“We can’t blame him, can we?” Rollison said, and forced a grin, but he did not feel like smiling. “Let me have the gym key, Bill, will you? And any luck with those sparklers?”
“Yeah, to both,” said Ebbutt. “Wouldn’t like to tell me wot you’re up to, would you?”
“No,” Rollison said. He took the key and a small packet which Ebbutt gave him, gripped the huge forearm, said: “Thanks,” and moved off. He reached a telephone kiosk in the Mile End Road, dialled Grice’s home number, and wasn’t surprised to be answered promptly: Grice wasn’t an early-to-bed enthusiast.
“Rollison,” Rollison said.
“Oh, it’s you. Changed your mind?”
“No. Two of Wallis’s friends are on guard at his house tonight. Could you arrange for the Division to send a couple of men to pick them up about four o’clock say?”
Grice hesitated, and then said gruffly: “This is the first time in my life I’ve ever seriously thought of compounding a felony. I’ll try to fix it. But don’t make any mistake, if you get caught, I can’t help you. I’ll say that I know absolutely nothing about it.”
“All you have to do is your duty,” said Rollison solemnly. “Thanks, Bill.”
He went back to the gymnasium, where most of the lights were out, and a camp bed was made up, and a bottle of whisky, soda water, ham sandwiches and some cheese and biscuits were on a table nearby. He ate heartily amid the smell of sawdust and canvas, and then looked at three small diamond rings and two brooches which were in the packet Ebbutt had given him. He put them carefully in his pocket, and at one o’clock, got into bed, taking off his shoes and loosening his choker.
He was asleep within five minutes, and awake at half past three, as if an alarm clock worked inside him.
He went into the chilly morning air, and shivered, but his spirits rose when he saw dark clouds obscuring the stars; the street lighting was very poor. He went a long way round to Dirk Street, and just as the daylight was coming, stepped into the back yard.
A police car approached a few minutes afterwards; and turned into Dirk Street. No one would be surprised and probably a lot of hearts were beating uncomfortably then: but it was not until the stroke of five thirty that Rollison heard a heavy knocking at the front of the house. After a moment, lights went on upstairs; then one went on in the kitchen, where a man had been sitting in an armchair. He saw the man go slowly towards the front of the house, and a moment after through an open doorway, saw another man join him in the narrow passage.
The banging came again, and Rollison fancied that he heard a man calling the formula: “Open in the name of the law.”
Rollison used the key he had taken on his first visit, slipped inside, closed the door and stepped straight to the larder, where Stella Wallis had been imprisoned. He left the door ajar. Men were talking and arguing, Stella’s voice sounded shrill and angry, and then one of the men raised his voice:
“You can’t do this to us, I’ll see my lawyer!”
“You see him at the station,” a policeman said. “Don’t make a fuss. You’re only wanted for questioning.”
Stella said viciously: “One of these days I’ll tell you what I think of you, you slab-faced piece of bacon. There’s nothing in this house that shouldn’t be, and there never has been. My friends are a damn’ sight more honest than any cops.”
“Listen, Stella,” one of Wallis’s men said, “go and ask Ropey to come along. He’ll be okay, and—”
“Oh, it’s not worth worrying about now it’s light,” Stella said, and stifled a yawn. “It’s okay, Tiny won’t blame you because the rozzers picked you up.”
Confused sounds followed, next the slamming of the front door, then the sound of a car engine; and as it hummed, Stella Wallis came walking from the hall. If she came to the kitchen to make tea, she would almost certainly open the larder door.
Rollison waited tensely.
She went upstairs.
* * *
Some minutes afterwards, Rollison went into the living room and sat in an armchair. He did not put on a light but waited until sufficient daylight came through the window for him to look about him. He had to take a chance that when Ada and Donny came they would be shown into the front room; he put the tape recorder there, all set and ready; it would start when he pressed a lighting point in the wainscotting. The recorder itself was on top of a corner cupboard which held several pieces of Dresden china. No one could see it casually, and this wasn’t a morning when Stella Wallis would start spring cleaning. Then he put the rings and brooches behind the books in the smaller room.
He went out the back way, hurried to Gresham Terrace, bathed, changed, and cooked bacon and eggs; Jolly was in his mind a great deal. He telephoned the hospital and was told that Jolly had had a good night.
At ten o’clock, when Wallis was being taken into court, Rollison reached Dirk Street again, this time sitting in a car at one end of the street. At ten fifteen Donny arrived, alone. At ten twenty, Ada arrived, driving her own M.G. Nothing else happened that was at all unusual in Dirk Street, until a little after half past ten, when one or two youths drifted in, and hovered about Wallis’s house. Others sauntered up in twos and threes. If they noticed Rollison, they did not show it. They gathered about Wallis’s place, obviously a reception party. Rollison recognised several of them; at least six had been with the mob when he had nearly been crushed by the lorry.
At a quarter to eleven, a taxi turned the corner, and the youths began to cheer as if they were welcoming a film star; and as they did so, six of them moved swiftly away from the main party and surrounded Rollison’s car. He did not move.
One of them opened the door.
“Come on out, come and give a cheer for Tiny,” one of the youths sneered. “Come and tell him you’re sorry for what you did to him.”
Outside his house, Wallis towered above the youths, and looked across at Rollison’s car. Then he beckoned; and went into the house.
