“I haven’t seen him for some time and when I heard he had been here, I wondered if you could tell me where I could get in touch with him.”
Susan felt a cold chill round her heart. She was sure that this nice young man was lying. Joe had been emphatic that he had no friends.
“I—I don’t know where he lives,” she said, looking down at her hands. “I don’t know him very well.”
“That’s disappointing,” Adams said, his voice hardening. “I was hoping—but if you don’t know, then I’ll have to find him some other way.”
“Yes,” Susan said, getting to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me . . . it’s late and I’m very tired.” She put her hand to her head and stood for a moment, her eyes dull and bewildered.
“Aren’t you well, Miss Hedder?” he asked sharply, crossing over to her.
She did not seem to hear him.
“Miss Hedder! “ He took her arm and shook her gently. “What’s the matter?”
“Someone’s playing a drum,” she muttered, pulling away from him. “Listen! Don’t you hear it! Someone’s playing a drum.”
Adams stared at her. No sound came to him as he listened. “I don’t hear anything,” he said.
Susan stared at him wildly. “You must be deaf. It goes on and on. Listen!”
She suddenly backed away from him, her eyes alight with alarm. “It’s beating inside my head,” she cried hysterically.
“It goes boom . . . boom . . . boom . . . it gets louder and louder . . . it goes on and on and on . . . don’t you hear it?”
“Nonsense!” Adams said sharply. The horror in her face chilled him. “Pull yourself together. You’re imagining it. There is no drum . . .”
“What’s happening to me?” Susan cried, clutching at her head. “It’s beating inside my brain. I must be going mad . . . oh, stop it! Do—do stop it!”
“Don’t be a little fool!” Adams exclaimed, now thoroughly alarmed. “I tell you there is no drum.”
She stared at him, backed to the door and before he could stop her, she had opened it and was running upstairs. The sound of her muffled sobbing brought Cedric running from the kitchen.
“You’ve upset her,” he said accusingly. “Whatever did you say?”
Adams was standing in the hall, staring up the stairs. “I didn’t say anything,” he returned, a worried look on his face.
“She suddenly said someone was playing a drum. There’s something very wrong with that young woman. She’s in a shocking state of nerves.”
“Drum?” Cedric repeated. “What drum?”
“I don’t know,” Adams went on. “Something pretty bad’s upset her. I think you’re right, Cedric, this wants looking into. What the devil did she mean? Someone’s playing a drum?”
Cedric’s eyes popped. “Do you think I should call a doctor?” he asked helplessly.
“Listen!” Adams said sharply.
They stood still, looking up the stairs. Very faintly a rhythmic thud-thud-thud came from above.
Without hesitation, Adams ran up the stairs until he reached Susan’s room.
Cedric, panting with exertion and alarm, joined him. They listened outside the door.
“It sounds as if she was beating on the table with her fist,” Adams said uneasily.
The dull thud-thud-thud went on.
Adams knocked on the door. “Miss Hedder!” he called.
“You’ll wake everyone up,” Cedric said nervously. “What am I going to do? Do you think I ought to send for the police?”
“Now for goodness sake control yourself,” Adams said irritably. “I am the police and I can handle this.”
He was not nearly as calm as he tried to sound. There was something eerie about the way this girl was beating on the table. The insistent rhythm had an odd, frightening effect on him.
Then quite suddenly the thumping stopped. He heard footsteps cross the room and before he could draw back, the door was flung open.
Susan came out into the corridor. She did not hesitate, opening the front door, she walked down the steps into the street.
“Leave this to me,” Adams said, running into the sitting room and grabbing his hat. “There’s something very wrong here. She looked as if she were in a trance. Don’t worry. I’ll follow her.”
Without waiting, he set off after the slim, shadowy figure, walking rapidly down the street.
chapter six
From a darkened doorway Butch watched Rollo leave his car and enter Doc Martin’s little house.
Butch had also heard of Doe’s diary and as soon as he realized the danger of such a document, he had immediately gone to Doc’s house. He arrived one minute behind Rollo and now, standing in the doorway, his hand on his gun, he tried to make up his mind what to do.
The obvious thing, of course, was to grab the diary as Rollo came out. If he did that and there was nothing in the diary about him and Celie, then he had ruined his chances with Rollo for good.
Rollo was not likely to let him take the diary without a fight. He would have to kill Rollo and in spite of the pressing danger, he flinched away from that thought. If he killed Rollo, he would have to knock off Long Tom. Long Tom was no fool. He also carried a gun and by the time Butch had settled Rollo, it was likely that Long Tom would have settled Butch.
While he was hesitating, Rollo came out of the house and entered his car.
Butch started forward, but he had left it too late. The big car moved out of the mews and turned into New Bond Street.
Cursing under his breath, Butch raced to where he had left his own car and followed on behind. In a few minutes it became obvious that Rollo was heading for Gilroy’s place. Why Gilroy?
Butch asked himself as he stopped his car in a side street, a few yards from Greek Street. He ran swiftly to the comer in time to see Rollo’s huge form disappearing into Athen Court. He ducked into a doorway, waited.
What was Rollo doing with Gilroy? Butch edged fur-flier into the dark shadows as Long Tom got out of the car and lit a cigarette. It looked as if Rollo was going to be some time. Long Tom was now walking slowly up and down near the car. He looked into Athen Court each time as he passed as if he was impatient for Rollo to appear again.
It was nearly half an hour before Rollo came out of the alley. He stood for a moment talking to Long Tom and then they both got into the car.
Butch raced once more for his car and followed Rollo’s red tail light along Shaftesbury Avenue and into Piccadilly.
Was Rollo going to see Celie? Butch asked himself or was he now going to begin the hunt for Cornelius’ body? He gripped the steering wheel angrily. He had no idea how to find Cornelius.
But he was sure that Rollo had thought of something. Rollo’s shrewd brain irritated Butch, who knew that he wasn’t a match for Rollo’s wits. He knew his only hope of getting Weidmann’s money was to keep close to Rollo. If Rollo couldn’t find the money, then no one could.
Well, Rollo wasn’t going to see Celie. The car had swept past the Berkeley Hotel and was now moving along Park Lane.
Was he going to turn into Shepherd Market? No, the car kept on, although it was slowing down. Butch threw out his clutch and coasted along behind, his foot hovering over the brake pedal.
Rollo’s car turned into Hyde Park and then stopped. Butch had to think quickly. He went past the Park gates and pulled up a few hundred yards further on. Leaving his car, he ran hurriedly back to where he could see Rollo’s car. Neither Long Tom nor Rollo had got out. Butch could just make out their silhouettes. Rollo was smoking a . cigar. The red, burning tip glowed in the darkness.
Butch watched the car for several minutes, then as neither Rollo nor Long Tom made a move, he began to grow impatient. What were they up to? They weren’t talking to each other, in fact, Long Tom had sunk down behind the steering wheel and seemed to be going to sleep. Butch crept closer. Perhaps they were waiting for someone—but, who?