite quiet, Rolly. I'm settling in.'

Keith Webberson did not answer the telephone that evening, either.

Angela telephoned on Saturday.

‘It's a wonderful place, Rolly - perfect for what goes on here - but there
is
something wrong. I'll try to put my finger on it as soon as I can.'

‘What kind of wrong?' he wanted to know.

‘As soon as I know, I'll tell you,' said Angela.

Keith Webberson did not answer his telephone all that day.

He must be away, mused Rollison. ‘And there's no reason on earth why he shouldn't be.'

But was that really true, in mid-term, he wondered.

Angela telephoned on Sunday and on Monday and Tuesday.

‘I think I'm being accepted,' she said on Tuesday. ‘There's one girl I particularly like - an Elspeth Jones, and I think she's bursting to talk to someone. I may have something more to report tomorrow.'

‘How are you really finding things?' asked Rollison, before she could ring off. ‘You've said very little, so far.'

‘There isn't very much to say,' said Angela, obviously prepared. ‘Nearly all of the others
are
suspicious of one another
and
of Naomi Smith. They seem to have a love-hate relationship. I can tell you one thing, Rolly.'

‘What's that?'

‘They may all be fallen angels but they all want to pick themselves up. At dinner time tonight they talked more freely than I've known them, it's almost as if they're beginning to forget that I'm new.'

‘That's good,' said Rollison. ‘Angela—'

‘I really ought to go,' Angela interrupted. ‘If anything happens worth reporting, I'll tell you afterwards. Bye for now!'

Rollison rang off, thinking almost ruefully that she had virtually dismissed him. Did that mean that someone had been - or might be - listening in? Or had she simply been afraid that someone would interrupt?

Angela telephoned again on Wednesday, and for the first time sounded almost excited.

‘They are absolutely accepting me,' she cried. ‘Two of them confided in me last night about their own problems, and wanted to hear about mine. It seems to be far more difficult to invent a purple patch than a white one. I finally planked for a kind of grey. I can tell you another thing, Rolly.'

‘What's that?' asked Rollison patiently.

‘They're puzzled because they haven't seen Professor Webberson for a week - he usually takes one afternoon and one evening class at Smith Hall.'

‘Isn't he away?' asked Rollison.

‘He didn't say he was going away,' Angela informed him.

Rollison rang off, and immediately put in a call to Webberson; as usual there was no answer. On the spur of the moment, he went downstairs and walked to his garage, in a mews nearby, took out his latest car, a grey Allard, and drove to St John's Wood. Webberson lived in a top floor flat of a block which towered above its neighbours; from south windows it was possible to see almost all of the ground at Lords.

Rollison got out of the lift opposite Number 901 - Webberson's flat. Outside the front door was a printed note: ‘No tradesmen until I'm back, please,' and it was followed by the initials ‘K.W.' It was an odd way for an intelligent man to advertise the fact that the flat was empty, and Rollison studied the note, and then the front door - and at that instant decided to break in.

There was no convincing reason why he should suspect anything was wrong, but the suspicion was very strong in him. He drew on a pair of thin cotton gloves, not wanting to leave prints, then took out a knife with blades of highly flexible steel, and began to work on the lock.