Accuse the Toff (4 page)

 

‘I don't say anything,' said Grice, after a long pause. ‘I'm coming up for breath.' He eased his collar, leaned forward and implored: ‘Tell me exactly what happened. I'm still trying to understand how you made contact with Jameson at all.'

Rollison told the story concisely while Grice made shorthand notes. As he talked, Rollison found his belief in Jameson strengthening at the same time as the case against the youngster appeared to harden. When he finished the recital he went on without a noticeable pause: ‘Items to check: (a) What pub did Jameson go to? (b) Did he inquire about any lost equipment? (c) Who drank with him there? Answer those and you may be a long way on the road to solving the case. What is your reaction now?'

Slowly Grice rubbed his chin.

‘I wouldn't like to say,' he admitted. ‘I haven't your simple faith in the young man but I may be more inclined that way when I've seen him. He is here, isn't he?'

‘He's here.' Rollison glanced at his watch. ‘By George, it's nearly three. Be a kind soul and deal gently with Jameson for the time being, won't you? Oh—will you be here tonight?'

‘What time do you mean?' demanded Grice.

‘Around ten.'

‘Probably I'll be here,' said Grice glumly, ‘and if not you can get me at home. You must go, I suppose? I'd prefer you to have a word with Jameson with me.'

‘Confound it, the war must go on,' declared Rollison, getting up and stepping to the door. ‘But just at the moment, and for no reason at all, I'm holding a watching brief for Jameson. I'll be seeing you,' he promised, and hurried out.

He left Superintendent Grice frowning at the closed door and Grice was still frowning when Rollison opened it again to say: ‘Did I tell you that he's in the waiting-room?'

Grice nodded.

Rollison reached his office to find two reproachful assistants waiting; some minor correspondence had been sorted and there was an air of suspended animation in the room. On the short journey from the Yard he had considered both Jameson's story and the probability that Grice suspected him of knowing more than he admitted; he put all contemplation of the affair out of his mind while he dealt with a welter of detail concerning mysterious matters of material and equipment in the mass.

One of the inevitable consequences of a large and widely dispersed army was that equipment was often in places where it should not be and urgently wanted where it should be. The greater part of the discrepancies were accidental; but some were deliberate and a thoughtful War Office had decided that Rollison was just the man to handle the cases of pilfering and/or major thefts within the various commands.

At five o'clock he had some tea in the office and dictated letters while drinking it. At half-past six he had five minutes to spare and wished that he had been back at the office at two o'clock promptly; as a consequence of the delay he would be lucky to get away before half-past ten and the ‘staff' was still silently reproachful. Both girls were in their small ante room and two typewriters were going at full speed when the door opened and a tall, very fat man entered and closed the door with a bang. His uniform rode uneasily about his
embonpoint
and his trousers were too tight and too short.

Rollison affected to start.

‘That's right, make me more jumpy than I am,' he protested. ‘In a search for a few odd million rounds of ammunition which should be in Berkshire but aren't, some noises off are helpful. Bimble, may I resign?'

Lt Colonel d'Arcy Bimbleton uttered a deep, rolling chuckle and followed with an unequivocal ‘no'.

‘Thanks,' said Rollison sardonically. ‘In that case, don't come in and gloat because you're just going home and I shall be in this benighted sarcophagus for the next four hours.'

Bimbleton sat on the corner of Rollison's desk, his smile disappearing.

‘I've often wondered just what is a sarcophagus,' he said earnestly. ‘You don't happen to know, do you?'

‘It's a coffin,' declared Rollison ghoulishly. ‘Made of a stone that eats your flesh away as you lay in it. Don't stay here too long, Bimble, or you'll have to be refitted and refurnished.'

‘Is it, by Jove!' exclaimed Bimbleton, sticking to the point. ‘Interesting ideas some people have. Seriously, will you be late tonight? I thought you might like some snooker.'

‘I shall be very late,' said Rollison firmly.

