Accuse the Toff Read Online Free PDF

Jameson himself who interrupted their protests, eyeing Rollison with a sudden new interest, frowning a little but speaking with an eager note in his voice.
    â€˜Just a minute, mother. Would you mind telling me your name, sir?’
    â€˜Rollison,’ said the Toff, and waited.
    â€˜I thought so,’ said Jameson, softly, and there was a gleam in his eyes, eagerness in his expression. ‘I’ve read a lot about you, sir, of course. Who hasn’t? I’ll come with you gladly. It’ll be all right, mother,’ he went on quickly. ‘You’ve heard me talk of Mr. Rollison. The Toff.’ He uttered the soubriquet a little hesitantly, bringing a smile to Rollison’s lips and a gasp of surprise from the old man.
    Jameson, not Rollison, won the parents over to make no further protest, except that Mrs. Jameson refused to let him leave without his dinner. She made so bold, she said, as to wonder if Colonel Rollison would care to share their humble meal. Rollison, mildly amused at the irony of the situation, feeling for the old folk, partly convinced of Jameson’s sincerity and yet reserving final judgment on him, gladly joined them. The meal was as appetising as its aroma had promised and he did no more than justice to it while wondering what the police outside would have said had they known the whole truth.
    Outside, the police were still dragging the canal.
    Jameson passed them without comment. Nor did he speak while they walked to the trams which ran nearby and boarded one for the nearest station. He was silent on the journey, also, and his first comment, except for odd, irrelevant remarks, came when their taxi drew up outside the doors of Scotland Yard.
    â€˜What am I wanted for, sir?’
    â€˜I don’t know that you’re wanted yet,’ said Rollison. ‘In any case, if you’ve told the truth you’re all right.’ He led the way to the waiting-room then asked Jameson to stay there until he was sent for. In the passage outside Rollison called a constable aside and asked him to make sure the other man did not leave then hurried along to Grice’s office; the fact that he was persona grata at the Yard had rarely been more useful.
    He tapped on Grice’s door and put his head into the room. Grice was speaking into the telephone but glanced up and, when he saw the caller, beckoned him with his free hand. He continued speaking for some seconds then replaced the receiver and pushed the instrument away from him with a sigh.
    â€˜Aliens, aliens, nothing but aliens,’ he complained. ‘My life is a nightmare with ’em. It doesn’t matter what job we’re on, the Alien Laws crop up somewhere and there are times when I could do violence to the authors of 18B!’ He smiled wryly and his mood altered. ‘But never mind that, Rollison, I’ve some news about the shooting. The War Office has done a remarkably good job this time.’
    â€˜Be careful,’ warned Rollison. ‘Remember I adorn it. What have they done?’
    â€˜Traced the gun back to its owner,’ said Grice. ‘Or lessee, as the case may be. A Thomas Martin Jameson at Canal Cottage, Wembley.’ The Superintendent’s eyes were creased as he went on: ‘You were right on his doorstep, Rolly. There’s the car stranded nearby and a Commando living on the spot, one whose gun was used last night. I’ve put out a call for Jameson, of course, and his home will be visited this afternoon. We may find the explanation the simple one. Well, now—what did you find?’ added Grice. ‘It isn’t a day I’d choose to walk along the canal for the sake of it.’
    Rollison put his head on one side.
    â€˜Cancel the call for Jameson,’ he urged. ‘I have him with me, together with a story that fits all the questions we’ve been asking ourselves.’ He paused long enough to survey and enjoy Grice’s expression of sheer