The Toff And The Curate

with you. He’ll at least be safe.”

“Would you mind talking like a sane man?” demanded Grice.

“I’m sane,” said Rollison. “Straker knows it which is his reason for having men in taxis and with firearms. Much evil, much hypocrisy but some radiance shining through. The power for good is greater than that for evil—but, being a policeman, you probably don’t think so!”

“Why have you suddenly swung over to Kemp?” demanded Grice.

Rollison told Grice all he had learned and when he had finished Grice—picking at a piece of peeling skin—spoke thoughtfully.

“You think that Straker first had Kemp sent away from Mayfair, in order to—”

“Not sent away, driven away. He made clever use of Kemp’s own chief failing, pride in himself. The same thing that made you jump to the conclusion that he was stalling. Yes, Straker discovered that Kemp was nosing about the clubs and, undoubtedly, Kemp came near to finding out something. So, what happened? Kemp was driven to the East End. Why? Because Straker, his one friend in the West End, put it to him. Early in this affair he told me that a friend had suggested that he went to see Cartwright—I think we’ll find that Straker was that friend. Straker wanted him watched and also where he could do no harm. Kemp, probably not knowing that he had discovered anything that might be hurtful to Straker & Company, set about his work of reform. His passion for putting the world right got him into trouble again. He came close to making another discovery, although we don’t know what. There must be something which he would find in the ordinary course of his parish work.

“Straker must have seen his mistake and tried to have hirfo driven out, as he felt sure that there would be no danger. Just a fighting parson without a friend, a failure in society circles, a failure with the lowly. But Kemp has a basic commonsense. He made inquiries, discovered that I had a reputation for knowing his district and came to see me.”

Grice laughed. “You aren’t without vanity yourself, are you?”

“Who, me?” exclaimed Rollison, in amazement. “Great Scott, I’m not proud. Very humble, in fact. As I should be; I was once half-convinced Kemp might be the rogue. However, even if you catch Straker, even if you close up the distribution of the stuff, you haven’t found the source of supply. And a lot of problems will remain. For instance, in Whitechapel—someone did kill O’Hara, not to mention Cobbett.”

“I was wondering how long it would be before you got to that,” said Grice, sarcastically. “Your case for Kemp is very plausible but there seems to be something you don’t know.”

“Yes? What?”

“Kemp saw Cobbett at the Jupe Street hall. He appears to have been the last man to have seen him alive,” said Grice, quietly. “The back door of the hall near East Wharf was opened with a key—your own observation, I gather from Chumley. Kemp was seen in the vicinity, a short while before you discovered Cobbett. The two men who were watching the hall for you, the boxer and his second, saw Kemp but didn’t think that you would be interested in him. Even without the evidence of my own ears and eyes, I should have to question Kemp. I may even have to charge him and the charge would be the murder of Cobbett. I came here because I wanted to find out if you had any real evidence that I’m wrong.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Disappointment For A Party

“No,” said Rollison, after a long pause, “I’ve nothing tangible. All the same, I hope you won’t charge him yet. I think he’s been cleverly framed, they’ve worked faster than I realised. You can at least hold your hand until Straker has been interrogated. Is Kemp restive?”

“Very!”

“I’ll see him,” said Rollison. “I think I can keep him quiet. Don’t act too soon, Bill.”

“I can see the day out,” said Grice, slowly.

“I’m sure you won’t regret it. Jolly, ring up Miss Crayne, find out if she’s still at home and ask her to come here at once. If she isn’t in, find out where she is. Have you traced Gregson and the man who might be Keller yet?” he asked Grice.

“No.”

“Thinking back a little, the man whom we’ve never been able to find is the shadowy individual who first called himself Keller, the doer of evil deeds with a praiseworthy motive, the man who committed crimes for the sake of goodness. But he killed O’Hara and killed Cobbett. You’ve still got the man Harris under charge, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Go hard at him. He might know who Keller is. Have his friend, Spike Adams, questioned on the same lines. Trail the foreman, Owen. Get hold of the drivers of Straker’s lorries and have a go at them. The presumption is that the whisky is brought to East Wharf and other wharves and a little at a time is distributed from there, probably to a lot of warehouses. It’s obviously distributed to clubs and pubs quickly so there is never a hoard in any one place at any one time. That’s an essential part of the whole scheme, you know. The police wouldn’t be likely to worry about a few dozen bottles at a time. Will you get busy?” He spoke appealingly.

“When I’ve decided what’s worth doing,” Grice promised. “I’m not convinced that you’re right.”

Grice left in a subdued mood.

Jolly had hardly reported to Rollison that Isobel was on the way before she arrived. She was in uniform and hatless.

“Kemp is safe for the time being,” Rollison told her. “He’ll stay safe only if you and I can persuade him to stay at Cannon Row police station for the rest of the day.”

“Are you going to let him down again?” demanded Isobel.

“Oh, my sainted aunt!” moaned Rollison. “Isobel, love, I’m on his side. I tell you the only safe place for him is in the police station.”