Free A Mask for the Toff by John Creasey Page A

time … Yes he would gladly see a police-officer before he left, would as gladly make a handsome contribution to the funds of the hospital, if the little deception could be practised. There were doubtless many difficulties, but …
    Difficulties, said the doctor, were made to be overcome.
    An hour later, Rollison left by a side door of the hospital and got into a taxi. Instead of going to the Rivoli, where Jolly would have reserved a room by now, he went to a small hotel near the Champs-Élysées, recommended by the amiable doctor. It was called the Mulle. He booked in, surrendered his passport for formalities, and was taken up in an open lift to the third floor. The room was a large one, well furnished with white-and-gilt furniture, and had its own bathroom. He locked the door after the porter had delivered his luggage, and for the first time since he had reached Paris, felt that he could relax.
    That didn’t last long, for the telephone bell rang.
    Only Latimer and the hospital authorities should know where he was.
    He lifted the telephone.
    â€œM’sieu Rollison? Will you speak to M’sieu Latimer?”
    â€œYes, thanks.”
    Latimer said: “So you’re there all right.”
    â€œAnd no more fireworks,” said Rollison. “Were you followed to the Rivoli?”
    â€œ I don’t know, but I’m afraid so. How did you get on with the police?”
    â€œNo complaints. They’ve heard of Superintendent Grice, and I gave him for a reference. I hope you can call on plenty of money over here. I’ve promised the hospital twenty-five thousand francs.”
    â€œTwenty-five pounds! You find life expensive, don’t you?”
    â€œIt’s surprising how money comes along,” murmured Rollison. “Pete, how well do you really know Madame Thysson’s friends?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Latimer. “I could have fixed an introduction to her chief aide, but if she’s behind this, do you want her to know you’re up and about?”
    â€œNot yet. But if you went to see her or the aide, and talked angrily about what happened to your friend Rollison, and told her a little about him, and suggested that if she has any influence with the police, she will make sure that the villains were apprehended, it might be a help. You could give me a build-up, the lady a smile, and you might also find out if the Slav is a friend of hers. If he is, he’s probably seen her by now.”
    â€œNot likely; at most he’d send a message. I can fix all that, I think. What will you do?”
    â€œStay here, eat and drink, and count my blessings,” said Rollison. “Then if you could find out when Madame Thysson will be somewhere more or less alone, I could look in later. Shock tactics are indicated, I think.”
    â€œYou have made your will, I suppose?”
    â€œI’m heavily insured, too. But don’t gloom, Pete. This is the gay city. When in Paris, do as the Parisians do. I’m going to have a good time and throw money about like water—that’s if you can draw on plenty for expenses.”
    â€œOn a story like this, I can fix it,” said Latimer. “Don’t think I’m backing out, but is this a job you can tackle on your own?”
    â€œNo. I need the help of Fleet Street’s most renowned crime reporter.”
    â€œThe thing is,” said Latimer, “I haven’t made a will. I’ll ring you when there’s any news.”
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    Rollison ordered a meal with a thoroughness which won the respectful approval of the waiter, gave precise orders as to the time he wanted to start eating, and had a hot bath to fend off the worst of the stiffness which was already beginning to make itself felt. Over his trousers and shirt he put a silk dressing-gown which had been embroidered with lilies of the valley by a loving aunt, and was ready when a pâté arrived. He spent an hour and five minutes