The Toff And The Curate

“I shall mark it up against you,” declared Rollison. “You’re slyer than I knew. If you should happen to find out the real name of the brown-eyed gentleman, and cared to tell me, I’d be grateful.”

“I will, provided you undertake to advise me if he does anything which is indictable.”

“I always report indictable offences,” said Rollison, reprovingly. “The days when I carried out trial and sentence myself are gone—and they existed mostly in your imagination!”

He stood up and Chumley did not press him to stay. Rollison was smiling broadly as he reached the street. Three quarters of an hour later, he let himself into his flat and the first thing he saw was a light under the kitchen door. He opened it and made Jolly start.

Jolly wore a white apron over his best clothes and was operating with a yellow powder which Rollison suspected had something to do with eggs. He also had a frying pan on the electric stove, from which came a smell of sizzling fat.

“What it is to have an instinct!” approved Rollison. “I only had a bun and a piece of cheese for dinner. Good evening, Jolly. Aren’t you tired after your day’s journeying?”

“Not exceptionally so, sir, and as you have not had dinner, I will reconstitute a little more egg and make two omelettes. Good evening, sir.”

“While reconstituting, you might also reconstruct,” said Rollison. “Let’s have the diary of a day in the life of one, Jolly.”

“I am afraid I have had a disappointing time, sir,” said Jolly, mixing powder and water industriously. “At one time I hoped that I would have information of first importance but I was disappointed. You will remember that when I telephoned you, I left somewhat hurriedly?”

“Yes,” said Rollison.

“I saw a man whom I had been following all day,” said Jolly. “He had gone into an inn and I thought he would stay there for a while but he came out and hurried to a bus and I thought it better to continue to follow him.”

“Who was he?” asked Rollison.

“Not Keller but his companion, sir.”

Thoughtfully, Rollison lit a cigarette.

“Keller isn’t Keller, according to my latest information. You mean you followed the owner of the cultured voice?”

“Yes. Are you sure the other man is not Keller?” Jolly looked puzzled.

“I’m keeping an open mind,” admitted Rollison, “but the police are confident and Chumley isn’t easy to fool.”

While Jolly made the omelettes, Rollison told him of the events of the evening. Jolly only occasionally looked up from the frying pan. He had laid a small table in the kitchen for his own supper and Rollison brought in a chair from the dining-room and they ate together. Since Jolly’s day had been disappointing, Rollison was anxious to get his own story into the right perspective and he knew of no better way than discussing it with Jolly.

“And what is your view of Chumley’s opinions?” asked the valet, as Rollison finished. “Are they genuine or are they intended to mislead you?”

“The main problem, yes,” said Rollison. “You’re good, Jolly, sometimes you’re very good. Chumley is showing unsuspected cunning, although he doesn’t like being called sly. There always seemed to be something fishy about the detention and arrest and he was making sure that he didn’t take what raps were coming. I don’t know Sergeant Bray,” added Rollison. “It might do him good to be on the carpet but it wasn’t a friendly thing for Chumley to do.”

“On the surface, no, sir,” said Jolly, getting up and taking the coffee percolator from the stove.

“But Chumley doesn’t stop there,” went on Rollison. “He knows that he is in deep waters. Very ingenuously, he wanted my opinion, hoping that I would either prove or disprove his own arguments. I couldn’t do either but he doesn’t know that. The curious feature is the identity of Keller.”

“Identity but also character, sir.”

“Enlarge on that,” invited Rollison.

“As I see it, sir,” said Jolly, stirring his coffee, “Keller has built for himself a reputation of being something of a Robin Hood—an avenger, one might say, almost on the lines of your own activities some years ago! He has selected victims who would get no sympathy from the people or the police.”

“Good point,” admitted Rollison. “Chumley went as far as to say that only rumour links the crimes with Keller. With the arrival of the pseudo-Keller, an explanation dawns. The beatings-up have been done not by the real Keller but by the impersonator.”

“Undoubtedly the situation is very complicated,” murmured Jolly.

“Foggy, yes,” said Rollison. “But intriguing. Going further and guessing wildly, we might say that (a) the reputation for Keller was deliberately built up by his vis-a-vis, that (b) the assaults on the “swine” were initiated so that when a victim was ready for attack, the police would be reluctant to assume that it was one of the same series and (c) that it has all been built up with great and admirable cunning, in order to confuse the police, confuse the people, and—”

“Rid the district of Mr Kemp,” Jolly completed.

Rollison did not smile.

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“I do, sir. As I listened to you, I came to the conclusion that it is the most likely explanation. I hold no brief for Mr Kemp but it is a fact that he has been in the district for six months, that the Keller-crimes, as we may perhaps dub them, have also been in operation for six months. That is right, sir?”

Rollison began to smile.