“Oh, only a few minutes,” Ada looked up at him intently, and the light from the lamps outside put an added sparkle into her eyes. “You mean, let them rush in and then have the sprays ready to greet them?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, goody!” Ada exclaimed, and swung round; her voice came from the doorway, a wraith of sound, “I’ll fix it.”
Rollison did not move at once, but saw two of the men move from the back of the car, and approach the house. He wondered if they were losing patience, and were going to force their way in. They disappeared. He heard a whisper of voices, and some words came clearly.
“. . . couldn’t’ve heard it.”
“They were in the room, weren’t they?”
“Saw their shadows,” a man said.
“They might’ve gone out, might be another door,” the first man guessed. “Give ‘em two or three minutes, and we’ll chuck another couple’ve bricks. I—what’s that?”
A car had turned into the square, and headlights raked the roadway and the pavement, then flashed past.
“There’s a rozzer,” one of the men breathed. “Wait till he’s past.”
“Okay, Walk round the square.”
“Okay.”
Rollison saw two of them appear again, and knew that they were as nervous as they could be in case they ran into the police. He could not see the policeman they had noticed, but silently blessed him as he made his rounds. The shadowy figures were lost against the darkness between the lamps, except for two youths whom Rollison saw clearly for the first time. They were probably in their late teens. This wasn’t the time to think about it, but Wallis and Clay had shown much cleverness by marshalling the Teddy Boys behind them; making use of hooligans who were always spoiling for a fight.
Or someone had been clever.
Rollison heard the policeman walking stolidly, and saw him draw close to the house. It was possible that he would notice the broken windows, and if he did—
He stopped.
His torchlight pointed towards the windows, and Rollison could see the glow but not the man himself.
If he had spotted that broken glass, he would go straight to the front door to make inquiries, and it didn’t seem possible that he could miss it.
He might even blow his whistle.
Rollison saw one of the crouching youths straighten up. Before he could shout a warning, the youth flung a missile at the constable. There was a thud and a cry. The policeman swung round as the two youths leapt at him.
Shouting wouldn’t help now, and might do harm. The policeman went down with the youths on top of him, and as they went Ada whispered from the doorway:
“We’re ready.”
“All right,” said Rollison. “They’ve just attacked a policeman, I want to go down and look after him.” He hurried past Ada towards the landing and the stairs. Forbes, the footman and a third, older man, were standing at the foot of the stairs. Two were armed with garden syringes, one with an insect sprayer. “As soon as I open the door, they’ll swarm in,” Rollison warned. “Let ‘em have it full in the face. Ada, dial 999 and ask for the police. They’ll get here just about the right moment.”
He watched her turn towards a telephone in an alcove in the wall as he went to the big front door.
He was not sure what the waiting youths wanted.
They may have trailed him cleverly, and waited until now to attack. If they were working under Wallis’s orders, they might have come to kill, almost certainly to maim. Or they might have come to kidnap him, and take him to some quiet place where they could make him talk.
He heard Ada speak into the telephone.
He opened the front door.
He saw the hall light stream out on to the faces of three youths who were crouching on the porch, and on others in the road. All of them broke into a run the moment the door opened.
If they’d come for him, he would soon know.
They came swiftly, eight young brutes, each carrying a heavy hammer or an axe. Two struck at Rollison as they passed, but that was only to drive him aside so that they could get in.
These were wreckers; and inside was the house of such grace, and the furniture of such antiquity and beauty.
Rollison shot out a leg, tripped one man up and dug an elbow into another’s waist so that he went staggering. Then he reached the porch. Two more youths were on the pavement, keeping a look-out, and the constable was still on the ground. He was grunting, and trying to get up. One of the two look-outs stepped towards him, foot drawn back to kick.
“I shouldn’t,” said Rollison, in the softest of soft voices. The youth spun round, hammer raised in his hand. The other, guarding the approach from the right, also turned round, and for a moment Rollison was between them. They began to approach stealthily, menacingly.
Then wild screams began to come from the hall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Flight
Ada Jepson put down the telephone as Rollison stepped out of the house, and stood watching as the youths streamed in. She wasn’t sure how many were there. They were all young, their hair was beautifully waved and groomed, they wore the narrow trousers and the wide shouldered coats of their kind—and their faces were savagely intent, their weapons were raised as if all they wanted to do was to find something to smash, and to smash it. They had come in with such a rush that they hadn’t seen the three men standing to receive them; but suddenly the liquid ammonia hissed out from the syringes and the sprays, striking at eyes and mouths and noses. One moment it looked as if the house would be wrecked by the attacking brutes; then they began to stagger and to fall and to squeal and to scream. Their weapons dropped, they put their hands to their eyes to try to stop the pain of the ammonia as it bit at them. One raised his voice to such a screaming pitch that it drowned all other sound.
Forbes stopped spraying.
“That will be sufficient,” he announced firmly, and turned to Ada. “Are you all right, Miss Ada?” She looked at him silently and nodded, and he went straight towards the door. “Mr. Rollison advised us to shut the men in, and so make sure that they couldn’t get away,” he said. “I will make sure that he is not hurt, and then—”
Before Forbes finished, two cars drew up in quick succession. The footsteps of running men sounded, and one car engine roared as the car spurted to catch up with the men. A car door opened, policemen jumped out and came running, and Rollison’s voice sounded quite clearly and cheerfully:
“Help yourselves inside, chaps. Don’t worry about the constable, he’s all right.”
* * *
Rollison helped the fallen policeman to his feet, and stood by while the men from the Flying Squad cars stormed into the house, their shadows thrown out on to the porch and the street. Another car had stopped at the far end of the square; the two look-out youths had been caught and were on their way back.
“What’s it all about?” demanded the constable, weakly.
“Just a wrecking party,” Rollison said mildly. “The Jepsons must have upset someone. Sure you’re all right?”
“Lucky thing they didn’t knock my helmet off first,” the constable said, “but I’m okay sir. Who are—” he peered into Rollison’s face, and his eyes widened in a way which was so familiar. “Isn’t it Mr. Rollison?”
“Yes.”
“Now I’m beginning to understand,” the constable said. “You’re mixed up in it. No offence meant, sir!”
“None taken,” said Rollison solemnly, and went into the house.
The smell of ammonia was so strong that it made him cough, and his eyes began to smart.
The Yard men seemed to be crying, too, and so did Forbes, the footman, the old man and Ada. The youths were standing, handcuffed and gasping for breath; all eight were lined up ready to go.