“Stay in the car and I’ll find out what Dann knows,” promised Rollison.
He went along to the doorway where Ebbutt’s man had taken cover. Dann came out of his hiding-place as Rollison called his name, but did not advance into the street.
“Grice is around, isn’t he?” he demanded.
“He’s turning his blind eye,” said Rollison. “When did Allen leave—and how did Mrs. Allen get away, Bert?”
“Allen walked out on ‘is own two legs, ‘alf an ‘our ago,” said Bert “Had a dame wiv him. Some dame! Talk about a blonde, she was a blonde beauty all right!”
“Oh,” said Rollison slowly, for a picture of Pauline Dexter appeared in his mind’s eye. “Was Allen followed?”
“Sure—Sam went after ‘em,” said Dann. “Same as old Sniffer Lee went after Mrs. Allen s’arternoon. She was picked up by a coupla men who bundled ‘er into a cab an’ then neely ran Sniffer down,” Dann went on. “Sniffer told Bill—didn’t yer know?”
“I knew something about it,” said Rollison. “So they’re getting rough, are they?”
“I’ll give ‘em rough,” growled Dann. “Trouble was, Sniffer ‘ad ‘ad a couple.”
“Don’t be hard on him,” said Rollison. “All right, Bert I should wait on the landing outside the flat until morning, but don’t let Allen see you if he comes back. Telephone Jolly when he arrives, will you?”
“Okay,” said Bert, and withdrew into the shadows.
Rollison walked back to Grice’s car and climbed in. Grice crashed his gears as he turned out of the carriage- way of Byngham Court Mansions, and was still in a silent, reflective mood. Rollison was not sorry. The stories which he had been told showed him with what care, cunning and ruthlessness Merino and his men were acting.
“Well?” asked Grice at last.
Rollison told him the East Ender’s story.
Grice lapsed into further silence which was not broken until they were in Piccadilly. Then, squeezing between two buses, and with a taxi in front and another behind, he chose to re-open the conversation.
“I’ll do what I can, Roily. At least I agree with you that the girl will crack under the strain if it lasts any longer. I shouldn’t do too much in the way of pulling strings, if I were you—it might upset the Old Man’s apple-cart.”
“What can you do on your own?” asked Rollison.
Grice manoeuvred the car out of the traffic and speeded along Piccadilly—a sure indication of his frame of mind.
“Whatever official action we take, we’ll have to move slowly,” he said. “We’ll put out a general call for Blane, but there’s only your description to go on and, unless he’s got a record, it won’t be easy to get news of him. I wouldn’t advise tackling Merino and this Dexter woman yet, in any case—I’d just watch them. I
“You’re a friend, Bill! You’ll let me know what he decides,” asked Rollison.
“Yes,” said Grice. “Now go carefully, Roily.”
“I will,” promised Rollison.
He watched Grice drive off, then hurried upstairs, and Jolly opened the door as he reached the landing.
“Here we are,” said Rollison, stepping in and tossing his hat to a peg. “Grice is giving us breathing space,” he announced with satisfaction.
“I am not altogether surprised, sir,” said Jolly, “especially after Mrs. Allen’s visit” He retrieved the hat and held it out to Rollison. “Mr. Higginbottom telephoned ten minutes ago, sir.”
Rollison took the hat. “Yes?”
“Apparently Allen and the woman Dexter have gone to Lilley Mews,” said Jolly. “It occurs to me that you will want to go there at once, sir.”
It was dark in the mews. The only light came from the windows of Pauline Dexter’s flat—and that from the side windows. Rollison, glad of the darkness, walked across the cobbles. The main garage was closed, all of the lock-up garages were also shut. He reached his own, and tapped—a short and a long tap —and waited for Snub to open the door.
There was no response.
He peered through the window, but it was too dark to see anything inside. He tapped again. The noise sounded loud in the mews. He stopped when he heard the plodding footsteps of a man, probably a policeman, in the near-by street. The footsteps passed, and Rollison, satisfied that Snub was no longer watching the flat from the lock-up garage, turned and looked at the lighted windows. Snub might have taken it upon himself to break in, and listen to what passed between Allen and the actress.
Then he heard, a sound.
It was low-pitched, a gasp or moan—and it came from Number 5. He turned sharply and looked at the sliding door. It was open an inch—he hadn’t noticed that before, but now he could see that it was not flush with the wall. He put his fingers into the little gap and pushed the door open further. Utter silence reigned—but was broken suddenly by another moan.
Rollison turned from the door and looked right and left— and then walked up and down the mews, making sure that no one lurked in the shadows. Satisfied, he hurried back to the lock-up, and widened the opening until there was room for him to get through. He stepped inside as another moan reached his ears. He took a pencil- torch from his pocket and flashed it on. The thin beam of light made eerie patterns on the shining body of the
