A Mask for the Toff Read Free

yer; got a little job that’s right up your street. The minnit I ’eard abaht it, I said, Mr. Ar’s the man, no doubt abaht it at all. So ’ere I am. It was a question of going to the dicks, I mean the police, or you, Mr. Ar, and I thought you’d like a go at it. Besides, Bert Noddy, you remember ’im, it’s really ’is show, an’ Bert wouldn’t go narkin’, even if it is abaht Sam Downing. What I mean to say is—“
    â€œHold on a minute, Bill,” said Rollison, and turned to Jolly: “Nip along and get the car, I think I’m going out … Yes, Bill, carry on.”
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    The sleek Lagonda, with Rollison at the wheel, slid through the quiet streets of the West End and the City, reaching Aldgate Pump a little after midnight. Here, where the East End and the City met, there was a hushed silence which would remain until the early workers came out of their burrows and began to throng the streets. Soon, in a wider thoroughfare, there were some people about. A hot-chestnut man crouched over his glowing red fire, and seemed indifferent to the possibility of business. Most of these people watched the car as it purred along the Mile End Road; and many of them recognised Rollison.
    He drove on until he reached a corner building, larger than most of the others along here. A street lamp immediately outside shone on the fascia board and displayed the fact that this was the Blue Dog, a public-house of fair repute. Rollison turned the corner and pulled up at the back of the building. Farther along, shown up by another street lamp, was a large corrugated-iron building outside which a large sign declared:
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    BOXING ACADEMY
    B. Ebbutt, Prop.
    Champs. Taught.
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    As Rollison got out, his tall figure thickened by a heavy belted overcoat of navy blue, a side door of the public-house opened and a large man called: “You didn’t lose much time, Mr. Ar. Glad to see yer.” He came forward, in his shirt sleeves, a mammoth with a vast stomach, a large, fleshy face, a corrugated forehead, small eyes and a flat nose; a villain, to look at. His great hand crushed Rollison’s. “Proper do, ain’t it?”
    â€œWhere is she?”
    â€œStill at Bert’s. But she’s okay, I got a coupla the boys keeping their eyes open. Question is, ought you to go there, or ought we ter bring ’er away? Bring ’er away, I say, but she’s so frightened. Every time Bert tries ter get ’er to leave the ’ouse, she gets ’ysterical. I fought of sending me wife to try, but you can never tell wiv Lil. Might frighten the lights aht of the kid.”
    â€œBill Ebbutt !” came the shrill voice of his wife, from inside the pub and obviously some distance above their heads: “have you lost your senses? Out on a night like this wiv no coat on, you’ll catch your death. Come in at once!”
    â€œSee what I mean?” said Ebbutt.
    Rollison chuckled.
    â€œYes, Bill. Can you find me an old coat and a cap just about my size? I’ll go along and see what I can do with her.”
    â€œSure—’ere, take the key, they’re just inside the front door. You can’t miss ’em.”
    Ebbutt thrust a key into Rollison’s hand, while the scolding voice of his wife came again, in tart rebuke. Rollison, smiling, walked along to the Academy and opened the front door. When he pressed down a switch, a big room, with the two rings, the punchbags and all the equipment of a gymnasium, showed in a bright light. Hanging on the wall were several coats, hats and other oddments of clothing, kept by Bill Ebbutt for the benefit of those unfortunates who needed clothes and couldn’t afford to buy them.
    Rollison tried on a coat; it was large, but otherwise fitted tolerably well. He wound a grey muffler round his neck, put on a peaked cap and pulled the peak low over his eyes, and drew on his gloves. Then he went out and stamped about