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.”