Read Online The Toff and the Deadly Priest by John Creasey - Free Book Online Page B

Craik.”
    Sooner or later, Bill always got to the point.
    â€˜â€E’s gotta good business,” he declared, “and he gives his customers fair doos. Ain’t never ‘eard that he’s in the market, ‘e don’t seem ter touch undercover stuff. But between you an’ me, Mr. Ar, I don’t like his face!”
    Rollison grinned.
    â€œIt ain’t because it’s ugly,” Bill assured him, solemnly, ‘”E’s got a face as good as the next man, but I just never took to it. Thassall I got against Craik. My missus thinks he’s okay.”
    â€œI haven’t seen him yet,” said Rollison. “I’ll tell you what I think about his face when I’ve had a look at it! You know nothing else?”
    â€œAin’t that enough, Mr. Ar?”
    â€œNo. I want to find out what Keller is up to.”
    Ebbutt deliberated, and then opined that, just as Keller’s mob had beaten up ‘swine’, there was evidence that Keller was putting into effect a widespread but often undeclared antagonism to Ronald Kemp. It was a case of oil and water, Ebbutt declared.
    â€œDoes Billy the Bull still come in here?” Rollison asked.
    â€œEvery night, faithful. ‘E’ll be ‘ere soon. On the docks, ‘e is. Maybe ‘e is past ‘is prime,” continued the ex-fighter, a little regretfully, “but there still ain’t a dozen men in England could stand five rounds against Billy the Bull. Why’d you want to know?”
    Rollison lowered his voice. At intervals during the next five minutes, Ebbutt emitted squeaks of delight and finally managed to part his lips in a smile which showed his discoloured teeth.
    Soon afterwards, Rollison left the gymnasium.
    He walked to the mission hall, going out of his way to pass 49, Little Lane – named after a benefactor, not because it was any different from a thousand other long, drab, featureless streets in the East End. Front doors were open, women and old men were talking, children were playing on the cobbles, and dirt abounded; but some of the tiny windows looked spotlessly clean and some of the women were as well-dressed as they knew how to be. In spite of every disadvantage, there was an air of prosperity about Little Lane. It revealed itself in new boots on many of the children, in the fact that most of the people were smoking, in the gay splashes of lipstick and rouge on faces which had not known them for years.
    A dozen friendly people called out to Rollison, others smiled and nodded, and as he went out of earshot there was much earnest chattering. Outside Number 49 were two of Bill’s stalwarts. He was glad to see them on duty.
    Â 
    Kemp was in the mission hall with three other men and a woman.
    The place was fairly ship-shape again. Only a dozen chairs out of two hundred were undamaged, but the men were hammering and knocking them into shape. The walls had been cleaned, but they still bore traces of the paint. The warning remained at the back of the stage – a good touch, thought Rollison. He asked Kemp why he hadn’t removed or covered it.
    The curate, dressed in old flannels and an open-necked shirt, which made him look more boyish than ever, grinned widely.
    â€œI’ll take it down when it’s no longer true.”
    â€œHappy thought,” said Rollison. “How are things?”
    â€œThere’s nothing fresh to report,” said Kemp. “I told you all about Keller’s offer. I’m a bit worried about that,” he added, frowning. “We could use £500 – I mean, the Relief Fund could. I have wondered whether I ought to resign, and let—”
    â€œDon’t be an ass,” said Rollison. “You can raise the money if you put your mind to it.”
    â€œI suppose I can,” said Kemp, rather lugubriously. “Anyhow, I wouldn’t leave just now for a fortune. I’m beginning to enjoy myself.”
    â€œYer