The Toff and the Stolen Tresses Read Free

there was nothing unusual about the evening. The homeward rush hour was over, the queues outside the Corner House were diminishing, the Strand itself was not really crowded. Nelson stared blindly and blandly over London.
    And Jim had acquired a shadow.
    He could turn left, towards Trafalgar Square, where a few people were still feeding the pigeons, where the fountains played, and sightseers ambled, but that was too aimless. He could turn right along the Strand, but there were only the shops. He could go and have a meal in one of the restaurants, but was in no mood to eat on his own. It would be much better to get home to his books and the radio; his landlady would get a meal for him very quickly, and once in his own room he could probably put the depression out of his mind. His lodgings were in Chelsea, not far from Sloane Square; he could walk or go by bus. In the mood of the evening, he could not really make up his mind what to do.
    A Number 11 bus came along.
    He got on.
    Two girls, an elderly couple, a coloured man and a tall, massive man in brown also got on.
    Jim went upstairs; the man in brown went inside, and sat near the door.
    The journey to Sloane Square allowed time for smoking a cigarette and a half. Jim stubbed out the half as he got up, clambered down the stairs, and stepped off; just ahead of him was the tall man in the brown suit, who had also jumped up in a hurry, as if he had only just realised that this was his stopping place.
    It was ten minutes’ walk to Middleton Street, which was off the main road, and Jim stepped out more briskly. He noticed the massive man in brown some way ahead of him, then saw the man slow down to look into a shop window, and let him pass. It did not occur to him that the man was virtually his shadow. Even when the other turned down Middleton Street in his wake, Jim took no notice.
    He reached Number 24 a little after a quarter past seven, and pressed the bell although he had his key in his hand; Mrs. Blake liked him to ring, so that she knew who had come in. She would be approaching from the kitchen doorway as he opened the door, with her pleasant welcome, and her invariable: ‘I expect you’re starved, I’ll soon have something ready for you. Just go up and have a little wash.’
    He would go up …
    He opened the door with his key, and was surprised because there was no movement from the kitchen, and only silence in the house.
    If she was going to be out, Mrs. Blake usually told him before he left in the morning; she was remarkably a creature of habit, and since she had acquired a television set, had seldom gone out in the evening.
    Ah. It was later than usual, and the television was on. Jim grinned to himself, but a moment later decided that he was wrong; he would have heard voices or music, had that been the case.
    He called out: ‘You home, Mrs. Blake?’
    There was no answer.
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    Had he gone upstairs then, as he usually did, and into his front room bed-sitter, he would probably have looked out of the window, and seen the tall man in brown meet the small man in the neat grey suit and the trilby pulled over one eye; but instead, he went along to the kitchen.
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    The television set, in a corner, was as blank as an empty window. The large kitchen was scrupulously clean and tidy, there was a green chenille table cloth over the large deal table, the wooden chairs were all varnished; and there was an appetising smell coming from the stove. On the dark green cloth was a note:
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    The telly’s out of order so I’ve popped next door to see the play,
    dinner’s in the oven and help yourself to anything you feel like. Mrs. B.
    There are some of those new rock cakes you like in the big red tin in the larder.
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    Jim grinned.
    He raided the larder, helped himself to Mrs. Blake’s rock cakes, which were the perfection of simple baking, then went upstairs. He strolled to the window, as he nearly always did, partly because if there