‘It's partly your own fault,' Bimbleton told him. ‘I know you weren't back from lunch until after three o'clock. I was here about three. Nothing that mattered, your girl fixed me up. Useful little girl, by the way, she—'

‘Has no time for affairs of heart,' declared Rollison. ‘She's already engaged to a handsome young Flight Lieutenant.' He leaned back in his chair and put his head on one side before he added thoughtfully: ‘What chance do you think I have of getting a week's leave?'

Bimbleton started, aghast, considered for a while, then very slowly and deliberately declared that Rollison would probably get it if he asked for it; only a lunatic would ask at the present juncture and lunatics were not in demand. Bimbleton continued in that strain until a typist brought in letters for Rollison's signature. When she had gone he removed his bulk from the desk and said offhandedly: ‘As a matter of fact, Rolly, I looked in to ask you why you were at the Yard this morning. Saw you go in. Any connection between that and you wanting to leave? No? I'm not curious,' added Bimbleton hurriedly, seeing the gleam in Rollison's eyes. ‘I just wondered, that's all. Cheerio, old man, I won't delay you. So long!' He raised a hand, and inserted himself into the narrow aperture to which he opened the door and then peered smilingly back. ‘You know where to come if you want any help.'

‘I wonder how many others saw me go there?' murmured Rollison as the door closed and he pulled the sheaf of letters towards him.

Just before ten o'clock his desk was clear and the typists were dabbing powder on their faces before venturing into the blackout. They stopped as Rollison entered the ante room but he signalled to them to go on; they finished sketchily as Rollison said: ‘If everyone here did as good a job as you two, we'd have a lot to be thankful for. Good night.'

He did not hear their flattering remarks as they hurried together along the passages but sat back in his chair and deliberated on the wisdom of going to see Grice. He was tired and his eyes were heavy. He locked his desk, deferring a decision on whether to go to the Yard or to the flat; eventually the flat won but he felt too jaded to wonder seriously whether Jolly had had a fruitful morning at Chiswick, deciding that in all likelihood it had been a waste of time. Stripped of irrelevancies, adornments, romancing and improbability, the situation resolved itself to elementary simplicity. Young Jameson had been scared of returning to his unit, had drunk himself to a state of dt's, gone berserk, realised and repented it and also recovered sufficiently to present a good story.

When Rollison learned from Jolly that the mission to Chiswick had indeed been fruitless and that the man Ibbetson had added nothing to what the papers reported, Rollison decided that the elementary simplicity was on the mark, consoled himself with a weak whisky-and-soda and regaled Jolly with the story of the midday adventure, followed by his conclusions.

Jolly heard him out, kept silent for some seconds afterwards and then declared flatly: ‘You'll feel better in the morning, sir. Do you think an early night is advisable?'

Rollison eyed him severely.

‘And just what inspired that remark, Jolly?'

‘It was just a passing comment,' Jolly assured him smoothly. ‘Your eyes look very heavy, sir; I think perhaps you're sickening for a cold. Shall I put a hot water bottle in your bed?'

‘Not tonight, nor any night,' said Rollison roundly. ‘What you mean is that if Jameson is the man it's all too simple. I suppose it is. See if Grice is in the office, will you?

Jolly telephoned the Yard and then Grice's Fulham home; the Superintendent was at neither place. Dissatisfied with himself, disgruntled and at heart wondering whether a hot water bottle would not have been a good idea after all, Rollison was in bed by half-past eleven and asleep before midnight.

He was aware of a disturbance in the flat some time afterwards but so long had passed since disturbances necessarily meant trouble that he did not force himself to wakefulness until there was a tap on the door and Jolly asked in a whisper: ‘Are you awake, sir?'

‘Er—just about,' mumbled Rollison. ‘What's the matter? Can't we have some light?' He saw a glow from the other room but Jolly went softly across the bedroom, closed the window and then drew the blackout curtains before returning to the door and switching on the light.

‘I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but nothing I could say would satisfy Mr. Grice.'

