The Toff and the Spider by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Stratus

Chapter Fourteen

Mother And Daughter

The woman who came in was on the young side of middle-age. She was sturdy looking, rather mannish, but much better looking than Maggie Lister. She had fine brown eyes, doe-like in their softness. Her iron-grey hair was cut quite short, but attractively wavy. She had on just enough make-up to prevent her from seeming dowdy, and wore a beigy-brown linen two-piece, the jumper high at the neck. She had a broad bosom, but not particularly big, a broad face, a broad brow.

She looked at Rollison and spoke to Bell.

“Mat, I thought you would like to know that the late news will be on in five minutes.” Before her husband could respond, and still looking at Rollison, she asked: “Did you find anyone?”

“Only this gentleman,” said Bell, heavily. “Charlotte, we have the honour of a visit from the renowned Mr. Richard Rollison. I believe that you and Nora often amuse yourselves by reading stores which are written about him.”

The woman said: “The Toff?” The soubriquet came out so naturally that even Rollison was flattered. Her eyes lit up. She came forward with her hands held in front of her, welcoming, showing no sign at all of alarm. When Rollison put his hand forward she took it eagerly. Hers was strong, firm, cool. “I can’t imagine what’s brought you,” she said, “but it’s a pleasure indeed to meet you. And Nora will be thrilled.”

“That’s very charming of you,” Rollison said. It was also very disarming. He wondered if it were possible that the woman could have heard any of the conversation from a nearby room or from the passage, whether her coming had been really for the purpose she had declared. There seemed to be no doubt of the genuineness of her feeling, however. She held his hand just a fraction of a minute too long then let it go and backed away.

“But prowling here – good gracious!”

“I wondered when you would get round to the significance of that,” said Bell drily.

“You can’t be serious.” She almost accused Rollison.

“Oh, but he is very serious,” said Bell. “And it’s beginning to look as if he has some reason to be. I’ll tell you about it soon, dear, but first we have a difficult job on hand.”

Mrs. Bell looked mystified. She also looked charming – wholesome was the word which sprang to Rollison’s mind – and it was more difficult than ever for him to associate these two with murder and violence, with organising that campaign of terror. They were “nice” people.

“What job?” Mrs. Bell asked.

“Convincing Mr. Rollison that although I cannot easily prove that I’ve been in Paris for the last three days, I have been.”

“Of course you have!”

“Oh, we know,” said Bell. “But—” He turned to Rollison, and gave another short, rather over-hearty laugh. “The difficulty is a real one, Mr. Rollison. I told you that I have been negotiating with an American television agent for certain rights in documentary travel pictures we plan to take on our next expedition.

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