“Annie’s okay. Not a bad idea, Lil, ta. Where are you goin’, all toffed up?”
Lil drew herself from his grasp, gave her coat a pat and bobbed her feathers.
“You can find me at the Harmy Social,” she said. “And I don’t want to find you drunk when I get home.”
Ebbutt didn’t wait to see her royal progress across the gymnasium, passing the men who stopped what they were doing and touched their forelocks or smiled and, according to their social status, called her Lil or Mrs Ebbutt. Nor did he wait to see the amused grins which followed her into the street. He went back into the small office, folded up
Ebbutt looked down at him amiably.
“Mr Ar’s comin’ to ‘ave a look rahnd, Charlie. Git everyfing nice an’ tidy, woncha?”
“Okay,” said Charlie. “Proper day for visitors, ain’t it, Bill? First the missus, then Mr Ar and now the busies.”
Ebbutt started. “Busies? “Oo said so?”
“I say so. Gricey’s just coming in.”
With the door open, it was possible to see the entrance to the gymnasium and on the wall opposite the door was a mirror, placed askew and apparently without any significance. Ebbutt glanced into it; the gymnasium entrance was reflected there. He saw a man’s shadow, then the man himself. It was Superintendent Grice of New Scotland Yard.
He said in a whisper: “Send some boys aht, Charlie. Tell Mr Ar ‘oo’s ‘ere, quick. It wouldn’t s’prise me if they ain’t arter the same fing and I wouldn’t like the Torf to run inter Gricey if ‘e don’t wanter see ‘im. Look slippy!”
“Oke.” Charlie slid out of the office. Grice caught sight of him and shook his fist playfully. Charlie said: “Nice ter see yer, Mr Grice,” and went past him.
Grice, a tall, spare man, dressed in brown with brown hair and a sallow skin stretched tightly across his face, making the bridge of his nose seem white, reached the office door while Ebbutt was ostensibly studying a racing- form chart. Grice tapped heavily on the wall and Ebbutt started.
“Why, if it ain’t Mr Grice!”
“Isn’t this a nice surprise?” asked Grice, coming in. “I suppose you’ve sent Charlie out for some ice-cream.” He hitched up a leather-topped stool and sat on it. “Or has he gone out to warn Rollison?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Don’t look now,” said Snub, “but I think that chap with the battered titfer has recognised you.”
A little man wearing a trilby with a shapeless brim stood at the side of the road, waving wildly towards the car. Rollison slowed down and pulled towards him. They were a few minutes away from the gymnasium and not far from the Mile End Road. The hum of traffic was loud, the street was crowded.
“Hallo, Percy,” greeted Rollison.
“Nice ter see yer, Mr Ar. Bill told me ter keep a look aht for yer.”
“Why?”
“Gricey’s just gone inter see ‘im.”
“Oh,” said Rollison. “Grice hasn’t lost much time.”
“Bill thought yer might prefer not to run inter ‘im,” said Percy, a man with an ugly face, a friendly smile and teeth stained through chewing tobacco. “Gricey was on ‘is own; it ain’t often ‘e runs arahnd wivvout a bodyguard, is it?”
“This must be just a social call,” said Rollison. “Going back to the gym, Percy?”
“Yeh!”
“Hop in the back. Snub” —Rollison touched the youngster’s arm— “I think you’d better scram. Go to Knoll Road and, if Judith’s still there, take her to the flat as soon as you can. If there’s any reason why she has to stay at her own place, stay with her.”
“Suits me,” said Snub.
“That’s nice for you,” Rollison said and, as Snub jumped out, drove off again.
Percy sat perched forward on the seat so that every passer-by could see that he was riding in state. Rollison drove swiftly to the gymnasium where many more than the usual dozen or so loungers were waiting. He knew that every one of them was aware that the great Grice was in the East End.
Grice, one of the Big Five at the Yard, knew the East End well; all the East End knew him. He had spent years at AZ Division, had been a terror in his youth—but fair in all he did. If a single policeman was liked in this district, it was Grice; but even he was regarded with suspicion. Usually he came to the East End with Divisional men because he wouldn’t break the unwritten police law and come alone on real business; so this was an unofficial call.
A dozen men called out cheerfully to Rollison as he left the car. He smiled right and left, feeling curiously at home in spite of the contrast between the luxury of the car and the dinginess of the district and between his clothes and theirs. He stepped into the gloomy gymnasium and saw the office door wide open. Charlie stood outside one of the rings where two light-weights pranced about.
Charlie jerked his head towards the office.
“Thanks,” said Rollison.
He knew why the mirror was in that particular place and that Grice was also aware of it. So he made no
