The Toff and the Deadly Priest Read Free Page A

you?”
    Kemp said: “Yes.” He spoke with restraint, as if he had difficulty in preventing himself from saying just how badly he wanted both those things.
    â€œThen give my way a trial,” advised Rollison. “You’ll soon find out if it flops.” He stepped forward towards the stage and looked at the writing thoughtfully, murmuring: “A nice taste in capitals. Now, let’s get busy,” he said more briskly. “It’s personal, but it isn’t aimed at you because you’re Ronald Kemp, recently from Oxford, and trying to muscle in on a new district. It’s because of something you’ve done, or you want to do, which is upsetting someone’s applecart. Have you any ideas about it?”
    â€œNot the faintest!”
    â€œTry to think some up,” urged Rollison. “Go over everything that’s happened since you arrived and find out whose corns you’ve trodden on. What kind of reforms have you tried to start?” he added drily. “You haven’t seriously had a shot at turning the pagans teetotal, have you?”
    â€œGreat Scott, no! I don’t know that I’ve done anything that could offend anyone,” Kemp went on worriedly. “I’ve started one or two of the mission halls going again; there hadn’t been any meetings or social evenings for some time. And I’ve tried to step up the collection of old clothes for some of the poorer people. Do you think they resent that kind of charity?”
    â€œThey’d be queer fish if they liked it,” Rollison said. “But they don’t resent it, especially if they’re clothes for the women and children. Kemp, get one thing firmly fixed in your head. Most of your parishioners have exactly the same ideas of right and wrong as you have, although they differ in degree. They like a fighter, even if they don’t like what he fights for. If a man doesn’t drink or smoke, that’s his affair, but if he tries to convert others to his way of thinking, it’s a different matter. That goes for any kind of habit, vice or con – the one way you might get some of them to look at it differently is by example – only by example. Do you see what I’m driving at?”
    â€œYes,” said Kemp, slowly. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Cartwright said something on the same lines, but I haven’t been able to see him for several weeks.” He looked rueful. “I didn’t pay much attention at the time.”
    â€œTry to, now,” urged Rollison. “What was I saying? Oh – item one: you’ve upset someone badly, and you’re the only one who can find out how. It may be simply a matter of having trodden on someone’s corns, but it doesn’t look like that to me,” he admitted, thoughtfully.
    â€œWhat does it look like?” asked Kemp.
    â€œA much bigger motive,” said Rollison. “But that’s guesswork, and won’t help us. This Mr. and Mrs. Whiting – where do they live?”
    â€œIn Little Lane – it’s off Jupe Street.”
    â€œI know it,” said Rollison. “Let’s go and see them.”
    Kemp obviously did not see much point in them both going, but he raised no serious objection and, after closing the door, the lock of which had been broken by the wreckers, they walked through the blackout towards Little Lane.
    They had not gone fifty yards before Rollison knew that they were being followed.
    He said nothing to Kemp until they reached the corner, and then spoke in a whisper.
    â€œWalk straight on, and make as much noise as you can. Don’t argue!”
    He heard Kemp’s intake of breath as the man was about to speak, but obediently the curate crossed the end of the lane and stamped towards Whitechapel Road. Rollison slipped back into the lane, and after a few seconds, two men passed; they made little sound and the soft padding of their footsteps told him that they