The Toff on Fire Read Online Free Page A

the stork is.” He turned towards Jane and gave her a smile so bright and friendly and even gay that for a moment she was nonplussed too. “Give me another minute,” he added, and moved with that startling speed to the other side of the door. He pressed close against the wall beyond, leaned forward for the handle, and pulled the door wide open.
    The baby cried more loudly.
    Beyond, there was gloom outside the range of light from this large room. The front door was closed, and Rollison looked at it tensely, as if he expected it to open, or else to find evidence that it was not properly closed. It was. He moved again, but this time with a difference; all his tension had gone. He flashed that smile again, taking in’ both Jane and Esmeralda, and said lightly: “False alarm.”
    He went into the lounge hall, switching on the light. He could see every corner, every picture, every piece of furniture – and he saw the piece of paper held down by a glass paperweight on the writing bureau. Jane was hurrying towards him, with Esmeralda not far behind, but he reached the bureau and slipped the note into his pocket before anyone saw what he was doing. Then he went to the landing door and made sure that it was locked.
    He turned round.
    Jane and Esmeralda stood together just ahead of John Wylie, who was framed in the doorway. Both women looked about them, as if hunting some prey. Then Jane spotted two cushions out of place and moved towards the couch, while Esmeralda stepped to Rollison’s side.
    â€œSo everything I’ve heard about you is true,” she breathed.
    Rollison, watching Jane, said mildly: “Mmmmm?” and then, realizing what she had said, turned to look sharply at Esmeralda. “What’s that?”
    â€œEverything is true,” repeated Esmeralda. She looked at him with great green eyes shining, her lips parted, and her teeth glistening. She made a picture indeed.
    â€œI don’t get it,” said Rollison, blankly. “What’s true?”
    â€œYour reputation,” she cooed.
    â€œOh, that private eye nonsense—”
    â€œI wasn’t thinking about private eyes,” said Esmeralda, “I was thinking about” – she hesitated, glanced towards the couch, and then said obscurely – “sailors.” Satisfied, she turned and joined Jane, who was bending over the couch and moving one of the cushions.
    There was the baby, enveloped in its grey shawl.
    â€œWhy, look!” exclaimed Esmeralda, “it can’t be more than a week or two old!”
    â€œNo,” said Jane, in a quiet, controlled voice, “two or three weeks at the most.” She bent down and picked the baby up, slipping her hand round it protectingly, behaving as if this was the only tiny infant in the whole, wide world.
    Esmeralda seemed to be infected with a gaiety which put a lilt into her voice and added brightness to her eyes.
    â€œIt looks healthy enough, anyhow; look at its fat cheeks.” She did so for what seemed a long time, while Rollison busily contemplated her and the situation, and John Wylie watch him from the doorway. Then, slowly and with great deliberation, Esmeralda turned to look upon Rollison.
    He had seldom undergone such an appraisal.
    She was interested only in his face, and looked so long and lingeringly that it seemed almost as if she was dissecting it, feature by feature. Her eyes were still glistening, but her lips were pursed, as if she was bottling up some kind of merriment which might burst out any moment.
    Then, she gravely shook her head.
    â€œHe isn’t a bit like you,” she announced, and turned back to Jane and the baby.
    Jane was too interested in the child to hear what Esmeralda said; was fussing in a quiet way, unwrapping the grey shawl. But her husband heard, gulped, and said: “Esmeralda, impertinent.”
    Esmeralda was not at all impressed by her uncle, but switched attention to the baby,