The car stank of smoke. Ted Jacques sat in the front with the driver, wondering what the hell was going on, while the man in the back seat alternately chewed on a nail and smoked his cigarette. Ted wanted to turn round and look at him but didn’t like to. He had no idea what was happening but he realised that for the London Station Chief to come and sit in the back of a car under a bridge in Battersea at seven o’clock in the morning it must be something pretty big. Especially when the London Station Chief in question was a quivering wreck.
‘Let’s have it once again.’
Ted screwed up his mouth but did not protest.
‘I followed two men from the house in Turpin Road. The leader was in a great hurry and the other one was following him. Neither of them looked back. The car got here about forty minutes later. Everything was quiet. Then we saw a movement…’
‘What time was this?’
‘About ten to four.’
‘Go on.’
‘We saw something move on the embankment. A man. He stood on the top with his back to the house, we could see him outlined against the skyline…’
‘Yes, yes, go on.’
‘He came down in a rush and a while after that this second man followed over the edge. He must have come over the tracks.’
‘And then?’
‘Nothing until about half-past five. Then we heard a scream, very long and very loud. Even for round here. Nothing since then.’
‘The scream came from No. 703?’
‘Yes, we think so.’
‘Any reactions? Lights on along the street, doors opening, that sort of thing?’
The driver of the car laughed. ