The Toff and the Stolen Tresses (8 page)

Ada talked too much, as if to cover emotion.

Sitting and listening to her, Rollison reflected: ‘She's in love with this Jimmy Jones.'

He was mildly surprised by the discovery, and could not be sure whether Ada was trying to conceal it, or whether this was her way of telling him why she was so anxious to find out why Jimmy Jones had been attacked.

‘… I mean, it could happen again, I suppose, and I'm positive that Jimmy himself knows no reason for it. Reggie agreed with me before he left—'

‘Left?'

‘Yes, he's gone to Ibiza for a week or two, the poor dear didn't have much of a holiday this year.'

‘Lucky him,' Rollison said.

‘Everything that happened to Jimmy Jones is so puzzling and worrying,' Ada went on hurriedly, and then paused.

Rollison leaned forward and said: ‘Ada, I'm doing all I can to find out what's behind it all. One obvious possibility is that it's to do with Jimmy's job.'

‘Oh, that's absurd!'

‘The whole thing is absurd,' said Rollison lazily, ‘but facts are facts. He was attacked. He was one of eight different people who have been attacked as savagely and ruthlessly and by the same men. We only know the reason for one of the attacks, so far. We do know that the men who do the strong arm work are well paid—extremely well paid—and we won't get anywhere until we find out who's paying them.'

‘Well,' said Ada, downrightly, ‘don't look at me. I'm not.'

Rollison grinned.

‘I think I'll believe that!' he said.

As he finished, he turned his head swiftly, and Ada gave a little gasp and jumped up from her chair. At the window there was a crash of breaking glass. Something heavy struck the curtains and then fell to the ground; a moment later a second missile hit another pane of glass and that smashed too.

Two halves of a brick were on the floor, and tied to each was a tress of lovely hair, one black and shiny as a raven's wing, the other like spun gold.

 

 

After the second crash, there was silence.

No wind stirred the curtains when they had settled again. No footsteps sounded in the square or in the house itself. Ada, standing by her chair and touching the arms, stared at the bricks and the tresses of hair, as if she would not believe that they were there. Then she moved quickly towards them, until Rollison said sharply:

‘Stand still.'

‘But—'

‘Just stay there,' said Rollison, and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Listen.'

A long way off, there was traffic; that was all. No aeroplane droned, no one walked or drove or cycled past here, as far as they could tell.

‘They must still be outside,' Ada breathed.

‘That's it,' said Rollison, ‘and they're probably hoping we'll put our heads out of the window, and have other bricks at hand. Is there a room immediately above this?'

‘Yes, the music room. Why?'

‘I remember it,' said Rollison, and then heard hurrying footsteps. When he reached and opened the door, white-haired Forbes appeared, looking anxious and alarmed. Behind him was the footman.

‘Sir—'

‘Stay here and look after Miss Ada,' Rollison ordered. ‘Someone may try to get in at this window, but I don't think it's likely. They might smash another window and try to get in that way, though.' He turned swiftly to the footman. ‘You go to the back, will you, and keep watch.'

‘But the police—' Forbes began.

‘Keep near a telephone, and dial 999 if you must.' Rollison turned and hurried towards the stairs. He heard footsteps behind him. Ada was there, refusing to be left with Forbes, undoubtedly scared but her eyes very bright; she was prettier when she was excited.

‘What do you think they're doing?' she asked urgently.

‘Scaring the wits out of us,' said Rollison, and raced up the stairs with hardly a sound, heading for the music room. He recognised it from past visits; a long, narrow room with a grand piano, music stands, many instruments in their cases along one wall, and two violins, each a Stradivarius, also there; priceless things some of these, and irreplaceable.

The window was undraped.

Rollison opened it very cautiously; it was of the sash-cord type, and there was at least a possibility that this window was being watched. When it was open three or four inches so that he could hear as well as see outside, he crouched down and looked out onto the lamplit square, the few parked cars with their lights on and now, two cars which were driving past at speed. In the middle of the square was a fenced-off patch of grass and some plane trees.

‘Anyone there?' breathed Ada.

‘Can't be sure,' whispered Rollison. ‘If that was just to show that they mean business there wasn't much point in it. They may expect someone to rush and open the front door, and if they do—'

He broke off.

‘
Seen someone?
'
hissed Ada.

‘Yes,' said Rollison, very softly. ‘There are several people by the fence, gathered round a tree, and crouching behind the parked cars.' He could just make out the dark shrouded figures: there were seven or eight people in all, like attendants at a ghostly meeting. ‘One's standing by the front gate, too, they're ready to rush if the front door's open.'

‘But what on earth are they up to?'

‘They're probably after my blood, and if they are we haven't much to worry about,' Rollison said. ‘If they're after yours, and want to wreck this place—'

‘Oh,
no!
'

‘… we'll need the police to stop them,' Rollison finished. He watched the silent group, most of whom would have been hidden from people walking along the street; he saw them only because he was looking down on them. ‘But if we send for the police and squad men are rushed here, these chaps are as safe as houses. It's no offence to stand about in a group unless there's evidence of felonious intent.'

‘Oh, stop talking like a policeman,' breathed Ada. ‘What are we going to do?'

Rollison looked down at her in the dark, and grinned.

‘How important is your hall carpet?'

‘It isn't important at all. Why?'

‘You're bound to have some household sprays and some liquid ammonia in the house,' Rollison said, hopefully. ‘How long will it take to get two or three sprays loaded?'

‘Oh, only a few minutes,' Ada looked up at him intently, and the light from the lamps outside put an added sparkle into her eyes. ‘You mean, let them rush in and then have the sprays ready to greet them?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh, goody!' Ada exclaimed, and swung round; her voice came from the doorway, a wraith of sound, ‘I'll fix it.'

Rollison did not move at once, but saw two of the men move from the back of the car, and approach the house. He wondered if they were losing patience, and were going to force their way in. They disappeared. He heard a whisper of voices, and some words came clearly.

‘… couldn't've heard it.'

‘They were in the room, weren't they?'

‘Saw their shadows,' a man said.

‘They might've gone out, might be another door,' the first man guessed. ‘Give 'em two or three minutes, and we'll chuck another couple've bricks. I—
what's that?
'

A car had turned into the square, and headlights raked the roadway and the pavement, then flashed past.

‘There's a rozzer,' one of the men breathed. ‘Wait till he's past.'

‘Okay, Walk round the square.'

‘Okay.'

Rollison saw two of them appear again, and knew that they were as nervous as they could be in case they ran into the police. He could not see the policeman they had noticed, but silently blessed him as he made his rounds. The shadowy figures were lost against the darkness between the lamps, except for two youths whom Rollison saw clearly for the first time. They were probably in their late teens. This wasn't the time to think about it, but Wallis and Clay had shown much cleverness by marshalling the Teddy Boys behind them; making use of hooligans who were always spoiling for a fight.

Or someone had been clever.

Rollison heard the policeman walking stolidly, and saw him draw close to the house. It was possible that he would notice the broken windows, and if he did –

He stopped.

His torchlight pointed towards the windows, and Rollison could see the glow but not the man himself.

If he had spotted that broken glass, he would go straight to the front door to make inquiries, and it didn't seem possible that he could miss it.

He might even blow his whistle.

Rollison saw one of the crouching youths straighten up. Before he could shout a warning, the youth flung a missile at the constable. There was a thud and a cry. The policeman swung round as the two youths leapt at him.

Shouting wouldn't help now, and might do harm. The policeman went down with the youths on top of him, and as they went Ada whispered from the doorway: ‘We're ready.'

‘All right,' said Rollison. ‘They've just attacked a policeman, I want to go down and look after him.' He hurried past Ada towards the landing and the stairs. Forbes, the footman and a third, older man, were standing at the foot of the stairs. Two were armed with garden syringes, one with an insect sprayer. ‘As soon as I open the door, they'll swarm in,' Rollison warned. ‘Let 'em have it full in the face. Ada, dial 999 and ask for the police. They'll get here just about the right moment.'

He watched her turn towards a telephone in an alcove in the wall as he went to the big front door.

He was not sure what the waiting youths wanted.

They may have trailed him cleverly, and waited until now to attack. If they were working under Wallis's orders, they might have come to kill, almost certainly to maim. Or they might have come to kidnap him, and take him to some quiet place where they could make him talk.

He heard Ada speak into the telephone.

He opened the front door.

He saw the hall light stream out on to the faces of three youths who were crouching on the porch, and on others in the road. All of them broke into a run the moment the door opened.

If they'd come for him, he would soon know.

They came swiftly, eight young brutes, each carrying a heavy hammer or an axe. Two struck at Rollison as they passed, but that was only to drive him aside so that they could get in. These were wreckers; and inside was the house of such grace, and the furniture of such antiquity and beauty.

Rollison shot out a leg, tripped one man up and dug an elbow into another's waist so that he went staggering. Then he reached the porch. Two more youths were on the pavement, keeping a look-out, and the constable was still on the ground. He was grunting, and trying to get up. One of the two look-outs stepped towards him, foot drawn back to kick.

‘I shouldn't,' said Rollison, in the softest of soft voices. The youth spun round, hammer raised in his hand. The other, guarding the approach from the right, also turned round, and for a moment Rollison was between them. They began to approach stealthily, menacingly.

Then wild screams began to come from the hall.

 

 

Ada Jepson put down the telephone as Rollison stepped out of the house, and stood watching as the youths streamed in. She wasn't sure how many were there. They were all young, their hair was beautifully waved and groomed, they wore the narrow trousers and the wide shouldered coats of their kind – and their faces were savagely intent, their weapons were raised as if all they wanted to do was to find something to smash, and to smash it. They had come in with such a rush that they hadn't seen the three men standing to receive them; but suddenly the liquid ammonia hissed out from the syringes and the sprays, striking at eyes and mouths and noses. One moment it looked as if the house would be wrecked by the attacking brutes; then they began to stagger and to fall and to squeal and to scream. Their weapons dropped, they put their hands to their eyes to try to stop the pain of the ammonia as it bit at them. One raised his voice to such a screaming pitch that it drowned all other sound.

Forbes stopped spraying.

‘That will be sufficient,' he announced firmly, and turned to Ada. ‘Are you all right, Miss Ada?' She looked at him silently and nodded, and he went straight towards the door. ‘Mr. Rollison advised us to shut the men in, and so make sure that they couldn't get away,' he said. ‘I will make sure that he is not hurt, and then—'

Before Forbes finished, two cars drew up in quick succession. The footsteps of running men sounded, and one car engine roared as the car spurted to catch up with the men. A car door opened, policemen jumped out and came running, and Rollison's voice sounded quite clearly and cheerfully: ‘Help yourselves inside, chaps. Don't worry about the constable, he's all right.'

 

Rollison helped the fallen policeman to his feet, and stood by while the men from the Flying Squad cars stormed into the house, their shadows thrown out on to the porch and the street. Another car had stopped at the far end of the square; the two look-out youths had been caught and were on their way back.

‘What's it all about?' demanded the constable, weakly.

‘Just a wrecking party,' Rollison said mildly. ‘The Jepsons must have upset someone. Sure you're all right?'

‘Lucky thing they didn't knock my helmet off first,' the constable said, ‘but I'm okay sir. Who are—' he peered into Rollison's face, and his eyes widened in a way which was so familiar. ‘Isn't it Mr. Rollison?'

‘Yes.'

‘Now I'm beginning to understand,' the constable said. ‘You're mixed up in it. No offence meant, sir!'

‘None taken,' said Rollison solemnly, and went into the house.

The smell of ammonia was so strong that it made him cough, and his eyes began to smart.

The Yard men seemed to be crying, too, and so did Forbes, the footman, the old man and Ada. The youths were standing, handcuffed and gasping for breath; all eight were lined up ready to go.

‘Now all we want is the Black Maria,' said Rollison brightly. ‘Eight more for the can, sergeant.' He recognised the plainclothes man in charge. ‘You'll want a statement, of course, and it's as simple as this …'

Half an hour later, the hall was almost free of the smell of ammonia, and that of a strong disinfectant helped to disguise it. The carpet was damp where it had been scrubbed, but there was no sign of damage anywhere; not even on the walls. The policemen and their prisoners had gone, Forbes and the other men were back in the domestic quarters, and Ada, her eyes still watering a little and her nose red where she had blown it so often, stood in front of Rollison and looked up at him, rather like an earnest canary.

‘Did you expect that raid when you came?' she demanded.

‘Didn't dream of one,' Rollison told her, and sipped a long, soft drink; all alcohol mixed badly with his ammonia-tainted palate. ‘Ada.'

‘Yes?'

‘You must know why they came.'

