It wasn’t hysteria or anything approaching it; she was just despairing.
“You must tell me what has happened,” said Rollison. “I know you left home, because you thought you had a message from me. What happened then?”
“I was stopped in the High Street, and two men made me get into a car,” said Barbara. “I knew who they were and I dared not shout or attract any attention. I thought I might learn something and help Bob. They took me out into the country.”
“To a house?” Grice interpolated.
“No, A copse. Near Uxbridge. They just told me to keep quiet. They didn’t do anything. It was—terrifying. The way they looked and talked. They talked about Bob. They didn’t tell me what he’d done, they just said that if he didn’t do what he was told to on Saturday, I wouldn’t—know him—afterwards. And they didn’t tell me what they wanted him to do, they said he’d know. They said they’d drive him mad if he refused, but—he is mad! He doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying. They’ve warped and twisted his mind and now——”
She broke off, covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GRICE PROMISES
GRICE and Rollison took Barbara back to Byngham Court Mansions. As they left Grice’s car, they saw a furtive figure slip into a nearby doorway, and Rollison recognised Dann, who was back on duty. No doubt Grice also knew that the East Ender was there, but he said nothing. He had been greatly affected by the incident at Rollison’s flat. Barbara sat in the back of the car with her eyes closed.
She walked listlessly upstairs, and fumbled for her key in her bag. Rollison took it from her, and opened the door. The flat was in darkness.
“Isn’t Mr. Allen in?” asked Grice.
“He—he ought to be,” Barbara said. “But I never know what he’s going to do. One day he’ll go out and not come back, I know he will.”
Rollison switched on the hall light.
“I shouldn’t worry,” he said, and when she protested against the platitude with a helpless gesture, went on: “Until Saturday, there’s a good chance that you’ll be all right, and there’s also a chance that it’ll be all over.”
“I know they said so,” said Barbara, “but I’ve kept hoping that——” She broke off, and pushed her fingers through her hair. “I feel so ungrateful, she told him. “Thank you—thank you so much for what you’re doing. I know someone’s watching the flat all the time, I’m not so frightened now.”
“You’ll be looked after,” promised Rollison.
There was no point in staying, so they left her alone in the flat and walked downstairs. In the hall, Grice stopped and asked abruptly:
“Didn’t I see one of Ebbutt’s men along there?”
“Yes,” said Rollison. “He might know something about Allen’s movements,” said Grice. “I’d like to see Allen—as a friend of yours, for a start, not as a policeman,” he added gruffly.
“Stay in the car and I’ll find out what Dann knows,” promised Rollison.
He went along to the doorway where Ebbutt’s man had taken cover. Dann came out of his hiding-place as Rollison called his name, but did not advance into the street.
“Grice is around, isn’t he?” he demanded.
“He’s turning his blind eye,” said Rollison. “When did Allen leave—and how did Mrs. Allen get away, Bert?”
“Allen walked out on ‘is own two legs, ‘alf an ‘our ago,” said Bert “Had a dame wiv him. Some dame! Talk about a blonde, she was a blonde beauty all right!”
“Oh,” said Rollison slowly, for a picture of Pauline Dexter appeared in his mind’s eye. “Was Allen followed?”
“Sure—Sam went after ‘em,” said Dann. “Same as old Sniffer Lee went after Mrs. Allen s’arternoon. She was picked up by a coupla men who bundled ‘er into a cab an’ then neely ran Sniffer down,” Dann went on. “Sniffer told Bill—didn’t yer know?”
“I knew something about it,” said Rollison. “So they’re getting rough, are they?”
“I’ll give ‘em rough,” growled Dann. “Trouble was, Sniffer ‘ad ‘ad a couple.”
“Don’t be hard on him,” said Rollison. “All right, Bert I should wait on the landing outside the flat until morning, but don’t let Allen see you if he comes back. Telephone Jolly when he arrives, will you?”
“Okay,” said Bert, and withdrew into the shadows.
Rollison walked back to Grice’s car and climbed in. Grice crashed his gears as he turned out of the carriage-way of Byngham Court Mansions, and was still in a silent, reflective mood. Rollison was not sorry. The stories which he had been told showed him with what care, cunning and ruthlessness Merino and his men were acting.
“Well?” asked Grice at last.
Rollison told him the East Ender’s story.
Grice lapsed into further silence which was not broken until they were in Piccadilly. Then, squeezing between two buses, and with a taxi in front and another behind, he chose to re-open the conversation.
“I’ll do what I can, Roily. At least I agree with you that the girl will crack under the strain if it lasts any longer. I shouldn’t do too much in the way of pulling strings, if I were you—it might upset the Old Man’s apple-cart.”
“What can you do on your own?” asked Rollison.
Grice manoeuvred the car out of the traffic and speeded along Piccadilly—a sure indication of his frame of mind.
“Whatever official action we take, we’ll have to move slowly,” he said. “We’ll put out a general call for Blane, but there’s only your description to go on and, unless he’s got a record, it won’t be easy to get news of him. I wouldn’t advise tackling Merino and this Dexter woman yet, in any case—I’d just watch them. I shall have them watched,” he added, “but my men won’t interfere unless their hands are forced. I’d like to see Allen— still as a friend of yours!—but if you can’t make him talk, I’m pretty sure I can’t. I’ll put all this to the Old Man, and I think he’ll see reason.”
“You’re a friend, Bill! You’ll let me know what he decides,” asked Rollison.
“Yes,” said Grice. “Now go carefully, Roily.”
“I will,” promised Rollison.
He watched Grice drive off, then hurried upstairs, and Jolly opened the door as he reached the landing.
“Here we are,” said Rollison, stepping in and tossing his hat to a peg. “Grice is giving us breathing space,” he announced with satisfaction.
“I am not altogether surprised, sir,” said Jolly, “especially after Mrs. Allen’s visit” He retrieved the hat and held it out to Rollison. “Mr. Higginbottom telephoned ten minutes ago, sir.”
Rollison took the hat. “Yes?”
“Apparently Allen and the woman Dexter have gone to Lilley Mews,” said Jolly. “It occurs to me that you will want to go there at once, sir.”
It was dark in the mews. The only light came from the windows of Pauline Dexter’s flat—and that from the side windows. Rollison, glad of the darkness, walked across the cobbles. The main garage was closed, all of the lock-up garages were also shut. He reached his own, and tapped—a short and a long tap —and waited for Snub to open the door.
There was no response.
He peered through the window, but it was too dark to see anything inside. He tapped again. The noise sounded loud in the mews. He stopped when he heard the plodding footsteps of a man, probably a policeman, in the near-by street. The footsteps passed, and Rollison, satisfied that Snub was no longer watching the flat from the lock-up garage, turned and looked at the lighted windows. Snub might have taken it upon himself to break in, and listen to what passed between Allen and the actress.