The Toff And The Curate

Then Keller put a bullet between them and, as they backed away involuntarily, he and Gregson rushed out of the room. Rollison put out his foot. Gregson jumped over it, flinging out his hand and catching Rollison on the side of the head. That alone would not have been enough to put Rollison out but the door opposite opened and two other men appeared, both of them carrying coshes. Almost before he knew what was happening Rollison was in the middle of a furious fight, most of the time keeping off savage blows. He thought Kemp was in the thick of it, too. Grice was stretched out on the floor and Gregson and ‘Keller’ had escaped.

Then the fighting stopped.

Jolly had one of the men gripped powerfully and unable to move and, inside the room, Kemp had knocked the other gunman out. Kemp was looking down at his victim and Rollison straightened up and smoothed down his coat.

“What the devil is going on?” demanded Kemp.

“Don’t you know?” demanded Rollison gruffly.

“I don’t! I—”

Grice, whom Rollison turned to help to his feet, interrupted him. It was not often that Grice looked angry but he did now and his voice held a harsh note.

“I think you know quite enough, Mr Kemp. What are you doing here?”

“I had a telephone call—” began Kemp.

“I see,” sneered Grice. “You had a telephone call asking you to come to the Daisy Club this morning. You’d no idea what you were wanted for—you are just the innocent victim of a hoax?”

Kemp’s face drained of its colour.

“That is what happened,” he said, coldly.

“I shall take a lot of convincing.”

“If you prefer not to believe me, that is your affair,” said Kemp, turning to Rollison. “Do you know this man?”

“He’s Superintendent Grice of New Scotland Yard,” Rollison said drily.

“I see that the manners of the police are alike from headquarters downwards,” said Kemp, bitingly.

Grice ignored the rudeness.

“I have a number of questions to ask you, Mr Kemp, and will be glad if you will come with me. I am not at this juncture making any charge against you but you should be warned that anything you say may be used in evidence.”

Kemp stared at him, coldly, then swung round on Rollison.

“Are you going to let him do this?”

“I’m afraid I can’t stop him. But you needn’t go, you know, although if you refuse, he may prefer a charge.”

From amazement, Kemp’s expression became one of anger. He looked as if he could hardly keep his fists to himself.

“So you brought the police here. I have no objection to coming with you, Superintendent.” His look suggested that he would have liked to add that he would gladly go anywhere out of sight of Rollison who did not speak again. Grice, slightly mollified, led Kemp out of the room. Several Scotland Yard men arrived and began to search the premises.

Rollison was aware of Jolly’s inquiring gaze.

“Quite a morning, isn’t it, Jolly? The best laid schemes and all the rest of it. No meeting this evening, no catch, no trap. A curious business from the beginning. It’s time we started work!”

One of the plainclothes men looked at him curiously.

“On what, sir?” asked Jolly.

“Disabusing the fixed police mind,” said Rollison. “Oh, a splendid case has been built up against Kemp and it will take some breaking. Our job is to break it.” He led the way to the deserted street. A car was disappearing round the corner and against the back window he saw the silhouette of Kemp’s head. He walked in the car’s wake, with Jolly, until they reached Mount Street.

“Are you going to see Miss Crayne?” asked Jolly.

“As a bearer of bad tidings, yes. But also of hope. Come with me, it will save me telling the same story twice.”

Isobel received them in her father’s study which she used as an office for voluntary work. She was dressed in the familiar WVS green uniform. There was restraint in her smile as she greeted Rollison and nodded to Jolly.

“Is there trouble?” she demanded before Rollison could speak.

“The police have forestalled us,” said Rollison. “Your young man is in a really nasty spot.”

“Did you—”

“I hadn’t a thing to do with it,” said Rollison hardily. “Kemp was at a particularly hot night-club—I should say, at its office. He was overheard talking with men who used violence on the police. There couldn’t be much stronger evidence that he was associating with thieves.”

Isobel sat down, slowly.

“There must be an explanation,” she said, in a composed voice.