“There’s no need for you, Ma!”
“I got my rights, ain’t I?” demanded the old woman. “What’s worrying you, now,” she shot a venomous glance at Rollison.
The younger woman looked on edge but made no further attempt to send her mother about her business.
“I’ve heard a rumour about Mr Kemp—” Rollison began.
“There you are,” put in the old crone. “I knew it wasn’t a lie, just because you said it was. I don’t care what you say,
“If you say a word to her or any other mealy-mouthed old gossip, out of this house you go!” cried Mrs Whiting and her tone so startled her mother that the old woman sat down abruptly, gaping, it’s wicked, it is really, Mr Rollison,” went on Mrs Whiting, nearly in tears. “Someone has been saying that Mr Kemp is under arrest.”
“It isn’t true,” Rollison assured her.
The little woman’s face became positively radiant.
“Oh, I
“Where did you hear it, Mrs Whiting?” Rollison asked. “Joe Craik told me and
“Did it come from him personally?” asked Rollison.
“From his own lips. I was the only one in the shop and he made me promise not to breathe a word,” the old woman said. “But he didn’t mean I wasn’t to tell my best
Rollison said, slowly:
“It’s much better that no one should know— you were quite right, Mrs Whiting. You’re sure no one has been told?”
The younger woman said feelingly:
“I haven’t let Mother go out since she told me. I didn’t mean to let a scandal like that get around because I knew the minute she told Mrs Parsons—”
“You leave your mother’s friends alone,” complained the older woman.
“Mrs Parsons and I are old friends,” said Rollison.
“P’raps she is and p’raps she ain’t!” snorted the old woman and flounced out.
“You’re so good with the old people, sir,” Mrs Whiting said. “I do wish she wouldn’t talk so much. Sometimes I think she’s as bad as Mrs Parsons. Why, only this afternoon . . .”
For the first time, Rollison heard of the conversation between Craik and Cobbett the crane-driver and the fact that Cobbett had appeared sincerely anxious to make amends. He wondered whether Grice or Chumley had heard the story.
After leaving Mrs Whiting he telephoned four people to find out whether any of them knew of the rumour about Kemp’s arrest. They did not.
He stepped out of the kiosk, walked past Craik’s shop and returned to Gresham Terrace by bus and tram, hoping that his movements were watched. He was on the look-out for further assaults but none came. It looked as if Straker had shot his bolt.
Smiling to himself, he reached the flat and rang the bell.
He was rubbing his hands, not unlike Joe Craik, when Jolly admitted him.
“Now, we won’t be long!” said Rollison.
But his mood changed for Jolly looked troubled and Grice appeared from behind him, looking very grim. Then Isobel appeared from the drawing-room. She looked angry, hair dishevelled and face shiny. “When
“What’s wrong now?” asked Rollison.
“Everything’s wrong,” exclaimed Isobel.
“What is it?” Rollison asked Grice. “And let’s sit down and have a drink. Jolly!”
They relaxed a little as they sat down.
“At least we’ve got Straker,” reported Grice. “The first crack came from the man Harris but we also caught the taxi-driver and the flashy man who followed you. He had received his orders from Straker personally.”
Rollison began to smile.
“So, they were panicking, I hoped they were when the taxi turned into the street. One grain of truth from Anstruther completely upset the applecart. Have you held Gregson and the others?”
“No,” said Grice. “I . . .”
“Tell him!” Isobel almost shouted.
“Now what
Grice said: “We’ve questioned every man we’ve caught. Gregson isn’t among them, nor is Keller, nor is the unknown man in Whitechapel—if one exists. They all say the same thing—that Kemp is involved down there.”
“Do they, b’God,” said Rollison.
“They must be lying!” exclaimed Isobel.
