Then he gulped, and backed a pace.

Then he dropped his right hand to his pocket, but before he could pull it out again Rollison covered him with the small gun. Jolly simply gaped. Grice made a swift movement, drawing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, while Rollison lifted a stiletto from ‘Tommy’s’ —one of the weapons from the Trophy Wall. There were moments of almost screaming tension, before Alec George King alias Tommy G. Loman asked in a husky voice quite free from American accent:

“How did you guess ?”

“Too many police were at the Browns’ house when you took Pamela home for anyone to have attacked her and got away. It had to be you. The only prisoner caught was Luigi Tetano, a policeman from Long Island, and the only other man about was you. Would you have choked the life out of Pamela if the police hadn’t been there, I wonder?”

King managed to retort: “I wonder.”

“Once I realised you were the wrong Tommy I saw all the other indications. That nothing fitted if you were the real man, everything did if you were not. That your reaction to London was too naive for anyone from the far west, you had to be putting on an act. You were prepared to stay here, snug and safe, although the man you pretended to be would never have stayed. As I told the Superintendent, it is easy with hindsight.”

“Clever Toff,” King half-sneered. “I thought I’d got away with it.”

“I can hardly believe all this,” Jolly said, in a hollow voice. “When — when was the switch made, sir ?”

“Oh, in the airport hospital,” Raison said. “That one’s easy.” He explained about the nurse, and then added: “The ward was left empty two or three times, the new extension was being built behind a canvas and plastic screen. It was very simple. In fact it was all beautifully simple — even Jack Fisher arriving on the scene to find out what Pamela had told me, and to ingratiate himself so that he could come to the flat and keep the false Tommy up to date with what was happening.”

There were so many more details, among them that Loman’s baggage had been stolen so that Alec George King could have all his identification papers and his clothes and credits. That Alec had known of Tetano’s identity because Fisher had picked up the news from London Airport police.

Later that day the police learned that the Hindles, once on the run, simply took over the Browns’ house. They had feared the Toff most, and Pamela next, because sooner or later they might have discovered the truth about ‘Tommy’. And Alec George King had made his fierce, overwhelming conquest to find out what she knew. He would not have killed her, he swore, simply overpowered her and taken her into the house where her father and brother were held captive.

Later that evening, too, Rollison went to see Pamela Brown.

She had been kept at the house by the police, she said with great indignation; or she would have been at Gresham Terrace on their heels. And, with fresh indignation, she demanded of Rollison :

“Why isn’t he here with you? Why didn’t you bring him?”

“Pamela,” Rollison said as he put his hand on her arm and led her into the hall where a few hours ago he had been so near death, “try not to hate me.”

“Hate you? Why on earth should I?”

“For what I have to tell you,” Rollison said.

Her eyes were so huge and bright but they held no radiance. Her lips were parted, but she uttered no words although three words formed on them, easy to read:

“He’s — not — dead?”

“No,” Rollison told her, “he’s not dead, Pam, but I think perhaps he deserves to be.”

Gently, he told her.

He did not know whether it was good or bad that she listened, and made no comment, and showed no sign of tears.

When he had done, and waited a while, Rollison went on: “There’s one deep cause for satisfaction, Pamela. You and your family did what you set out to do: you saved the life and fortune of the real Tommy G. Loman.”

*     *     *

When he saw that real Tommy G., the next day, he found him pleasant and likeable. But Rollison knew and Jolly knew and Pamela would soon know that as a personality he wasn’t a patch on the false Tommy G. Loman: and never would be.

THE END

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