“How long have you known him?”
“Six months—just six months.”
“Has he ever talked about himself and what he did before that?”
“Of course. I think I know almost as much about him as he knows about himself. He wasn’t demobilised until two years after the war and he spent a year studying printing. His family are nearly all printers. But there wasn’t scope for him in the family business and he wasn’t satisfied with their old-fashioned methods anyhow, so he got this job outside. He’s good at it, you know, he’s no fool.”
“I’ll grant that,” said Rollison. “Did he know anyone from the East End of London?”
“I don’t think so—not well, anyhow. Why?”
“It could matter.”
“Well, the works are at Wembley and of course he had business all over London, so he’d know customers in the East End. I hadn’t given it much thought but I think he spent one day a week in that district—or part of a day. Bethnal Green and Whitechapel mostly, I believe. You could get all the details from the works.”
“Who’s managing the works now?” asked Rollison.
“The directors. The man I saw told me that they wouldn’t replace Jim yet but that was nearly a month ago when I went to see if they knew anything about him. The police hadn’t questioned me then and I couldn’t understand what had happened to him.”
“Do you remember the name of the man you saw there?”
“Yes,” said Judith. “Arthur Dimond. I— What’s the matter?” She looked alarmed when Rollison began to choke on a sandwich. “Have I said anything startling?”
“You’ve said plenty,” said Rollison, very softly, “and you’ve proved me a dumbwit, Punch! I haven’t given half enough attention to the business side. Dimond—without an “a”?”
“Yes. I know because it’s on the letter-heading of the company. Mr Dimond looked after another company and didn’t spend much time at Wembley. Is it important?”
“It might be,” said Rollison. “Have some coffee.”
* * *
Arthur Dimond was a director of Jim Mellor’s firm. Flash Dimond had been the leader of the gang Mellor was later supposed to lead. Coincidence could hardly stretch as far as that.
* * *
Judith said: “No, thanks, I couldn’t eat any more. They were delicious.”
She looked almost sorrowfully at the few sandwiches left on the dish.
It was a quarter of an hour since she had named Arthur Dimond and she had answered many more questions since, most of which Rollison had put absently as he thought of this new angle. He had certainly not probed deeply enough into Mellor’s recent past. But the police weren’t blind: they must have noticed the name Dimond on that letter-heading. “Cigarette?”
The telephone bell rang as Rollison held out his case. He put the case in her hand and dropped a lighter by her side, then went to the telephone. “Rollison speaking.”
“Jolly, sir,” said Jolly. “I’m speaking from a call-box near the Oxford Palace Hotel. I thought I ought to communicate with you at once.”
“Yes?”
“A woman answering Miss Arden’s description has called three times to see Waleski, sir, and she’s just come again. Would it be wise for me to follow her?”
“Not just wise—an act of genius,” said Rollison. “But I’ll want to take over as soon as I can get there. Let me know where she goes, especially if she’s likely to stay there any length of time.”
“Very good, sir,” said Jolly.
* * *
What to do with Judith and what to advise her to do? That was the most urgent problem. Was it safe to let her return to her rooms? Reason said “yes,” instinct “no.” There was no indication of danger for her yet; but the comrades of Waleski weren’t likely to give much notice of their next move. They would want to hurt him and might decide that could best be done through Judith. She wouldn’t be able to stand much more.
Judith decided to wash up.
“Jolly will never forgive you,” said Rollison, “but carry on with the good work.”
He carried the tray into the kitchen for her, told her she would find an infinite variety of make-up in the spare room, left her puzzling why he should keep cosmetics here and went back to the telephone. He dialled a Victoria number and was not kept waiting.
“Grice speaking.”
Rollison made his voice gruff.
“Sorry to worry you, sir, but that there Torf ‘as bin up to ‘is tricks again.”
“Who is—Oh, Roily, you fool.” Grice was still friendly judging from his tone. “Where’s Mellor?”
“Hoodwinking everyone like fun. I’m more interested in his girl-friend. Are you having her flat watched?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to send her home. I don’t think it would be good for her to stay at this den of iniquity and I’m not sure that she’ll be safe alone.”
“Any reason for saying that?”
“A bump of caution but nothing logical, Bill. Waleski was watching her place and someone did nearly strangle her. Talking of the comrade—”
“We’re talking about the girl. You can safely let her go home. You’ll find a sergeant in Gresham Terrace and he’s there to follow her. She’ll be all right.”
“Thanks,” said Rollison. “Sworn that warrant for my arrest yet?”
“No,” said Grice. “We’ve decided that Waleski’s been lying and there isn’t a case but we could change our minds. If you run riot I shall let you cool your heels at Cannon Row for a night or two. That’s clear enough, isn’t it?”
“As crystal. I repeat—what are you doing with Waleski?”
“Letting him go. He’s a licence for the gun and says he drew it in self-defence and didn’t use it.”
“Very subtle,” said Rollison. “You, I mean, letting him go and, I trust, keeping tabs on him. You now need two men to take care of Judith Lome and heaven help you if you let her down. And four to follow Waleski. Bill, I think it’s time we put our heads together.”
“If we don’t, you’ll get yours broken. I didn’t expect you to take much notice of me but, if you play the fool, I won’t give you an inch.”
“This isn’t one of my good days,” sighed Rollison. “No one loves me, no one believes a word I say. When I know Mellor is safely out of your reach I’ll come and see you.”
He rang off, without giving Grice a chance to reply, and turned to find Judith coming in; a grave-faced Judith.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“A wise old bird, my poppet. You’re going home. The police are going to make sure that no one worries you, not because they think anyone will try but because they think Mellor might come to you. If they ask more questions, tell them not a word more than you have already. Refer them to me for everything else. And remember” —he was serious now— “that if you do say too much it might spoil Jim’s only chance.”
“I won’t spoil anything,” she promised.
He went downstairs with her and spoke to the CID man on duty, putting Judy into his charge. The girl looked small and slender beside the burly detective. The sleep and food had refreshed and encouraged her and she held her head high.
Rollison went thoughtfully back to the flat and, as he reached the landing, heard the telephone ringing. He slammed the door behind him and spoke into the extension in the hall.
“Hallo.”
“It is Jolly again, sir,” said Jolly. “This time from the hotel. Waleski has returned and both he and the woman have gone to his room— Number 607. There is every indication that they will be there for some time.”
Rollison said: “Oh,” and then was silent for so long that Jolly prompted him with a courteous: “Are you still there, sir?”
“Yes, Jolly. Tell me, out of the depths of your understanding of human nature, do you think there is even a remote chance that Comrade W and mademoiselle are lovebirds?”