“It isn’t important at all. Why?”
“You’re bound to have some household sprays and some liquid ammonia in the house,” Rollison said, hopefully. “How long will it take to get two or three sprays loaded?”
“Oh, only a few minutes,” Ada looked up at him intently, and the light from the lamps outside put an added sparkle into her eyes. “You mean, let them rush in and then have the sprays ready to greet them?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, goody!” Ada exclaimed, and swung round; her voice came from the doorway, a wraith of sound, “I’ll fix it.”
Rollison did not move at once, but saw two of the men move from the back of the car, and approach the house. He wondered if they were losing patience, and were going to force their way in. They disappeared. He heard a whisper of voices, and some words came clearly.
“. . . couldn’t’ve heard it.”
“They were in the room, weren’t they?”
“Saw their shadows,” a man said.
“They might’ve gone out, might be another door,” the first man guessed. “Give ‘em two or three minutes, and we’ll chuck another couple’ve bricks. I
A car had turned into the square, and headlights raked the roadway and the pavement, then flashed past.
“There’s a rozzer,” one of the men breathed. “Wait till he’s past.”
“Okay, Walk round the square.”
“Okay.”
Rollison saw two of them appear again, and knew that they were as nervous as they could be in case they ran into the police. He could not see the policeman they had noticed, but silently blessed him as he made his rounds. The shadowy figures were lost against the darkness between the lamps, except for two youths whom Rollison saw clearly for the first time. They were probably in their late teens. This wasn’t the time to think about it, but Wallis and Clay had shown much cleverness by marshalling the Teddy Boys behind them; making use of hooligans who were always spoiling for a fight.
Or someone had been clever.
Rollison heard the policeman walking stolidly, and saw him draw close to the house. It was possible that he would notice the broken windows, and if he did—
He stopped.
His torchlight pointed towards the windows, and Rollison could see the glow but not the man himself.
If he had spotted that broken glass, he would go straight to the front door to make inquiries, and it didn’t seem possible that he could miss it.
He might even blow his whistle.
Rollison saw one of the crouching youths straighten up. Before he could shout a warning, the youth flung a missile at the constable. There was a thud and a cry. The policeman swung round as the two youths leapt at him.
Shouting wouldn’t help now, and might do harm. The policeman went down with the youths on top of him, and as they went Ada whispered from the doorway:
“We’re ready.”
“All right,” said Rollison. “They’ve just attacked a policeman, I want to go down and look after him.” He hurried past Ada towards the landing and the stairs. Forbes, the footman and a third, older man, were standing at the foot of the stairs. Two were armed with garden syringes, one with an insect sprayer. “As soon as I open the door, they’ll swarm in,” Rollison warned. “Let ‘em have it full in the face. Ada, dial 999 and ask for the police. They’ll get here just about the right moment.”
He watched her turn towards a telephone in an alcove in the wall as he went to the big front door.
He was not sure what the waiting youths wanted.
They may have trailed him cleverly, and waited until now to attack. If they were working under Wallis’s orders, they might have come to kill, almost certainly to maim. Or they might have come to kidnap him, and take him to some quiet place where they could make him talk.
He heard Ada speak into the telephone.
He opened the front door.
He saw the hall light stream out on to the faces of three youths who were crouching on the porch, and on others in the road. All of them broke into a run the moment the door opened.
If they’d come for him, he would soon know.
They came swiftly, eight young brutes, each carrying a heavy hammer or an axe. Two struck at Rollison as they passed, but that was only to drive him aside so that they could get in.
These were wreckers; and inside was the house of such grace, and the furniture of such antiquity and beauty.
Rollison shot out a leg, tripped one man up and dug an elbow into another’s waist so that he went staggering. Then he reached the porch. Two more youths were on the pavement, keeping a look-out, and the constable was still on the ground. He was grunting, and trying to get up. One of the two look-outs stepped towards him, foot drawn back to kick.
“I shouldn’t,” said Rollison, in the softest of soft voices. The youth spun round, hammer raised in his hand. The
