I believed that. In a sense it was true, but not entirely. The light moustache fooled me. On the way home I got to imagining him without that moustache and that told me something Iâd forgotten. I had seen him before â but without his moustache.â
âThen ring up Frank Drury and tell him. Heâll understand.â
âIt isnât quite that simple, Rollo. I didnât see him alone on that previous occasion. He was with a woman.â
âWho was she, John? Donât be tedious, darling,â said Judy, finding her voice. âWe arenât the police, and this could be complicated. We ought to know.â
âCecil Weddonâs wife.â
âWeddon the bank manager?â Rollo asked.
His uncle nodded as his aunt snapped, âBeryl Weddon. Flashy. Bottle red hair. Hot pants. And too damned good-looking for any bank manager with a career to concentrate on.â
âWhy, Aunt Judy!â Rolloâs grin returned. âYou sound as though you dislike the woman.â
âNot dislike â distrust,â retorted his aunt, a mite waspishly. There was a touch of challenge in the stare she shared between her husband and her nephew. Neither chose to take it up and she asked, âWhere did you see them, John?â
âA short while ago in the snuggery at the Prince Regent. I met Harry Fitch there for a drink before the Rotary lunch upstairs. She was with this man at a window table. They got up and left before weâd finished our gins.â
âSo youâre thinking of the bank manager.â
âCecil Weddonâs a friend, Rollo.â
âYouâve got to think of yourself, John.â
The doctor looked at his wife. âI donâtwant to stir up unnecessary trouble,â he said defensively.
âA knife in the back isnât rated as trouble. Itâs termed murder, darling,â his wife reminded him.
âAunt Judyâs right, John,â said the younger man, and turned to look closely at the troubled face of the doctor. âMaybe Iâll get a chance to lead a hint or two into my report if old Simpsonâs agreeable, John. Would that help?â
âIt would. But I canât see the chance arising because Iâm the only one who knows. If you hint this Drury will soon reach from you to me, Rollo. You might be doing yourself some no-good.â
âLet me judge that. After all, it might be my big chance to put a noose round the neck of the girl who jilted me.â Rolloâs brief laugh was a mocking sound that made both his hearers flinch. âThink what a hell of a story that would be.â
âRollo â donât,â pleaded Judy Cadman.
âWhy not?â the young man snapped. âIâm still in love with her. And donât anyone tell me I made a mistake. I didnât and Iâd stake my life on Carol.But you just might have given me a way to help her, John.â
âI fail to see how.â
âSheâs in trouble. Canât you see that?â the nephew urged earnestly. âSomehow sheâs got into a mess and opts out so as not to involve me.â
âYouâre merely guessing, Rollo,â his aunt said sadly.
âNo, Aunt Judy.â He shook his head slowly, giving her a smile that managed to reflect the sadness in her voice. âIâm feeling â if you can understand.â
She looked at him until a moisture gathered in her eyes.
âI really think I can,â she said. âCarol Wilson is a very lucky girl even without an engagement ring.â
An hour after finishing the report Dan Simpson of the
Morning Gazette
had okayed, Rollo picked up a taxi and was driven to the big square modern block that housed the new New Scotland Yard in Victoria Street. He had put through aphone call and tried to speak to Drury.
âYou wonât get him,â Dan Simpson, the grunting news editor, had promised. âWhy the hell do you think we have