“Remember what you said about Wallis?” Rollison interrupted. “Ada is another one who won’t talk unless she wants to, and you won’t be able to scare her into talking. Leave her to me for a bit.”
“I may not be able to, I have to take orders,” Grice said dryly.
“But you’ll try,” said Rollison. “Thanks.” He sat back by traffic lights on the other side of Putney Bridge, and was surprised that he felt so I calm; but it was a false calm. “How about standing me breakfast at the canteen when we get to the Yard? Then let me check the names and addresses of Wallis’s known victims.”
“I don’t know why I should buy your bacon and eggs,” Grice said, “but I suppose I will.”
“Thanks,” said Rollison, a little more than an hour later.
At eleven o’clock, he was still in Grice’s office. Except that all Jepsons’ transport was accounted for, and the inescapable indication that the killer-lorry had been painted to look like a Jepson vehicle, nothing new had come in. Rollison had studied the list of the people who had suffered at Wallis’s hands in the past few weeks. None was a thief, and none appeared to have been robbed; one or two had squealed on lesser crooks at some time.
“Have a go at making them talk,” Grice said, “but don’t blame them if they won’t. Wallis is always standing at their shoulder.”
“Right,” Rollison said, and added very softly: “Before it’s over, we may have to make Wallis himself talk.”
“You watch your step,” Grice warned. “I should think he hates you enough to kill you.”
“The feeling could be mutual. Have you a spare photograph of him, and one of Clay?”
“I can send for them,” Grice said, and had them in the office within five minutes.
Rollison left the Yard with the photographs in his pocket.
A C.I.D. man whom he recognised was sitting at the wheel of a small car near the end of Gresham Terrace. This man nodded to Rollison; and would certainly have called out if there were any reason for alarm. Rollison went up to the flat. He walked slowly, and felt jaded; it had been a night of drugged sleep and he would probably feel heavy-headed all day. He opened the front door of the flat with the caution which was now habitual; but it was empty.
There were several letters on the mat, as well as the newspapers. None of the letters mattered. Each of the newspapers except
Rollison put the papers aside, and telephoned Jepsons.
“I’ll see if Miss Ada is in, Mr. Rollison,” a girl operator said.
Ada might still be annoyed, and this was the way to find out.
There was a long wait, before Ada herself came on the line, and spoke as if coldly.
“It is no use talking about it any more, Richard. I have nothing to add to what I said last night.”
“Well, I have,” said Rollison, then warned himself that it wouldn’t help to lose his temper. “I’ve some new facts to show.”
“I don’t see how they can affect the matter.”
“This one for a start,” continued Rollison. “I was driving down Putney Hill with Superintendent Grice this morning. A lorry nearly crashed into the back of us, after the driver deserted his cabin. But for a policeman with a lot of guts, Grice and I would be in hospital. So would a lot of other people.”
“I don’t need telling that this is serious business,” Ada said, sarcastically.
“Someone not only tried to kill Grice and me, but apparently tried to involve Jepsons by using one of their lorries,” Rollison told her, and explained more fully. “Here’s another fact: Jolly was attacked last night. He will take much longer to recover than Jimmy Jones did.”
Ada drew in her breath sharply.
“I’m going to drop a note into your office in the next half hour and it will have several names and addresses on it,” Rollison said. “I’d like you to have those names and addresses checked, and if there’s any direct association between any of them and Jepsons, let me know. They might work for Jepsons, or buy from them. Check every kind of possible association with the firm, too.”
Ada could ask why.
She said in a subdued voice. “All right, I’ll get it done right away. I’m sorry about—”
She didn’t finish.
“Ada,” Rollison said softly, “I don’t want to rub anything in. But it’s a fact that you asked me to start on this job, and that as a direct result, Jolly is where he is now. I’m going to find out what lies behind it and who is behind it. I don’t care who gets hurt. I don’t care who gets in my way. You, Reggie, anyone in the world, I’m going to find what it’s all about.”
“I see,” Ada said, soberly.
“Good-bye,” Rollison said.
He rang off, took the list of Wallis’s victims, put a portable typewriter on his desk, and at fair speed typed the list out with three carbon copies. He slipped one copy into an envelope addressed to Ada, sealed it, and put it with the others in his pocket. He was getting up when the telephone bell rang, and he picked the receiver up slowly. He felt as if he was at half pressure, and could not be sure that it was wholly because of the heavy sleep. The fact that he knew so little nagged at him; the fact that he couldn’t see the next move clearly seemed to sneer at him. That was the trouble; he had never been so desperately anxious to hit back hard: and he couldn’t see how to do it yet.
“Rollison speaking.”
