Rollison blew the phial of tear gas into Hindle’s face before he realised what his son was saying. Derek twisted round, caught a wrist in the telephone cable, and jerked it free and levelled his gun, but before he touched the trigger Rollison used the small gun and a bullet caught the younger man in the shoulder. Derek grunted and jerked back, and Rollison shot him again with greater calculation, in the back of his gun hand.
Hindle was reeling about helplessly, hands at his streaming eyes.
Rollison listened intently but heard nothing upstairs. He picked up the telephone as the man named Alec called:
“Derek, what’s happened? Are you there, are you there?”
Rollison simply rang off, and held the receiver down for a moment, then dialled 999 — the Emergency number. He was answered at once, and in seconds was speaking to Grice.
“Bill, there’s a freelance newspaperman named Jack Fisher, attached to the construction side of London Air- port. He was doing an inside story on a building strike when Tommy G. Loman’s plane arrived. Find Fisher and I think you’ll find the real Tommy G. Loman . . . No, not the man at my flat, that’s King . . . The switch must have been made at London Airport and the real Tommy G. smuggled out through the new building work . . .He might still be there, there are plenty of places to hide a man at London Airport.”
He did not add: “And hide a body.”
“What about you?” demanded Grice.
“I’m fine. The Browns are as innocent as doves, the Hindle family is here waiting for your chaps to come and pick them up. We may need an ambulance and we cer-tainly need a doctor for the older Brown — he was thrown down the stairs.”
Grice said: “Wait a moment.” His voice faded and in the distance Rollison heard him say on another telephone: “London Airport Police, quickly . . .” Then in a louder voice he went on to Rollison : “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe the man at your flat isn’t the
“Brilliant act, isn’t it?” asked Rollison.
“Brilliant. It —” There was another pause before Grice went on: “I’m going to take your word for it, but I still don’t believe it. When — when did you begin to think —?” Grice broke off again, helplessly.
“There were a lot of indications, given hindsight,” said Rollison, “but can’t they keep? I want to tell Jolly, and get King himself. He is still at my flat, I take it?”
“No doubt at all,” answered Grice. “Jolly was on the telephone only twenty minutes ago, and Loman himself —” Grice gulped — “I mean, King
“As soon as I’ve tidied up here,” Rollison said.
As he spoke, there was a rat-tat-tat at the front door; the first of three police cars had arrived. Rollison left the Hindles to them, told them about Mrs. Hindle, up-stairs, and went to the cupboard beneath the stairs. The one thing above all others that he hated was the need to tell Pamela the truth about her Tommy, but at least the time was not yet.
“The police are in possession,” he told her and her brother. “The Hindles are under arrest, and we know where to find King.” He helped Pamela into the big hall, saying : “I had to discover where he was, and couldn’t find the whole truth any other way.”
“Richard,” Pamela said. “I will never forgive myself for not trusting you.” Then her tone changed. “How soon will a doctor be here for Daddy ?”
“One’s on the way,” Rollison reassured her. “I don’t think he broke any bones, and he’s probably suffering from severe concussion.”
“As soon as I know that for sure,” Pamela said, “I want to go and see Tommy.”
“Mr. Rollison!” a police sergeant called from the door. Rollison had never been more glad of an interruption.
As he pulled up outside 25g Gresham Terrace, three-quarters of an hour later, Grice opened the door of a car which was double-parked and approached him. He might have news of Fisher as well as the real Tommy Loman. Rollison’s heart pounded for the sake of a man whom he had never seen. But Grice was relaxed, and his stride was springy; he did not have the manner of a man bringing bad news.
“Alive?” asked Rollison.
“Alive.” Grice stated, simply. “He was kept in an old hut on the building site. I’m pretty sure they were going to keep him alive until cement was being poured at the next section of the new terminal — they would have killed and buried him in double quick time. They kept him alive on bread and water, but he seems able to walk under his own steam. The switch was made with the connivance of a nurse, who was well paid. He’s now at the airport hospital.”
“Wonderful,” Rollison breathed. “And Fisher?”
“He was picked up in Fleet Street,” answered Grice. “He had one accomplice, another of the bomb throwing baskets. The moment he was arrested he began to blame Derek Hindle. He said Hindle forced him to do whatever he wanted by withholding heroin which he couldn’t do without.”
“Of them all Derek is undoubtedly the nastiest,” Rollison said. They were half-way up the stairs then, and went the rest of the way in silence. The flat door opened, and Jolly came forward, eagerly, while Alec George King
“Thank God you’re all right, sir,” Jolly said feelingly. “When you were so late back, without sending a message, I became very alarmed indeed.”
“I’ll say he did,” confirmed ‘Tommy’. “If you’d been much longer, Richard, you would have found him in bed in a state of collapse. Where have you been, partner?”
“At the Browns’ house,” Rollison answered, mildly. ‘Tommy’ stared.
