The Toff and the Deadly Priest by John Creasey Read Free Book Online Page B

briber?”
    â€œWell, as a matter of fact,” said Kemp, less boisterously, “I felt a bit uneasy. He’s a funny customer, isn’t he? He went out breathing threats, and said he would give me forty-eight hours to change my mind. He also said you would have forty-eight, but I’m not particularly worried about you.”
    â€œSo he’s given a time limit, has he?” asked Rollison. “Don’t let yourself be caught napping any time during the next forty-eight hours. Did he have anything else to say?”
    â€œHave you thought of anything that might be the cause of the trouble?”
    â€œI’ve wracked my brains, but I can’t think of anything,” declared Kemp. “In fact, I don’t think there can”Of course there is,” interrupted Rollison. “How are the Whitings?”
    â€œThey’re all right. Those friends of yours have been to and from school with two of the youngsters. It was really funny this afternoon, one of the children is only eighteen months old, and Mrs. Whiting and the grandmother pushed him out to the shops, with two hefties walking behind them. It caused quite a sensation.”
    â€œGood!” said Rollison. “Publicity is always useful.”
    He omitted to say that Kemp’s spirits seemed to be much brighter, and asked: “Have you seen my man?”
    â€œThat glum looking fellow, what’s his name?”
    â€œJolly.”
    â€œWhat?” asked Kemp, incredulously, and then added hastily: “No, I haven’t seen him. Should he have come here?”
    â€œNo, it’s all right,” said Rollison.
    He rang down, after promising to see Kemp later. He was worried, but smiled from time to time when he thought of Keller’s offer. After setting his roughnecks on Kemp, attempted bribery was a climb-down – but it told him how seriously Keller intended to get rid of the curate.
    Ten minutes later, the telephone rang again. This time, Rollison heard his man’s prim voice.
    â€œGood evening, sir.”
    â€œWell, well!” said Rollison, and added sarcastically: “It’s nice of you to ring me.”
    â€œI’m sorry that I had no opportunity of telephoning earlier,” said Jolly, stolidly, “but my inquiries took me out of London, and I had to choose between continuing with them and advising you that I could not do so. I came to the conclusion—”
    â€œYes, you were right,” said Rollison, hastily. “Where are you now?”
    â€œIn Loughton, sir, near Epping Forest. I—” There was a short pause, before Jolly went on in a sharper voice: “I am quite all right, but I must go now. I will telephone again at the earliest opportunity. Goodbye, sir!”
    Rollison heard the receiver bang down.
    He sat contemplating the telephone for some time. It was rare that Jolly allowed himself to be hurried, and he had taken his time at the beginning of the conversation. Only one likely explanation presented itself – that Jolly was keeping watch on someone, who had reappeared sooner than he had expected. Reassured, Rollison did not waste time in more than passing speculation on what had taken Jolly to Loughton.
    He looked through the evening papers for an account of the murder of the previous night. It was tucked away on an inside page, and contained the statement that the murdered man’s name was O’Hara. Joseph Craik, of la, Jupe Street, had been charged with the murder and been remanded for eight days. Det. Sergeant Bray, of Scotland Yard, had made the arrest. Inspector Chumley, of the AZ. Division, was not so much as mentioned.
    â€œI suppose I shall have to find out what they’re doing sooner or later,” Rollison mused.
    Yet the more he pondered, the more determined he became to let the police make the first move. Craik would come to no harm while under remand – he might even be safer in Brixton than in his shop. Had