The Toff And The Curate

sensation.

Rollison could not wholly hide his surprise.

“So you think Keller’s behind it, do you,” said Chumley.

Rollison said nothing.

“Don’t be afraid to speak up,” urged Chumley. “Rollison, I’ve not been asleep for llie last six months. I’ve never talked to Keller, in fact I’ve only once set eyes on him, hut I’ve had reports about him. There are times when we have to turn a blind eye down here. Keller’s associates have the reputation of having committed several ugly crimes but we’ve never been able to prove they were Keller’s men or that Keller knew anything about the crimes. It’s a remarkable fact that in every case the victims have been—”

“Bad men,” said Rollison, unexpectedly. “Swine.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m just quoting,” said Rollison, crossing to an easy chair. He sat on the arm. “There’s no evidence against Keller, and the crimes which rumour accredit to him have been—” he shrugged his shoulders, “—justifiable. Is that your opinion?”

“No, of course not! But they have been a kind of rough justice. You know something about that kind of thing, don’t you?”

“It has been said,” murmured Rollison. “You seem to be happy about it all, so why ask me to come here?”

“Why are you interested in the murder of O’Hara?” asked Chumley.

“I’m not,” answered Rollison. “I’m interested in the affairs of the new Curate at St Guy’s.”

Chumley rubbed his fleshy chin.

“You’re not seriously asking me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth,” Rollison assured him. “It might lead to other things, of course. For instance, why was Craik’s knife stolen? Was it to cast suspicion on Craik and even provide evidence against him? If so, why?”

“I can’t see any other explanation,” admitted Chumley, worriedly, “although why anyone should want Craik framed for a murder beats me. Rollison, you’ve been very active in the past twenty-four hours—surely you know something?”

“I’m a victim of mis-statements,” Rollison declared. “Or if you prefer it, I’ve been selected as a gullible stooge to help someone create the wrong impression. Did Harris tell you who paid him to take Craik’s knife?”

“He said it was Keller,” said Chumley, “and then he described Keller as a stocky man with big brown eyes. Possibly someone has been passing himself off as Keller who, I’m told, is a little man, and— great Scott!” exclaimed Chumley. “A stocky man with brown eyes! That fellow who spoke to you at the stadium answers the description—did you think he was Keller?”

“He told me he was,” said Rollison.

Chumley stared; and then he began to smile.

“And you believed him—I don’t think. That isn’t Keller! He might be the man who has been arranging these attacks, including the wrecking of the mission hall, but he certainly isn’t Kellef! I wonder why he wants to make out that he is?”

“To establish Keller as a crook, perhaps,” said Rollison. “In exactly the same way as he tried to frame Craik. Is that what you think?”

“It seems likely,” conceded Chumley. “Why didn’t you tell me about the mission hall trouble?”

“Not your battle, yet,” said Rollison. “It’s Kemp’s. But it will probably become yours. Now—to save you from asking why I arranged for Ebbutt to protect the Whiting family—I thought it would help you out as you’re short- staffed! The man who called himself Keller uttered violent threats against the Whitings, to stop Whiting from talking about the stolen knife. As the real Keller appears to have blown the gaff I doubt if the Whitings are in any danger, so that had better remain one of the things at which you wink a practised eye. Have you anyone in mind for the O’Hara murder?”

“Not yet,” said Chumley.

“Do you know why he was killed?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“Not much,” said Chumley. “He was an Irishman from Eire, one of the many dock-workers who came over from there. There’s a sizeable colony of them in Whitechapel. O’Hara was not a leading spirit, in fact rather more timid than most. He’d been in this country about six months. Nothing was known against him and there’s nothing at his lodgings to suggest a motive. If I didn’t know the cause of the quarrel, I’d say he’d been killed in a drunken brawl.”

“Now you know he was killed so that Craik could be framed,” said Rollison, crisply. “Or don’t you look on it that way?”

“I am inclined to,” said Chumley. “Is that your considered opinion?”

“It’s a considered possibility,” said Rollison. “I wouldn’t put it any higher. You’ll follow up the two lines, I suppose—why frame Craik or, if that were incidental, why kill O’Hara?”

“Naturally,” said Chumley. “This brown-eyed man—do you know anything against him?”

“Nothing very much,” said Rollison. “Uttering threats might do as a charge but—you don’t like making arrests when the accused has to be released for lack of evidence, do you?”

Chumley chuckled. “You won’t forget that for a long time!”