The Toff and the Deadly Priest Read Online Free PDF Page A

spoke to the darkness, for Rollison had disappeared, soundlessly.
    Rollison hurried to the end of the lane, then along Jupe Street to a narrow alley. There were tiny gardens here, back and front, for Jupe Street had been built when some measure of enlightenment had permeated Victorian minds, and even East Enders had been allowed room in which to breathe.
    There was no gateway to the alley.
    Rollison counted the wooden gates as he passed, shining his torch until he reached Number 49. He put it out, and opened a gate noisily. He left it open, and walked with heavy tread for a few yards, then switched off his torch and went on again stealthily, counting the houses by their roofs outlined against the star-lit sky. He stopped at Number 47.
    He thought he heard voices.
    The back gate was open, and he heard a man stirring – as if he were waiting inside the tiny yard, and getting impatient. Soon, a door opened and a sliver of light showed. It disappeared as the door closed.
    â€œOkay?” a man asked, softly.
    â€œI’ve scared the lights out of them,” said another, in a cultured voice which carried a hint of laughter. “They won’t go to church in a hurry!”
    Rollison stood in the doorway as the men approached, holding his torch in front of him. As they drew within a yard or two of him, walking side by side, he switched on the torch, and the dazzling light brought them abruptly to a standstill.
    â€œAnd which of you is Mr. Keller?” inquired Rollison, politely.
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CHAPTER FOUR
The Men Who Uttered Menaces
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    â€œDon’t make the mistake of moving,” continued Rollison, without a pause, “because I’ve brought a gun with me. Which of you is Keller?” he repeated.
    Neither of them moved. Probably they realised that if they doubled back into the house, they would do little good; more likely, they were afraid that he really had a gun. The light of his torch showed their hands as well as their faces.
    The taller of the two was well-dressed and good-looking with short, dark hair and a heavy moustache. He was hatless, and wore an open-necked shirt. Obviously he was the man with the cultured voice. The other, shorter and thick-set, had a pugnacious but not an evil face – he was very different from the ex-prize-fighter and Spike Adams. His large eyes stood the light better than his companion, and he was the first to speak.
    â€œwho the hell are you?” His voice was rough but not Cockney.
    â€œA friend of Kemp,” answered Rollison.
    â€œIf you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell Kemp to clear out,” growled the thick-set man. “He’s not wanted here.”
    â€œSo I gathered when Spike Adams tried to beat him up,” said Rollison. “The Rev. Kemp is tougher than you realise.”
    â€œI’ve warned him,” the man growled.
    â€œAre you Keller?”
    â€œNever mind who I am!”
    â€œI don’t think we understand each other,” said Rollison, mildly. “I’m helping Kemp, who is here to stay. Anyone who tries to get rid of him will run into much more trouble than he expects.”
    â€œAnyone who helps Kemp will be lucky if he doesn’t get his neck broken,” said the thick-set man.
    Then, with one accord, they jumped at him.
    Rollison was prepared for the rush. He switched off his torch, stepped to one side, and shot out his foot. The simple method worked. The thick-set man fell heavily, and the other tripped over him, gasping. Rollison drew away, not certain that the worst was over. The night’s silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching from both directions.
    He slipped into the yard of the house next door, and stood by the gate. The men on the ground picked themselves up, muttering, as a newcomer drew up.
    â€œYou okay?” he asked, hoarsely.
    â€œYes,” grunted the thick-set man. “If I come across that man again, I’ll break his neck!” He