The Toff and the Stolen Tresses Read Online Free PDF

he said, ‘and I couldn’t wish you more luck. It’s a brutal business. Apart from the violence, there’s the deliberate wrecking of homes. That old couple in Chelsea probably won’t recover from the shock. They’ve been married forty-one years, and among the things broken were some wedding presents. Everything they’d saved was in that house, and—phutt, they lost it in half an hour.’
    â€˜Insured?’
    â€˜No.’
    Rollison kept quiet for a moment, and then asked: ‘How many homes broken up like it?’
    â€˜Seven now.’
    â€˜So the newspapers got that right,’ murmured Rollison. ‘Bill, it isn’t often you welcome me with open arms. Were you hoping I might look in about this job?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Grice promptly. ‘In fact, I wanted to call and ask you to look in, but—’
    â€˜The boss said no,’ suggested Rollison, narrowing his eyes and putting his head on one side. ‘You want me in, you’ve got six similar cases on the record, you were at Middleton Street yourself within a few hours of the job being done, yet you couldn’t catch anyone. Add all that together, and I suspect you know who’s behind it but can’t pick him up.’
    â€˜Unofficially,’ said Grice, ‘you’re right.’
    â€˜Sure of him?’
    â€˜Them.’
    â€˜Who are they?’
    â€˜It will interest you to know that we checked up on Tiny Wallis and Mick Clay, but their alibis were so perfect that no one in his right mind would believe it. The court, judge and jury would have to accept it as evidence, though. That hint broad enough for you?’
    â€˜So gentle,’ mused Rollison. ‘Any idea why Jones was singled out?’
    â€˜No, and he swears he doesn’t know. He has a good reputation, and there’s no reason to think he’s lying.’
    â€˜Hm. The other six cases?’
    â€˜We’ve checked them all closely but haven’t found any connection, except that they’re indirectly associated with the firm of Jepsons,’ said Grice, ‘although I’m pretty sure there is another link. Every victim says he’s no idea why he was attacked. If they’re lying, we haven’t been able to prove it.’ He put his hand on a pile of manilla folders on the desk. ‘Here is a full account of every one, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t look at them. You could get the information from any newspaper office if you put your mind to it.’
    â€˜Thanks for saving me the trouble,’ murmured Rollison. ‘May I …?’
    He studied the cases for nearly an hour, and when he left Grice’s office, did not go straight to Gresham Terrace. At the wheel of a demure grey and cream Rolls-Bentley, at that juncture his favourite motor car, he drove along the Embankment, the narrow thronged streets of the City, and through the noisy, bustling brashness of the East End. He attracted more and more attention the poorer the neighbourhood, and was making people gape by the time he reached the Blue Dog, in the Mile End Road. It was nearly one o’clock. When he went into the saloon bar of the pub, leaving the magnificent motor car outside, a throng of boys and youths promptly surrounded it, and a policeman kept a protective eye on it from a corner.
    Behind the bar was an enormous man wearing pincenez, serving pints of beer in pewter tankards and half pints in glasses, while a youth and a little man with a twisted nose served drinks at the other end; and with the drinks, pork pies, cheese rolls and sandwiches. Everything was normal and everyone seemed to be talking at once when the door opened to admit Rollison. From the moment he entered, the silence was so complete that the big man, Bill Ebbutt, looked up to see what it was all about. He was near-sighted, and peered intently before recognising Rollison. Then he gave an expansive grin, and rumbled: