Accuse the Toff by John Creasey Read Free Book Online

do is to disturb you,’ Rollison assured the Superintendent with relish, ‘but do you use telephones in your sleep?’
    Grice grunted and over the line there came creaking noises as he turned over in bed and straightened up. Then he demanded to know what Rollison meant and finally said emphatically that he had not put through a call.
    â€˜That’s all I want to know,’ Rollison assured him. ‘Go back to Morpheus and give him my apologies and regrets.’
    Jolly, clad in a black overcoat, a muffler and a bowler hat, was waiting when he finished. Rollison lit another cigarette and said lightly: ‘Somewhere between here and the Yard things should happen. Keep at least twenty yards away from me but not much farther.
    â€˜Very good, sir,’ said Jolly inadequately.
    Rollison’s heart was beating fast with excitement as he stepped from the porch of the house and entered Gresham Terrace. This time no milk-van passed and there was silence in the street; no chink of light showed and it was too early for even the faintest trace of dawn. The air was piercingly cold and a keen wind was blowing from the north. Rollison clenched and unclenched his fingers inside his fur-lined gloves to keep them warm and supple. He walked cautiously at first, because of the blackout, but deliberately eschewed a torch for it would betray his presence too easily and, in his mind, there was the possibility of a shot being fired at him out of the blackout. No one would set such a trap without being ready to turn it to full advantage.
    His mind roamed. Someone knew of his interest in the affair and wanted him to leave the flat, baiting the trap as a message from Grice. One question raised itself above all others: who knew of his interest?
    The Jamesons all knew, of course; and possibly Bimbleton. Beyond that, no one could have an opportunity of knowing and he had little doubt that the news had been circulated through the Jamesons; it was too early to decide how it had been done; there would be time enough to learn that later. One fact did evolve; the ‘someone’ knew enough about him to fear that his intervention might lead to unwanted hindrances. He remembered how young Jameson had recognised him after a few minutes and knew that many others, familiar with the more sensational stories of crime in the Press, either remembered his photograph or could call it to mind. That was one of the penalties of his earlier enthusiasm, a youthful longing for publicity which had been amply satisfied but had become a disadvantage.
    He shrugged the thought aside and continued to walk slowly along the dark streets, turning into Piccadilly and keeping to the buildings opposite Green Park. A few taxis, buses and other vehicles were on the move and the steady tramp of feet came regularly. He heard people hurrying, often the light tap-tap-tap of a woman’s heels. His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and he could see vague shapes a yard or two away from him but recognised none; no one could possibly recognise him.
    He wondered whether Jolly was following satisfactorily and, outside the Piccadilly Hotel, paused long enough for the bowler-hatted figure to loom in ghostly silhouette against the insufficient lights of a bus.
    â€˜Close up a bit,’ said Rollison.
    â€˜Very good, sir,’ whispered Jolly.
    The presence of so many unseen people, the sound of movements divorced from sight of those who were making them and the awareness of the trap which might be sprung at any moment gave an eeriness to the walk which began to play on Rollison’s nerves. Near Trafalgar Square he paused again on the pavement of Whitehall and waited for Jolly who appeared rather clearer for the early dawn was lessening the blackness of the eastern sky.
    The one place where I’m sure to go is the Yard,’ said Rollison. ‘Whatever is coming will happen there.’
    â€˜Very likely, sir.’
    â€˜Look here,’ said Rollison