The Toff And The Curate

trying to fight single-handed—or even with help from the Toff.

At a quarter-past five, Rollison went to bed.

At a quarter-to eight, Jolly called him for Rollison, an acting Colonel, was due at his office in Whitehall by nine thirty. He had the week before him, for it was only Tuesday, and there was little chance of getting leave; the only way of doing that, he complained to Jolly, was to go sick.

“Won’t you await events before taking that step?” asked Jolly.

“You mean won’t I give you a free hand?” said Rollison, smiling unamusedly. “I suppose I’ll have to. See Kemp and the Whitings and keep me in touch with what happens. I’ll lunch at the club, fco ring me there.”

“Very good, sir,” said Jolly.

And the Toff, sadly, set out for Whitehall.

Twice, in the course of the morning, a colleague said with some exasperation that he was not giving his mind to the subject under discussion and twice he apologised and tried to pull himself together. In truth, he was apprehensive lest the Whitings had been made to suffer for their boldness. The one reassuring factor was that Bill Ebbutt had sounded as if he knew what kind of proposition he was up against with Keller and would take elaborate precautions. It was absurd that Keller should be able to inspire such apprehension and equally absurd that he should be so self-assured.

“But he isn’t!” exclaimed Rollison, aloud.

“Now look here, Rolly,” said plump, bespectacled Colonel Bimbleton, “you know perfectly well that he was.”

“Eh?” asked Rollison.

“Oh, you’re impossible!” declared Bimbleton, then peered at him with sudden interest. “I say, Rolly, is something up?”

“Up is the word,” said Rollison. “I’m sorry, Bimble, but I can’t concentrate on this report. Would you care to have a shot at it yourself?”

Bimbleton regarded him curiously.

“Well, I don’t mind trying,” he conceded, “provided you’ll look through it afterwards and make sure I haven’t pulled a boner.”

Rollison promised this and Bimbleton went off to wrestle with a report on pilfering from army stores depots, a task which Whitehall, in all its wisdom, had ordained to be eminently suitable for a man known to associate with the police.

Jolly did not telephone the office or the club.

After lunch, Rollison hurried back to the office but his clerk, a plump ATS sergeant, had no message for him.

In his cogitations, Rollison had got no further than that Keller was afraid of the police taking action against him but had reason to think that a lot of prodding would be needed to make them. Keller had been at great pains to try to make sure that Whiting said nothing about the episode of the stolen knife, although there was nothing original in his methods. There were occasional outbursts of intimidation in the East End and, sometimes, a terror-wave which rarely lasted long once it was discovered by the authorities but which might have gained a powerful hold before the police learned of it. Many a man had been frightened into refusing to give evidence, even to committing perjury, by threats such as Keller had made to Whiting.

Two inescapable facts troubled Rollison most.

One was that a man whose name he did not yet know had been murdered and—judging from the evidence so far available—one Joe Craik had been framed for the murder. The sccond was that Keller had a very powerful reason for wanting to drum the curate out of the St Guy’s district.

He dictated letters and signed them, made a brief report on a matter he had been handling by himself, went over Bimbleton’s prosy report with its author and made a few comments and left for Gresham Terrace.

Jolly was not at the flat.

Rollison began to feel worried about his man; even if there was nothing to report, Jolly should have telephoned by now. When at last the telephone rang he hurried to it, hoping to hear Jolly’s voice. Instead, he heard Kemp’s— and Kemp sounded excited.

CHAPTER SIX

More News From Kemp

“Great Scott, Rollison, I’ve been trying to get you all the afternoon!” exclaimed Kemp. “Where the dickens have you been?”

“I should have given you my office number,” said Rollison. “You’d better take a note of it.”

“Never mind that! Can you come here at once?”

“What’s the trouble?”

“I’ve had a visit from a most astonishing fellow,” said Kemp, amazement making his voice shrill. “I don’t know his name but you should have heard the way he talked! He told me that if you didn’t stop interfering, he would mighty soon make you!”

“Did he have brown eyes and a gruff voice?”

“Yes, he did. How did you know?”

“He calls himself Keller,” said Rollison. “Don’t worry about his threats—did he do anything?”

He heard Kemp’s sharp intake of breath.