Not so Butch. If he had known that Susan was going to take him to Cornelius’ body he might have been less cautious, but all he knew was that, for some odd reason, this girl, who was in mortal dread of Rollo, had unexpectedly appeared and Rollo and she were going off somewhere. In the distance he could see Susan’s slim figure moving towards Constitutional Hill. A few yards behind her were Rollo and Long Tom, a few yards behind them was another figure which had appeared from out of the shadows. Butch suddenly went cold. He recognized the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Detective Sergeant Adams. Butch had made it his business to know every police officer in his locality and he prided himself that he could spot them at any time of the night and day.
Automatically his hand groped for his gun, but as soon as his fingers closed over the cold butt, he knew the danger and uselessness of such an action. Moving like a shadow, he came out of his hiding place and tailed on behind Adams. His immediate reaction was to warn Rollo that this copper was tailing him, but how? Then he decided that it might be a good thing if the copper pinched Rollo. It would give Butch a chance to get away with the money.
Rollo, in the meantime, unaware that Adams was behind him, kept after Susan. She had passed Buckingham Palace and was now walking towards Sloane Square. By this time the streets were deserted and Rollo and Long Tom did not bother to conceal the fact that” they were following the girl.
Adams had a far more difficult time. But he was experienced and not once did he allow himself to be caught far from a doorway or cover of some kind. But Rollo did not look round. This surprised Adams, as he expected that an old hand like Rollo would always be on his guard against detection.
Adams had immediately recognized Rollo. The sight of the great, bulky figure had set his heart racing. There must be something up, he decided. If Rollo was mixed up in this business, and it was obvious that he was, then it looked as if Adams had a case for which he had been waiting.
From time to time, Adams glanced back to make sure that he was not being followed, but Butch was ready for that. He slunk along in the shadows, invisible in his black suit and black hat. He hugged the wall, stepped from shop doorway to shop doorway and took great care how he turned a corner.
So they went on; and it seemed to Rollo that Susan would go on walking for days and days. His great frame sagged and sweated as he lumbered along. He had never walked so far in his life and he longed for the comfort of his car. Long Tom, shuffling along at his side, was secretly enjoying the sight of Rollo’s exhaustion.
“She don’t ‘alf like ‘er walk,” he muttered, unable to hold his tongue.
“Blimey! At this rate, she’ll be in Brighton in no time.”
Rollo snarled at him. If she did walk to Brighton, he would follow her. If he had to crawl on his hands and knees he would be there. Wasn’t she leading him to three million pounds?
“ ‘Ullo,” Long Tom said. “She’s stopping again.”
Rollo moved into the shadows, pulling Long Tom with him. Twenty yards further back, Adams stepped quickly into a doorway. Ten yards further back, Butch flattened himself against the wall.
Susan had paused. She hesitated for a moment or so and then disappeared down the alley.
“This is it,” Rollo said and stepped forward quickly. He almost ran to the mouth of the alley. As soon as he convinced himself that it was a cul-de-sac, he turned to Long Tom. “Go back and get the car. Hurry. There’s not a moment to lose. I’ll handle her, but we must have the car.”
Long Tom began to grouse. “Wot, walk all the way back? Blimey, guv’nor, ‘ave a ‘eart. Me dogs are achin’ somethin’ crool.”
“Do what I say,” Rollo said, a vicious look jumping into his little eyes.
“Orl right,” Long Tom returned and walked hurriedly back the way he had come.
Adams saw him coming, but he had no time to get out of sight, so he continued towards Long Tom, his head bent and his hands in his pockets. Long Tom had no great interest in the police. He had not made a study of them as Butch had, so he passed Adams without even a glance. .
Butch ducked into a doorway as he saw Long Tom approach. Should he tell Long Tom about Adams? Should they both go back and finish Adams and then help Rollo? He shook his head. He didn’t trust Long Tom. He was Rollo’s man. If Rollo knew about Celie, he would twist Butch out of his share. No, it would be better to get Long Tom out of the way and then settle Adams and then Rollo.
Jack Fresby opened his front door, entered and hung his bowler hat on the hallstand. He yawned and walked into his small sitting room. His back ached from his exertions of carrying the heavy trunk. After Susan had run away, he had gone back and made a good job of Cornelius. It had been a gruesome task, but if he was to get some money out of this business it was no use letting anyone find the body until he was ready to negotiate terms.
He went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. The little house was quiet.
Except for the daily charwoman, no one came
near Fresby. He had lived alone now for more than five years and had grown accustomed to looking after himself. He was not a sociable sort of person. Fortunately for him, the next door house was empty and on the other side was a large vacant building lot. Fresby’s only companion was a thin, ginger cat which now came in through the open window and began to twine itself round Fresby’s legs.
“There you are,” Fresby said, looking down at the cat affectionately. “I’ve got something for you. A bit of fish. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
As the kettle boiled, Fresby collected a cup and saucer and prepared the tea.
He carried the tea into the front room and sat down limply in the big armchair. The springs creaked under his weight, but tonight he didn’t care about the gradual wearing out of his furniture. With five hundred pounds, he could leave the country. He had wanted to leave the country since that ghastly night when had had dragged Vera Small’s body down into the basement and buried it. He sipped his tea. Mustn’t think about that, he told himself. It did no good.
There were other things to think about. His mind wandered, like groping tentacles, in the grime of eroticism. He thought of Susan and his big, flaccid hands grew damp.
To think that he had her alone in that empty house. What a fool he had been to miss such an opportunity.
Then suddenly he stiffened. What was that? He listened and a light knock came again on his front door. He glanced at the cheap little alarm clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly half-past twelve. Who could it be? he wondered, frowning.
No one ever came near except the milkman, the newspaper boy and the charwoman. He waited. Perhaps whoever it was would realize that this was the wrong house and go away. But again the knock sounded, louder and impatient.
Muttering to himself, Fresby walked into the little hall and opened the front door.
“Are you alone?” Celie asked, stepping into the light.
Fresby stared at her. She made a striking picture, dressed as she was in a three-quarter white coat, a highwaisted skirt of midnight blue barathea and a black and white turban.
“Hello,” he said, aware that his voice had become husky. “Did you want to see me?”
She looked at him, her great eyes uneasy and watchful.
“Yes. You know who I am?”
He nodded. “It’s Mademoiselle Celie, isn’t it?”
“Can I come in?”
He stood aside and as she walked past him, the smell of her perfume made him feel weak.
“In here,” he said, trying to steady his voice. What did she want? he asked himself. What would Rollo think if he knew she had come here—or had he sent her?
Celie was now standing in the shabby little room, her back to the fireplace.
Fresby waved his hand to the bartered armchair. “Won’t you sit down?” he said awkwardly. “I apologize for the squalor; not what you’re used to, I’m sure.”