‘Grice?' Rollison exclaimed. ‘Here?'

‘No, sir. At the Yard. He telephoned and asked if you could go over to see him at once.'

‘
Confound
the man!' exclaimed Rollison. ‘He would choose the middle of the night. Did he say why?'

‘No, sir. And it's nearly seven o'clock. I'll make some tea,'Jolly added hurriedly, ‘and a little toast might be acceptable, in case you don't have time to get back for breakfast.'

Jolly closed the door with a snap while Rollison hitched himself up on his pillows, frowned, grew rapidly more curious about the summons from Grice and dressed quickly.

It was cold in the small alcove in spite of an electric fire glowing; the cold spell showed no signs of slackening. Rollison noticed it more because he had climbed out of bed too quickly and had not yet warmed through. Before putting on a collar and tie he shaved and washed in the radiator-heated bathroom.

Jolly had prepared scrambled egg and toast and apologised because the egg was powdered. Rollison nodded, still feeling jaded and conscious of a cold nearer development than it had been the previous night. When he had finished eating he glanced at his watch, then glared at Jolly.

‘Confound you, it's only a quarter to seven now.'

‘Is it, sir?' asked Jolly, concerned. ‘Something must be the matter with my watch. I quite thought it was much later. These dark mornings make it so difficult to estimate the time,' he continued glibly. ‘Why, it must have been nearly six, not seven, when the Superintendent telephoned.'

‘I'll deal with you later,' said Rollison heavily, annoyed with himself because a triviality loomed so large. He lit a cigarette and Jolly reappeared with his greatcoat, hat and gloves: the hat was a different one from that damaged in the canal. Rollison donned the greatcoat gladly and looked forward to walking to the Yard; nothing would warm and freshen him more than that. He nodded to Jolly and went out; Jolly, smiling paternally, closed the door as his footsteps echoed down the stairs.

At the foot of the stairs Rollison paused.

A moroseness and a lack of enthusiasm, greater than the mild deception really deserved, possessed and puzzled him. He felt that something which he had not seen should be obvious, that there was a piece in the puzzle clearly out of place. Indeterminately he stood in the porch and peered into the darkness of the morning. The lights of a milkman's van passed and he heard the rattle of bottles.

Abruptly he snapped his fingers and turned about.

He re-entered the flat, surprising Jolly at clearing the breakfast-table but too full of the fresh idea to take pleasure out of Jolly's surprise. Stepping to the telephone, he asked: ‘What time did Grice call us, Jolly?'

‘Well, sir, in view of my error, it must have been in the neighbourhood of five-forty-five.'

‘Call it that,' said Rollison, dialling a number. ‘He wasn't at home or at the Yard at half-past eleven, which meant that he wasn't likely to be in bed before one o'clock. More or less,' added the Toff hastily, to prevent argument. ‘He went to bed too late to be up and bright soon after five o'clock but must have been up in time to get to the Yard and telephone us when he did.' He explained no more but dialled again, this time getting a response from the Yard. ‘Give me Superintendent Grice, please.'

‘I don't think he's in yet, sir,' said the operator. ‘If you'll hold on a moment I'll find out. Is that Colonel Rollison?'

‘That's right,' said Rollison and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Jolly, I remembered only just in time that telephone calls are always open to question. Hallo … you're sure he's not in? … all right, find out for me whether anyone from the Yard telephoned me about an hour and a quarter ago, will you?' He waited again while Jolly approached and stood silent with obvious concern, until the operator said convincingly: ‘No one has called you from here, sir.'

‘Right-oh, thanks,' said Rollison and replaced the receiver. As he regarded Jolly there was a fresh light in his eyes and he was no longer conscious of depression or moroseness. ‘Jolly, we nearly fell for it. Get a hat and coat and follow me at a reasonable distance.' As he spoke he dialled another number, this time waiting much longer for a reply which came with the sleepy voice of a man just awakened.

‘Grice speaking,' announced the voice.

‘The last thing in the world I want to 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.

‘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.