John Creasey: The Toff And The Curate

“That’s the spirit!” said Rollison. “Let’s go, Jolly!”

They left Isobel still smiling. On the way to Gresham Terrace, Jolly asked whether Rollison really meant what he had said. Rollison left him in no doubt. He believed Gregson and ‘Keller’ had seized on his interest in Kemp to fasten guilt on to the curate whose resentment was likely to create a wrong impression with the police.

“And you’re throwing a party tonight,” Rollison went on. “Billy the Bull and three or four of the heftier members of Bill’s club— feed them well, don’t spare the points! If Owen’s our man, be ready for him.”

“Won’t you be there, sir?”

“I don’t know,” said Rollison, “we haven’t been able to plan far ahead in this show yet. I’ll make the arrangements with Bill Ebbutt and the guests will start arriving at any time after seven o’clock.”

“I will entertain them as well as I can,” Jolly assured him. “If you are right, sir, they are being very clever—almost too clever.”

“That’s it, precisely,” said Rollison. “Too clever by half. I don’t believe in such open-handed presents to the police and when Grice is more himself I think he’ll begin to have doubts, although he’ll have to go on with the investigation into Kemp. On the whole, it shouldn’t do Kemp any harm.”

“Provided he gets a clean bill, sir,” said Jolly.

“Yes,” said Rollison, unsmilingly. “Yes, provided we can clear him. You know one thing.”

“What particular thing have you in mind, sir?”

“From the beginning, they wanted to get rid of Kemp. I’m assuming that he is a victim and not a conspirator! They tried to drum him out, by ostracising him. That failed. They tried to kill him by accident. That failed—and they realised that if he were murdered, it would mean a tremendous fuss. Then I gave them the idea of making Kemp the scapegoat and they didn’t lose much time. They have always a scapegoat, from the shadowy Keller who might or might not exist. There’s always a dummy, be it a person or a place. Very clever, Jolly!”

“Yes, sir. Do you think the whisky is brought in at East Wharf and distributed from there?”

“It could be.”

“I think you told me you had asked the Superintendent to give special attention to the Irish dock-workers, sir—were you serious about that?”“

“Partly,” said Rollison. “But only because O’Hara and the ‘other Irishman’ whom Craik mentioned, set me thinking along those lines.”

“If Craik has been a party, even to warehousing the whisky,” said Jolly, “he might be able to give you information.”

“Yes, probably. But the odds are that none of the halls was used to store the stuff. When that theory was exploded much of the case against Craik being hand-in-glove with them was blown sky-high.”

“I suppose so, sir,” said Jolly, reluctantly.

“In other words, your advice is still watch Craik,” said Rollison. “Yes. We mustn’t forget that he tried to kill himself. You’re right, Jolly, he wants watching. Lots of people want watching very closely. And we want to start thinking. If the whisky is unloaded at the wharf, it’s probably taken away immediately. Therefore, lorry drivers would be involved. Who does the cartage work for the wharf?”

“A firm named Straker Brothers,” said Jolly. “I have seen the name on a number of lorries there.”

Rollison paused.

“Straker Brothers? Jolly, I haven’t been very good—not very good at all,” he repeated, softly. “I think perhaps we’re getting places! Straker Brothers,” he repeated. “Jolly, I saw a Mr Arthur Straker this morning and he gave Kemp a very good reputation. Curious fact. Mr Straker lives in South Audley Street. Find out whether he is connected with Straker Brothers, will you? Find out, also, if the same firm do much work for any of the big distilleries. Don’t try the police but otherwise move mountains to find out. Straker Brothers,” he repeated and went to the telephone.

After he had dialled a Mayfair number, a courteous voice announced that it was the residence of the Rev Martin Anstruther. Anstruther, who had been the vicar of Kemp’s first church, spoke to him immediately afterwards and, in a quiet, cultured voice, said that he would gladly see Mr Rollison.

After arranging to go at once, Rollison went to his bedroom and for the first time in this affair put a loaded automatic in his pocket.

Twenty minutes later, at nearly one o’clock, the gentle-voiced Mr Anstruther received Rollison in a spacious room, the walls of which were lined with books and a glance at these showed him that they ranged from theology to philosophy, including works in ancient Greek and Latin. The room was warm, the carpet soft underfoot and the furniture heavy but in keeping with the study of a scholar. That the Rev Martin Anstruther was a scholar was apparent at the first sight of his high forehead and the gentle expression on his lined face. He was an academician, who doubtless had to force himself to take part in the bustle which a church in Mayfair meant for him. There could have been no greater contrast between this man and Kemp.

“How can I help you, Mr Rollison?” he inquired.

“I’m trying to help a friend of mine,” said Rollison. “He once worked with you, sir—a Mr Ronald Kemp.”

“Oh, indeed. And how is he?” There was no animosity in the old, quiet voice.

“Very fit, very energetic—and in trouble,” answered Rollison.

“I am afraid that young man will always be in trouble until he learns discretion,” said Anstruther, with a charming smile. “I am afraid that he was rather too boisterous for the curacy here, although I liked him very well. He was surprisingly well-read and very sincere. I thought his unconventional methods were unsuited to this part of London and yet—I sympathised with him. Had he stayed with me, I think he would have done a great deal of good—”

“Why did he go?” asked Rollison.

“There were several reasons,” said Anstruther. “The main one was that in his earnest endeavours to root out vice, he laid himself open to grave suspicion of being addicted to it.” The old cleric smiled again. “I am afraid that in the world of today, appearances count for too much. Many of my parishioners disliked being guided in their devotions by a man who, it was widely known, spent much time in the haunts of the worldly.”

There was a hint of irony in his voice. “Finally, I had to ask him to cease his activities and I am afraid he lost his temper. A very headstrong young man. Pride will be a great disadvantage to him until he conquers it.”

“The deadly sin,” said Rollison, smiling.

“No sin is deadly in the young,” murmured Anstruther.

“A generous concession,” said Rollison. “Who lodged the complaints against him in the first place?”

The old eyes grew sober and gazed at him steadily. Very little passed Anstruther by, thought Rollison, wondering if Anstruther was going to ask him why he wanted to know.

Instead:

“Is Kemp in serious trouble?” he asked.

“Very serious indeed.”

“And you hope I can help him.”

“I do, very much,” said Rollison.

Anstruther seemed to go into a brown study and then said:

“Several people told me that he was getting into bad company and, finally, Mr Straker advised me that the feeling against him was so strong that he would either have to cease his activities or else resign. Mr Straker’s judgment is rarely at fault. I am quite at a loss to see how the information will help you, Mr Rollison.”

“It might,” Rollison said and stood up.

“Sit down, please,” said Anstruther, his gaze so compelling that Rollison obeyed. “I have been frank with you. I hope you will be as frank with me. How can such information help you?”