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

they’d—” He stopped, tongue-tied.
    Rollison’s eyes held a steely glint.
    â€œThe men who uttered menaces!” he murmured. “Whom did they threaten? Your children?”
    â€œYes!” Whiting gasped.
    â€œWe had to promise we wouldn’t help Mr. Kemp!” Mrs. Whiting cried. “We don’t want anything to happen to our children, Mr. Rollison!”
    â€œOf course you don’t, and nothing will,” Rollison assured her. “Why do they want to keep you away from church, Whiting? Do you know?”
    â€œThey – they only just told us that,” said Whiting, “but I think I know why. I was – I was with Joe Craik,” he added, with a nervous rush. “We was walking down to the hall together, and two men bumped into us. They went off, and Joe said they’d picked ’is pocket, but the only thing missing was his knife, he said, and he might have left that at his shop.”
    â€œGo on,” murmured Rollison.
    â€œWell, we hadn’t got much further on when three more were waiting for us, near the hall,” Whiting said, sending a troubled glance at the old woman in the corner, who clearly disapproved of his frankness. “They started leading off about Mr. Kemp. It wasn’t fair, the things they said – it just wasn’t fair. I didn’t want any trouble, but Joe answered back, and before we knew where we were, they was on us. We had to hit back,” Whiting added, defensively. “The police come, and one of them was on the pavement – I thought he’d knocked hisself out. Instead—”
    â€œHe warned you, didn’t he?” squeaked the old woman in the corner. “He told you wot would ’appen if you squealed!”
    â€œBe quiet, Ma,” pleaded Whiting.
    â€œHe told you—”
    â€œHold your tongue, mother!” Mrs. Whiting swung round on the older woman, surprisingly sharp-tongued. “We don’t want any nonsense from you! It wasn’t right to promise not to see Mr. Kemp. If it hadn’t been for you, Erny wouldn’t never have promised!”
    â€œIf they was my children—”
    Rollison smiled at the old crone and moved towards her.
    â€œNothing’s going to happen to the children, that’s a promise.” He surveyed her with his head on one side, compelling her to return his gaze. After a long pause, her expression relaxed; but her words were grudging.
    â€œIf you ses so, I suppose that’s all right.”
    â€œIt will be,” Rollison assured her, and turned to Whiting. “Have you told the police anything yet?”
    â€œNo,” said Whiting. “Joe told me to hop it, because we didn’t want no more trouble. It wasn’t until afterwards that I knew the chap on the ground was dead.”
    â€œDon’t you have nothing to do with the police!” protested the old woman.
    â€œThey’ll have to hear the story,” Rollison said, “but it might be wise for you not to go into details, Whiting. Leave it to me, will you?”
    â€œI really ought—” Whiting began, and then shrugged. “All right, Mr. Rollison. But what shall I say if they come?”
    â€œForget all about the first pair you met, and just tell the truth about the fight,” answered Rollison. “Kemp, will you stay here for half-an-hour?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œKeep the doors and windows shut,” Rollison said. “As soon as I’m back, everything will be all right.”
    He knew that Kemp was bursting to ask questions, but the curate showed admirable self-restraint. The old woman’s suspicious gaze was on Rollison as he went out of the room. He made sure that no one was about in the lane, then walked towards the corner of the street and along Jupe Street to a telephone kiosk. Before entering, he waited, listening intently, but he heard nothing.
    Soon, he was speaking to a man whose voice