John Creasey - The Toff and the Fallen Angels

“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 decorat-ing 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 baby-sitting!” 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 boy-friends 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 theit 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 hot-plate. 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.”

Sid 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 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.”

CHAPTER 4

Angela

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 mini-skirt 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 life-long dreams fulfilled—to see the seamy side of life, and to play detective.”

“Angela,” said Rollison, regarding her severely, “This is not a game.”

“Roily, 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.”