The Toff And The Curate

“What do you want me to do?” Isobel asked, reluctantly.

“When will you be seeing him again?”

“This evening.”

“Tell him that at ten o’clock, in my flat, there is to be a meeting which will solve the whole mystery,” said Rollison. “But don’t let him know a minute before nine fifteen.”

“I don’t think I like it,” said Isobel. “I think you ought to tell me more about what you’re planning.”

He told her just what he planned, what Kemp’s West End reputation had been and just why he wanted to make sure that there was no justification for the canard. Isobel heard him out without an interruption and surprised him by speaking with a wealth of contempt.

“You must be mad, even to think of such a thing!”

“All I want is evidence that I am mad,” said Rollison, mildly.

“And you think Ronald might come to your flat when he knows that everything is being settled tonight?”

“I think it will help to find the truth about him,” said Rollison. “You’ll amplify that story, of course—say I’m interviewing a man, one man, who is going to name the chief rogue.”

“It sounds beastly,” said Isobel.

“Be your age!” exclaimed Rollison. “If Ronald’s mixed up in this affair, it’s necessary to find out for the sake of a lot of people— especially that of Isobel Crayne! If he isn’t, then it doesn’t matter a tinker’s curse.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Isobel said, reluctantly.

“You’ll do it? Good girl!”

“I mustn’t tell him before a quarter-past nine you say.”

“No—nor much later.”

“All right,” she said.

She did not say that she might not see Kemp and Rollison assumed that they had a date. If Kemp were innocent, they would make a good couple.

As soon as he reached the flat Rollison telephoned the office, to find that a message had already been received from Cracknell confirming his appointment to the official inquiry into the whisky racket.

“And what have you in mind for me, today?” asked Jolly.

“The same again,” said Rollison. “Try to trace the source of supply in the West End.”

“And you will operate in the neighbourhood of St Guy’s, sir?”

“Can you think of a better hole?” asked Rollison.

He was at Bill Ebbutt’s gymnasium just after half-past twelve but nothing of interest had come in. Ebbutt’s men were keeping a watch on the Whitings. Next he saw Kemp in one of the church halls, putting it straight after the police search. He saw the Yard men whom he had asked Grice to send to follow Kemp; so that was all right. He went on to Craik’s shop, which was crowded with customers, then visited East Wharf where work was going on apace, unloading another cargo.

Owen came across to him.

“Do you know anything, Mr Rollison?”

“No more than you,” said Rollison.

“I wish I could help,” said Owen. “What’s it about? I might be able to strike something if I knew more about it.”

“I don’t see what you can do,” Rollison said, “except tell me what happened to the goods you take off the ships?”

“Most of it’s taken to the factories waiting for it,” Owen told him. “Some of it goes into warehouses. Why, Mr Rollison?”

“How are the contents checked? I mean, are the cases opened here or are they sent off without being opened.”

“Oh, they’re all marked,” said Owen. “I—my stripes! You don’t think there’s any smuggling going on?”

“Could there be?”

“If anything got past me, I’d tear my shirt!” declared Owen. “I don’t think it’s likely. The Port Authority police haven’t warned me, anyhow.”

“Will you keep a careful look-out?” asked Rollison.

Owen assured him he would, giving the impression that he was genuinely anxious to help.

Rollison was deliberating on his next move when a fair-haired youngster, bare-footed and dressed in a grubby singlet and patched flannel shorts, came racing towards him. The cobbles did not appear to hurt his feet.

“Mr Ar, Mr Ar!” he called and came to a standstill in front of the Toff. “Mr Ar, Bill ses will you “phone yon man? He ses you’d know who I mean.”

“I do, thanks,” said Rollison, gave him sixpence and went to a telephone kiosk and called Jolly.

“I’m very glad you’ve come through so quickly, sir. I have discovered Gregson’s West End address.”