At half past nine, Rollison left the flat again. A Yard man was on duty outside, but no one else was in sight. No one followed him. He did not go by car, but first on foot, then on a bus, finally in a taxi to Middleton Road, near Sloane Square. He made quite sure that no one was watching him, then went briskly along the ill-lit street towards Number 24. There was a light on in the fanlight. He pressed the bell, then looked about him, surprised that Mrs. Blake opened the door; the light behind her in the kitchen seemed wispy. A Yard man came hurrying down the stairs, saying:
“You shouldn’t do that, I told you I would open the door to any callers, Mrs. Blake. Who—oh, it’s you sir.”
Mrs. Blake said: “Dear me, I quite forgot, I was watching the television. Do you want me, or—?”
“Just a word with Mr. Jones,” said Rollison. “That’s all right, then I’ll go back. I’ll soon be able to pick up the threads again.” Mrs. Blake bustled off, and the Yard man grinned.
“She’s tougher than she looks. I was just playing a game of draughts with Jones.”
“How is he?”
“He’ll be up and about tomorrow.”
“Miss Jepson been again?”
“No, but she sent about twenty books, and some crystallised fruits. She can’t do enough for him.”
“So it seems,” agreed Rollison. “Mind if I go and have a word with him?”
“Glad if you do, sir. As a matter of fact I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs outside for ten minutes, I was told that would be okay provided Jones and the house weren’t left unguarded. Ten minutes be long enough?”
“Fifteen.”
“Just time for a pint at the corner,” the Yard man said, and grinned. “See you later, sir.”
Rollison watched him go out, then listened to the drone of voices on the television, sounding clear although the kitchen door was closed. He went quietly upstairs, reminding himself again that he now knew pretty well why the other victims had been attacked, but didn’t know the secret of James Matthison Jones.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jimmy Jones was certainly looking much better. He sat up on his pillows, smoking a cigarette, and by the side of the bed was the draughts board; obviously the Yard man was winning. A small radio in the corner was on, and swing music came softly into the room. Jones’s eyes were clearer, although the bandages looked as heavy as when Rollison had seen him before.
“Oh, hallo, Mr. Rollison!” He seemed genuinely glad to see his visitor. “Nice of you to look in. Take a pew.” He pointed to another chair, then put his head on one side, and went on in a different tone: “But I should hardly think you’re just sick visiting.”
“Right in one,” Rollison said. “How’s your memory?” He sat down and took out cigarettes. “Pretty good, I think,” said Jones.
“You told me and the police that you hadn’t the faintest idea why you were attacked,” Rollison said.
“And I haven’t.”
“Misplaced loyalty can be a deadly thing,” Rollison remarked, and lit a cigarette.
“Talking in riddles can be a damned silly one,” said Jones. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Misplaced loyalty to whom?”
“Jepsons.”
Jones shook his head, leaned over and stubbed out his cigarette, and said:
“I still haven’t the faintest idea what you’re driving at.”
“I’m beginning to believe you,” Rollison said slowly. Will you try to get at it this way? Among the people who have been attacked are . . .” he told Jones of each one, watching the man all the time, and seeing the dawning of understanding come. Jones looked both astonished and bewildered. He waited for Rollison to finish, and then said ruefully:
“I can see what you’re getting at now, and probably what it was all about. I’d been checking Bishopps’ accounts. They weren’t buying anything like so much from us as they used to, and I couldn’t understand why. Then I went out to see their manager, and found the place stacked out with our products. The manager said he’d over- stocked badly, and that seemed reasonable. But if that was really stolen stuff, and he thought I was on the trail— good lord!”
“When did you go to Bishopps?”
“A week before this happened.” Jones drew in a deep breath. “I give you my word, this is the first time I’ve connected the two things!”
“And I’ll take your word,” said Rollison readily. “Did you report this to anyone else?”
“Mr. Jepson, of course.”
“Did you see him personally?”
“Yes.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He told me to keep it to myself, and said he’d have secret inquiries made,” said Jones. “How did he seem?”
“He looked pretty tired, and it didn’t surprise me to hear that he was going off for a week or two.”