‘I haven't the faintest idea,' Ada assured him earnestly. ‘Why, it's absolutely crazy. What did they hope to gain by it?
I've
no enemies, and I'm sure Reggie hasn't. When he hears about this he'll come rushing back. I do hope it's all over before he arrives, he does take such chances. Not that taking chances makes it much more dangerous, I suppose; after all you take enough.' She said that quite flatly and factually. ‘I really can't believe the truth, Rolly, that they just came here to wreck the place. Apart from the wicked vandalism of it, it—it's
so pointless.
Who could hate us like that?'

Rollison eyed her thoughtfully, wondering if she was really as innocent and ignorant as she pretended. He doubted whether anyone else in the world would have suspected that she might be hiding something, for she looked so like a solemn child. He squeezed her arm, and said:

‘We're on the way to finding out. You know what I'd think if I weren't such a gullible beginner, don't you?'

‘
You?
A beginner? Don't make me laugh, Rolly, tell me what you'd think.'

‘That you didn't come and ask me to find out who had attacked Jimmy Jones because you were so worried about him, and wanted him avenged, but because you knew that this kind of thing might happen, and were anxious to find out who was behind it.'

She shook her head, briskly.

‘It might look like that, Richard, but it simply isn't true.'

He looked at her sceptically for a long time. She met his gaze without wilting, and gave no sign that he had touched her on a sore spot.

‘Why is Reggie away just now?' he asked abruptly.

‘I told you. He's having a holiday.'

‘Didn't he have any holiday this winter?'

‘I told you that too. But even if he had, he can have one in the summer and the autumn if he wants it.' She was quite sharp.

‘Do you know why he chose to go just now?'

‘No.'

‘When did you know he was going?'

‘Only a day or two before he left. I don't like this kind of cross-examination, Richard.'

‘I don't like people being beaten up,' Rollison said. ‘I don't like policemen being attacked on their beat. I don't like homes being wrecked—not even yours. I don't like young girls being terrified by hooligans who cut off their hair.' He went to the corner of the little room, bent down and picked up the two bricks with the tresses of hair tied to them, and saw Ada's eyes widen. Probably she had forgotten them, and had only just realised that he hadn't told the police about them. ‘In fact I don't like any part of this, Ada, and I want to know the truth. Why did Reggie go away?'

‘He was tired, he needed a rest! Must you keep calling me a liar?'

‘He's thirty-one years old and fighting fit, he had a month away in January—'

‘What business is that of yours?' Ada cried.

‘I'm trying to find out,' Rollison said. ‘Was he being menaced or frightened?'

‘No!'

‘Do you know that he wasn't, or are you just guessing?'

‘It's a ridiculous suggestion! I know that I asked you to try to find out who did that beastly thing to Jimmy Jones, but if you're going to make this kind of wild accusation, the quicker you withdraw from the case the better.'

‘I'm in it too deep to back out now,' Rollison said, and his voice was sharp and his expression almost accusing. ‘Let's have the truth, Ada. Why did Reggie run away?'

‘He didn't run away!'

‘He ran away and left you holding the baby, and you came to me hoping I might be able to take it from you.'

‘You're just making it up.'

‘I'm trying to make sense of the facts,' Rollison said. ‘And I'm trying to make you realise that it's no use holding anything back. What's Reggie done? What made him run? What are you covering up for?'

He thought she would fly at him.

Instead, she spoke in a very quiet voice, and with a dignity which sat surprisingly well upon her.

‘You are quite mistaken, Richard, and I'm sorry that I can't make you see it. My only purpose in asking you to find these men was to try to make sure that what had happened to Jimmy couldn't happen to anyone else. This attack here is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. If you won't believe that, there is nothing I can do about it. Now I hope you'll go. I'm feeling very tired.'

That was dismissal with a vengeance.

‘I'll go,' Rollison said, and weighed the bricks in each hand, the raven black tress hanging from his left, the fair one from the right. The lights in that were like spun gold, and the feel of the hair was silky and soft, as if he were touching the hair upon a woman's head. ‘Did you say that this forlorn love of Jimmy Jones's was golden-haired?'

‘Yes.'

‘Her name is Evelyn Day, and she's called Goldilocks. Do you know where she lives?'

‘As it happens, I do,' said Ada, coolly. ‘She was sick a few weeks ago, and I always write a card to sick members of the staff—I do it from here. Her address will be in my book.' She went to a writing cabinet, opened it, looked at a leather-bound address book, and then said: ‘She lives at 88 Chester Street, Ealing.'

