The Toff And The Curate

“Oh, no,” said Rollison, blankly. “Our fighting parson? Now, be serious, Jolly!”

He neither expected nor hoped to silence his man; in fact his words constituted a challenge and probably nothing else would have encouraged Jolly to explain his reasoning. Nettled, Jolly said:

“The truth is, sir, that we are in danger of surrendering to sentiment which prevents us from considering Mr Kemp as a suspect. After all, the trouble started six months ago—” Rollison whistled. “By George!”

“That was when Mr Kemp first took up his position at St Guy’s,” continued Jolly, firmly. “Moreover, although any one of a number of people might have given warning that you thought the halls might be used to store the whisky, only Mr Kemp and Owen could have known that you proposed to visit Cobbett. And there is no reason at all for imagining that Owen knew anything about your suspicions of the halls.”

“The only man who always rings the bell is Kemp,” said Rollison, impressed in spite of himself.

“It is a fact, sir,” said Jolly, reluctantly. “I don’t know that I would have thought of it myself, except for a rather strange discovery I made this evening. I visited several of the less respectable night- clubs and at one of them an attendant was extremely impertinent—”

He paused but Rollison kept silent.

“He went so far as to say, sir,” said Jolly, feelingly, “that I looked a sanctimonious hypocrite. Those were his actual words. He added that he did not want any more visitors who wore their collars the wrong way round during the day. In the end he apologised and told me that some seven or eight months ago a youthful clergyman was a frequent visitor. I described Mr Kemp.”

Jolly stopped.

“And the description fitted?” asked Rollison.

“I’m afraid it did, sir,” said Jolly. “Naturally it set up a train of thought, so I made other inquiries. I learned that Mr Kemp held a curacy at one of the Mayfair churches, before he went to St Guy’s.” When Rollison still did not speak, he went on almost appealingly: i did say that our sentiments had blinded us to the possibility, didn’t I, sir? In spite of what I learned, I was—I am!—reluctant to think that the circumstances are anything more than coincidental. Aren’t you, sir?”

Rollison did not answer.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Help From A Lady

After some minutes of silence Jolly, looking deeply concerned, as if moved by the expression on Rollison’s face, moved restlessly and asked:

Are you feeling all right, sir?”

Rollison bestirred himself, lit a cigarette and said:

“Yes. Make that coffee, will you?”

He sat back in an easy chair, smoking, his eyes narrowed towards the ceiling. He did not stir until Jolly came in, placed the tray on a small table and turned to go.

“Bring a cup for yourself,” said Rollison.

“Thank you, sir.” Jolly returned with cup and saucer and Rollison watched while he poured out. On such occasions, it was not Jolly’s habit to sit on the edge of the chair—if Rollison suggested a drink together then Jolly rightly assumed that he did not want to stand oil ceremony. When Jolly was sitting back and stirring his coffee, Rollison appeared to relax.

“You’re quite right,” he said, with a fainl smile. “Kemp is the obvious suspect Number One—a shattering realisation. I should have remembered that Isobel Crayne told me that she had heard him preach in Mayfair. Bui unless I am badly mistaken, he is developing a fondness for Miss Crayne. Both of them stood in the way of the crane-load last night and both appeared to be in equal danger. On the other hand, if he were expecting it he would have known which way to jump. A quick eye and a quick hand—he could have dodged to one side with her at the last moment and thus lent the utmost credence to the apparent fact that he was nearly a victim. I would probably have been killed and saved a lot of trouble. Even if I escaped, I would be disinclined to suspect Kemp whatever the indications. The accident might even have been planned without any thought that I might be present, solely to make the police and me look anywhere but at Kemp.”

“It is so, sir,” said Jolly. “But—”

“If that’s the truth, he had me on a piece of string,” Rollison interrupted. “He waited until the last moment to give me a chance of pushing them aside. An unsung hero! The truth is, he appeared to have no more warning than I. I don’t remember vividly but he gave inc the impression of being petrified as he saw I lie thing coming towards him. Good acting, perhaps.”

“We mustn’t take it for granted that he is involved,” began Jolly, only to be interrupted again.

“We aren’t taking anything for granted.” Rollison drank half of his coffee and put the cup down. “I’m worried, Jolly—apart from the shattering possibility that Kemp’s involved and the consequent possibility that I have been completely taken in, it’s a very ugly situation.”

“In what way, sir?”

“If you’ve discovered that Kemp was once a frequenter of night clubs, don’t you think the police know all about it? They must have. And they’ve been very clever,” he added ruefully, “Grice was even more crafty than Chumley.” When Jolly looked mystified, Rollison went on: “Chumley has persistently refused to admit that I was interested primarily in Kemp. Grice emphasised the point but both of them have lured me into being more than ordinarily emphatic— 'Kemp,' said I, 'only Kemp! Nothing but Kemp!' If Grice thinks as you do and remembers hearing that from me, isn’t he going to assume that I really started from Kemp in the West End and am trying to pull the wool over his eyes?”

“I suppose he is,” admitted Jolly, reluctantly.

“Of course he is! So, if Kemp knows nothing of it he’s being shot at from both sides—by