“So he’s not so flamboyant after all,” observed Brandt. He looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven, I wonder how much longer he’ll be?”
Then the telephone bell rang.
“With your permission I will answer it here, sir.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Now the Texan seemed as fascinated by Jolly, who was so doleful looking in repose, so full of vitality when talking about the Toff.
“This is Mr. Richard Rollison’s residence.” There was a brief pause, and then Jolly’s eyes kindled. “Yes, sir, he is still here . . . What is that, sir?” Jolly glanced at the American, and his manner changed noticeably. He listened intently, said : “At once, sir,” and put down the receiver quickly. “You are to leave immediately by the roof,” he told Brandt. “The police are on their way to arrest you. This way, if you please.”
Jolly did not utter another word, showed no sign of surprise or alarm, just turned and hurried out of the room, with the Texan close behind him. Yet Tex cast a last glance at the Trophy Wall. Jolly led the way along a narrow passage and into a spotless kitchen, where chromium and tiles seemed to live together harmoniously. He opened a door which led to another door, and then said : “Excuse me, sir, we had better put out the light.” He flicked a switch, and everything went into darkness. He opened the outer door, and the grey light of night filtered in.
“Step very cautiously here,” he cautioned. “It’s an iron fire escape.”
“Sure.” Tex’s voice barely disturbed the quiet.
There was a faint sound, like an echo, as they stepped on to the iron platform. The outline of the steps leading downwards showed clearly, and below there was a pale courtyard. A shadow which might be the figure of a man was stationary at one corner.
Tex followed Jolly closely, to the wall.
“There are iron rungs here, sir. If you climb up them you will reach the roof of the building. The best way to turn at the top is to the left. It is a light night, and you will have no difficulty in seeing where you are going. The houses are all’ terraced, but the ninth one along has a very narrow gap. You will find more rungs, like these, leading down from the roof at this side of the gap, and leading to the fire escape. Anyone watching this house will be behind you then, and you need only take reasonable precautions to get away.”
The Texan whispered : “Sure, I understand.”
“When you reach the ground, you will find the narrow gap between the houses on your right. Take that, sir. Turn left, and then left again. It will bring you into Piccadilly Circus, with which I imagine you are familiar.”
“Sure, I know Piccadilly Circus,” said Tex, in a strangely subdued voice; it was not simply that he was whispering, it was as if he hardly knew how to find words. “Let me make sure I have it right. I turn right at the top, I climb down at the house this side of the gap, I go into the gap, I turn left and left again, and I’m right in Piccadilly.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Fine,” said Tex, with a little more vigour. “Jolly, will you tell me one thing ?”
“If I can, sir.”
“Why is Mr. Rollison doing this for me?”
“I have no doubt at all that it will serve an admirable purpose, sir.”
“Which means you don’t know,” said Tex. “I guess I don’t know, either.” He took Jolly’s hand. “Tell him I think he’s a mighty fine guy, will you ?”
“I will, sir.”
Now Tex gripped his shoulder, and there was fierceness in his whispered words.
“I want him to get that message verbatim. You understand?”
“Perfectly, sir. In your opinion, Mr. Rollison is a mighty fine guy.”
Tex choked back a laugh.
He turned, and began to climb up the iron rungs, going very cautiously first, but much faster before he reached the top. Jolly waited until he had disappeared, and marvelled that he hardly showed himself against the grey sky; it was unlikely that he would have been seen from the ground, even if someone had been watching all the time.
Jolly went back into the flat, closed both doors, and turned on the light. Then he went into the kitchen, and began to get the morning tea-tray ready. He was putting the finishing touches to it when the telephone bell rang. He moved to an extension which was just outside the kitchen door, and lifted the receiver.
“This is Mr. Richard Rollison’s residence.”
A man said: “I want to speak to Mr. William Brandt, sir,” in a very clearly defined Southern drawl: so much of a drawl that it seemed almost affected. This was the American who had called before, and the drawl was very different from Brandt’s.
“I’m sorry, I know no one of that name,” lied Jolly.
“What did you say, sir?” The caller made the ‘sir’ sound like ‘suh’ and there was a sharper note in his voice.
Jolly repeated the answer.
“You must have made a mistake,” the American said. “I was talking to Mr. Brandt only this afternoon. He told me that he was staying at the apartment of an English gentleman, and that the gentleman’s name was Rollison. If you care to hold on a moment, I’ll spell that out to you.”
“There is no need I assure you,” Jolly said. “This is Mr. Rollison’s residence, and I am Mr. Rollison’s personal