‘Thanks,' said Rollison, more easily. ‘All right, Ada, I'll tell you when there's anything else to report.'

She didn't answer.

‘And I hope you'll tell me when you realise that it isn't any use dodging issues any longer,' Rollison went on. ‘It won't be long before the police start asking these same questions. Once they begin to wonder what is worrying Reggie, and why this house was selected, they won't be put off very easily.'

Ada said coldly: ‘There is nothing I can tell you, the police, or anyone.'

Rollison shrugged and nodded and turned away. Ada was still looking at him when he went out of the room, but not when he reached the front door. Forbes, with the precision of a good butler, was at the door to open it for him, to wish him a formal good night, and to watch him step into the lamplit square, into the fresh air, into the orbit of the two plainclothes men now watching the house. Rollison said good night to them as he went to his car. Opening the door, he wondered if this had been slashed, like the Rolls-Bentley.

It had not.

He let in the clutch and drove off, and was quite sure that no one followed him. It was early, but London seemed empty in these residential squares and also seemed ill-lit. Here were places for thieves to lurk, for wreckers to lie in wait, for vicious men to strike.

Where next?

Why the Jepsons' home?

Why had Reggie gone away with so little warning? That was an angle: to find out what he had been doing lately, whom he had mixed with, whether he had seemed scared of unknown dangers. For a while pride would stop Ada from talking, and it was possible that she really knew nothing. The fact that Rollison had upset her didn't greatly matter; the fact that she had shown how angry she was suggested that she might have a guilty conscience.

Rollison reached his flat.

Jolly should soon be back from taking Stella Wallis away, but now the flat was in darkness. The police still had a man in Gresham Terrace, but no one else was about. Rollison went upstairs, slowly and thoughtfully, trying to decide what he should do next.

If only he knew the motive; if only he could find the connection between the seven people – eight people now – whose homes and premises had been wrecked, and who could so easily have been ruined.

Was Donny Sampson the reason?

Rollison turned the key in the lock of his front door, opened the door a fraction, and listened intently; but he heard no sound. It would not be the first time that men had lain in wait for him, and he wanted to make sure that no one had avoided the police.

No one had.

As Jolly wasn't back, there were no messages, nothing to keep Rollison here, and there was plenty for him to do.

He went downstairs again, got into the hired car and proved that its acceleration was as good as the driver had promised. It was nearly ten o'clock, and Jolly had been gone a long time; but he mustn't start worrying about Jolly, who could look after himself.

Rollison drove to Chester Street, Ealing, where a light was on in the hall of Number 88. He rang. A man opened the door almost at once, stared at him in surprise, took a stubby pipe from his lips and said: ‘Thought it were our 'Arry,' in a voice that had been acquired on the broad Yorkshire moors.

‘Is Miss Evelyn Day in?' asked Rollison.

‘Who wants her?' There was sharp suspicion in the deep voice. ‘If you're another policeman …'

‘What have policemen been after her for?' demanded Rollison sharply.

Before the man could answer there were swift footsteps in the hall. A girl appeared, with a towel fastened turbanwise round her head. Her eyes were swollen and red with crying.

‘Why don't you find out who did it?' she cried. ‘Why don't you find my hair?'

 

She had been attacked coming home from the pictures, and held by two men while a third had cut off her hair.

 

Rollison turned into Gresham Terrace again, glanced up, and felt sure that he would see a light on in his living room, the sign that Jolly was home; but the window was dark. He saw the Yard man coming towards him.

‘Everything's quiet, sir, I don't think you'll have any more trouble with those devils.'

‘My man isn't back, then?'

‘Seen no one, sir, except the couple from the ground floor. They'd been out at the pictures, and they satisfied me as to their identity.'

‘Ah, thanks,' said Rollison, and walked briskly upstairs, leaving the car parked in Gresham Terrace, feeling much more uneasy than he looked. He had expected Jolly back just after nine o'clock at the latest. For the first time since seeing poor Goldilocks Day, he forgot her and her little tragedy.

He made cautious entry into the flat, checked the time with an electric clock, and looked worriedly at the telephone. It was twenty minutes past eleven, and Jolly would certainly have telephoned if this were an accidental delay.