A Mask for the Toff Read Free Page A

on a patch of freshly dug ground outside the building, to smear his shoes. That done, he put his own coat into his car, and walked briskly along the street towards the home of Bert Noddy, whom he knew slightly.
    On the telephone, Rollison had been told everything Ebbutt knew, and Ebbutt had never been a man to repeat words for their own sake. It was a curious affair, and the girl who couldn’t speak English was obviously in distress.
    Rollison knew Downing by reputation as one of the nastier characters of the East End. He also knew that it was rumoured that Downing sometimes moved in High Society. At others, he moved on a rather lower scale, at Pentonville, Wandsworth or Dartmoor.
    Rollison had to take two turnings right and one left before he reached Brill Street, where Bert Noddy lived. A gas-lamp shone at the corner, but the light was poor; all the street lighting in these East End side streets was bad. Yet he turned the corner cautiously. The rubber heels of his shoes muffled the noise. He peered along, expecting only to see one of Bill Ebbutt’s boys lurking near Noddy’s house. He saw no one.
    The man was probably hiding.
    He walked quickly but with little sound. There were a few lighted windows, but most of the street was in darkness. Near one window he saw a heap on the ground; it looked like an old coat, flung carelessly away; but coats were not as cheap as that in the East End of London. He kept close to the wall, to lessen the risk of being seen. As he drew nearer, he saw that it was more than a coat; it was a man. He began to whistle, very softly, and stopped to look farther along. There was no sign of movement. He reached the man and bent down on one knee; and his whistling stopped abruptly. There was blood over the man’s head, more smeared on his cheeks.
    Rollison didn’t feel for his pulse or do anything to see whether he was alive, but went on, still close to the houses.
    He heard a car engine, and headlights shone along the road which intersected this one.
    He stepped into a doorway; by flattening himself against it, there was room to hide. The car turned the corner, and the narrow street was bathed in its silvery light. He heard it stop; but the engine wasn’t switched off. He peered along and saw a man in a dark suit jump from the car and dash into a house.
    Rollison moved swiftly.
    By the time he reached the doorway of Bert Noddy’s house, where light shone out, he heard a muted whisper: “Put that light out!”
    Someone obeyed; only the headlamps of the car now gave light, and that did not touch the front of the house. There were heavy footsteps, and then a man appeared, carrying a woman over his shoulder. He held her round the knees, and her hair fell towards the ground; Rollison could just see that. The man carrying her looked neither right nor left, but reached the car and pulled open the near door.
    Another man hurried from the house.
    Rollison, pressed close against the wall, let him pass, then shot out his right arm and clutched his shoulder, pulling him round. He struck with his left, a jab to the chin. He felt the pain of the blow through his gloves. The man grunted, and his knees bent – and as he fell, the man carrying the woman put her into the car, dumping her on the back seat, and turned round.
    He was a split second too soon for Rollison.
    He started: “ What —” and then his right hand flashed to his pocket, and he dodged to one side. The man – Downing – pulled out a life preserver, came forward and smashed at Rollison. Rollison moved his hand, but the blow caught him on the shoulder, numbing it. Downing brought his knee up, towards Rollison’s groin. Rollison dodged to one side, and Downing was momentarily on one leg. Rollison hit him, not hard enough to hurt but quite hard enough to bowl him over; but as Downing fell, another man rushed at Rollison from behind. Rollison heard him coming, but was too late to escape a blow on