“Don’t ask for trouble!”
He was uneasily aware of the man’s tense gaze when he went into the room. But for the urgency of seeing Gwendoline, he would have paid Farrow more attention, for he had an impression that the man wanted to speak.
The morning-room was bright and sunny, with books in the corners and a small writing-desk, small easy chairs dotted about, and a low-sprung settee on which Gwendoline was sitting. She sat up abruptly when she saw him, and showed no sign of pleasure.
“I told Farrow that I was not at home.”
“And Farrow told me,” said Rollison. He closed the door, walked across and stared at Gwendoline. She looked as if die had had no sleep the previous night. Her eyes were bright and glassy, and her face was pale, the cheeks puffy beneath her eyes—obviously she had been crying. Her neck was heavily bandaged. Her hair was in disarray, and her tweed suit was crumpled. Cigarette ash covered the lapels and her skirt, and she looted almost disreputable.
“What is it now?” asked Rollison. “And why aren’t you in bed?”
“It was only a scratch,” she said. “My neck is stiff, that’s all. I don’t want to see you—I don’t want to see anyone.” Her voice was shrill with emotion.
“Have you been out this morning?” Rollison asked.
“No, I’ve been here all day.”
“Can you prove that?”
He stirred her to interest. She frowned, and then stretched out for a cigarette in a box by her side. Her fingers were stained brown with nicotine.
“If necessary, yes.”
“Has your mother been out?”
“No, she” She stood up quickly, wincing when she moved her head carelessly. “She had a heart attack this morning. I thought she was going to die. I think Andrew saved her life.” She looked a picture of despair as she stood there with the unlighted cigarette dangling from her lips, and her complexion rather muddy—never had Rollison seen Gwen Barrington-Ley looking so unattractive.
He said, quietly: “What brought the attack on?”
“I don’t know,” said Gwendoline, and then she flared up. “Why do you stand there asking questions? We asked you to help us, and all you did was to tell the police and let yourself be fooled by that damned woman! I thought you were a friend!”
“You make it very difficult for your friends to help you,” said Rollison, gently. “That doesn’t mean that they don’t want to. Gwen, were you speaking the truth when you told me that you had seen the woman at your father’s office?”
“Yes!”
“Did you see them together?”
“No,” she said, “she was waiting for him.”
“So other members of the staff must have seen her.”
“I thought you were a detective,” she said, sneering; that was not like Gwen. “It was his private office—there is an entrance from the street, leading to a small waiting-room, and anyone with a key can get in—anyone with a key. She had that key, do you understand? She had a key which I have never been allowed to use, even mother had never had one. That whore”
“Steady, Gwen.”
She flared up. “Steady, steady, steady! I tell you she’s a high-class tart, there isn’t anything to be said in her favour; I wouldn’t be surprised if she is behind all this!”
“All what?” asked Rollison.
“This dreadful violence! David’s disappearance. The attack
on me, and the at” She broke off, putting a hand to her
lips, and then added in a quieter voice— “and everything.”
“And the attack on your mother,” murmured Rollison.
She tried to stare him out, and failed. She tried to speak, but the words would not come. She was afraid.
“So Hilda was attacked,” he said. “Were you sending for Renfrew just now?”
She did not speak.
“You’ll have to speak sooner or later,” said Rollison, “you can’t keep it secret for ever. Gwen, what has made you behave like this? What has made a man like Renfrew stake his reputation on concealing from the police an attempt on your mother’s life? That is what happened, isn’t it?”
She said: “Damn you, yes!”
Rollison turned away and looked out of the window, where the grass was fresh and bright and a rose walk was ablaze with colour. It was a pleasant, peaceful scene, and the hum of traffic from Park Lane seemed remote from this seclusion!
“Gwen,” said Rollison, “if this comes out, and it probably will, Renfrew will almost certainly have his name removed from the register. He may never be able to practise again. I’m told that he’s a brilliant doctor, and I’m also told that he’s in love with you.”
You shouldn’t believe all you hear,” Gwendoline said in a muffled voice. “Talking won’t help, you can’t help, you lost your chance. Please go away.”
“There is too much at stake,” said Rollison.
“All you can think about is that woman!”
“And you and your mother, David, and several other people dragged into the affair, into danger and perhaps to disaster, through no fault of their own,” said Rollison. “Renfrew is one of them.” He hammered at that.
“Don’t keep harping on Andrew!” Gwen cried.
Rollison said: “There has been an attempt on your life, now on your mother’s, your father is missing and may be dead, the matron of the Lawley Nursing Home has been murdered”
Gwendoline screamed: “No! No!”
“In cold blood, not very long ago,” said Rollison.
Gwen stood up slowly, as if her limbs were operated mechanically. She took out a lighter and lit her cigarette, staring at him all the time. The room was very quiet.
“Who was the matron?” Rollison asked, gently.
“Is there—is there no hope for her?” Gwendoline asked.
“None,” said Rollison.
Gwendoline stepped to the window and looked out. Her eyes were half-closed, and looked too hot for tears. The cigarette drooped from her lips and smoke curved upwards, making her close one eye completely.
She said: “That matron is—was—a lifelong friend of mother’s. Mother financed the nursing home. David knew about it.” Her voice was low-pitched and monotonous. “Then someone found out. Pomeroy. I don’t know what influence he has over father, but he persuaded father to let the nursing home be used for—for people who were not ill. People who were supposed to be “resting”. I don’t know a great deal about it, except that father was uneasy. Violet—the matron—frequently protested, but there was nothing we could do; father insisted. Once or twice we knew that men or women wanted by the police were there under assumed names. It seemed madness, but—father impressed it upon us that we must not tell the police or make difficulties. So we let it go on.”
She paused, but Rollison did not interrupt.
“It has been happening for over a year now,” said Gwendoline, drearily. “It has been a constant source of anxiety, but the real worry has been David. Why did he let this man tell him what to do? If it were known that a man in his position was doing such things, it would ruin him. We were constantly afraid, and although he pretended that there was nothing to worry about, we knew that he was desperately worried. We tried to find out why, but couldn’t. It started from the time that Pomeroy came to see him. Many queer things happened from that time onwards. He transferred some of his business to Pomeroy, Ward & Pomeroy. He used them as the accountants and solicitors for the various charities which mother—mother tries to help. It didn’t seem to matter what Pomeroy wanted, he let them have their own way. I think they know where he is now.”
Into a pause, Rollison said:
“Pomeroy made you keep away from me, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you obey him?”
“Isn’t it obvious? We were afraid for father—we did not know what harm Pomeroy could do. And now Vi is dead, there will be an inquiry, everything will come out.”