Accuse the Toff Read Free Page B

usually leaves at six o’clock promptly, so that it would have been prearranged. On the other hand, Ibbetson wasn’t concerned with the shop or any of the people there. Nor were others who were wounded. If the shots were intended for the group coming from the shop, several were wasted beforehand. It was too dark for our man to distinguish one from the other. Everything considered, I’d say that the shooting was haphazard but that isn’t conclusive.’
    â€˜As far as I can see we’ve reached the same stage,’ said Rollison. ‘It could be a genuine case of dementia or there might be deep things beyond it. I suppose we’ll see,’ he added and smiled lazily as he rose to his feet. ‘On what part of the Grand Junction Canal was the car parked?’
    â€˜The stretch of bank between Wembley and Willesden,’ Grice told him. ‘Are you going out there?’
    â€˜Do you know,’ said Rollison earnestly, ‘I feel that a breath of fresh air would do me good. But I’ve only a couple of hours to spare and it’s an exercise in curiosity more than anything else. If I should see anything that looks interesting I’ll give you a ring when I’m back.’
    â€˜Thanks,’ said Grice; and meaningly: ‘Don’t forget.’
    The door opened as Rollison reached it, to admit the dapper man whom Joe had commented upon and another. They exchanged nods and Rollison went out, walking along the high-ceilinged passages of the Yard to the courtyard and thence to Westminster Underground Station. It was obvious that Grice had ideas similar to his own about the shooting affray. Grice was a level-headed and logical man and between the two of them there was both understanding and respect.
    On the way to Wembley, Rollison alternated between moods of pleasure and satisfaction at being involved, even tentatively, in a case that was at least intriguing and depressed at the realisation that the pressure of work at the office was too great for him to devote much time to it. By the time he reached the canal, finding a taxi near Wembley Station which deposited him outside a narrow alleyway leading to the waterway, he decided that this one mission of inquiry should be his last but he also wondered what would be said if he put in an application for a few days’ leave. He had received none for six months, not even a long weekend. Arguing that he had every justification for such a request, he saw the small Ford standing against wooden fencing which divided the canal bank from some allotments. Three policemen were near the car – a grey one – while two small boats were moving along the canal, the end of a long drag-net fastened to each. Three men were in each boat and all seemed intent on their task, although obviously perished by the cold.
    The January sun was bright and clear; white frost still covered the ground where there was shadow and the grass of the paths on the allotments looked wet and fresh. The air was crisp, invigorating as wine. He strolled along thoughtfully while the police on the bank eyed him curiously. One of them recognised him and Rollison heard his name passed on to the others. That saved him the need of explanations and he exchanged greetings with the sergeant in charge then strolled along, watching the boats on their grim task and seeing the wide, earth-surfaced towpath going along in a straight line for half a mile or more. Round a corner in the canal he saw the chimneys of a house, divorced from the roof and showing above a large bill-posting board; wisps of smoke rose from them and were carried straight up, for there was no wind.
    Half-way between the Ford and the chimneys he slipped.
    He had been walking carelessly and had not noticed a small puddle, ice-covered, near the canal. His heel skidded on it and he clawed the air to keep his balance and save himself from falling. Instead he hastened his fall and lurched sideways towards the