“He’s not going to leave here until he’s signed a confession,” Derek insisted.
“We all sign one,” Rollison interposed. “And we all put the same confession on tape, too. When we’ve all got copies we’ll be able to trust each other.” He slid his hand into his pocket and took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette as if casually, but actually made sure it was one of those which contained a phial of tear gas. He put the cigarette to his lips and slid the case back into his pocket. “Why don’t we get down to business?” He took out a book of matches, aware that Derek was watching every movement he made very closely, and laughed : “I still don’t know how you fixed Alec George King. He threw me and the police off the scent.”
“He’s a friend of Derek,” Hindle declared.
Rollison spun round, his expression changing on the instant: “He knows you! Why, he can give this away in five minutes!”
“Take it easy,” Derek said, sneering. “He doesn’t know me. I’ve supplied his pusher for a year or two, that’s all.”
“Pusher? Heroin?”
“Anything that comes,” said Derek. “But it was too dangerous to go on with, and he couldn’t find the dough so he had to do this deal. Don’t worry about him or anyone.”
Rollison put the cigarette to his lips and struck a match.
“There’s just one person I worry about now.”
“If you mean Effie —”
“I don’t mean Effie,” Rollison said. “I mean Tommy G. Loman. Is he alive or is he dead. When did you make the switch?” He smiled into Hindle’s eyes. “Alec George King has done a wonderful job, he’s fooled everybody except me, and if I hadn’t realised he
* * *
Outwardly, he looked so calm and self-possessed. Inwardly, he was seething with anxiety, not only for himself, but for the real Tommy G. Loman.
Was he alive?
Or was he dead?
20
THE TWO HINDLES stood silent.
The match burned low in Rollison’s fingers and he shook it out, glanced about for an ashtray, and moved to one on a table against the wall. Hindle moved uneasily, and Derek said:
“Forget him.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Rollison sharply. “I can’t put all this through if the real Loman can appear out of the blue at any time.”
“You said there were other ways to keep a man quiet than killing him,” Hindle said.
“Not where Loman is concerned,” Rollison replied sharply. “I want to see him, alive or dead.” He laughed, without any humour. “That’ an apt phrase in the circumstances. Wanted Thomas G. Loman, alive or dead, with a million pounds on his head. Where is he? Where was the switch made?”
“You’re so clever, why don’t you guess?” sneered Derek. “Pop, we don’t tell Rollison anything else, he knows plenty. I’m not so sure he isn’t bluffing, that we’re not falling for a big confidence trick. I —”
He broke off, as a telephone bell rang.
Tension, eased until Rollison had switched the subject, demanding to see the real Thomas G. Loman, came screaming back. The harsh ringing of the bell made it worse. The elder Hindle raised the gun again as Derek moved towards a telephone standing on a table near a doorway on the right.
He said hoarsely : “Don’t move, Rollison.”
“Your son isn’t safe to have around,” Rollison said, the unlighted cigarette still in his mouth.
Derek reached the telephone and snatched up the receiver. Veins stood out on his forehead; so did blobs of sweat. He was so beside himself that he picked the receiver up while standing awkwardly to cover the Toff : for a moment the muzzle actually pointed at his own head.
“Yes?” he rasped; there was a moment’s pause and he went on: “Yes, Alec?”
Alec.
That was the moment when Rollison knew the whole truth; the moment he had fought for, staked his life on.
He had been as sure as he could be since Pamela had been attacked here that her companion had attacked her, not an unseen man. There had been time before her rescuers arrived; just time. Had they been half a minute later then her newfound lover would have choked her to death. He had felt certain that the man whom he had at first believed to be Thomas G. Loman was in fact Alec George King. And from the moment of realisation there had been only one concern in his mind: to find the real Thomas G.
Now, a man named Alec was on the telephone, knowing the Hindles were at the Browns’ house.
Derek listened.
He twisted round, and his lips twisted in rare malevolence.
“Shoot him in the guts!” he cried. “He’s conning us — one of Grice’s men let it out, Alec heard them.” Alec George King, alias Thomas G. Loman, at Gresham Terrace. “He’s conning —”
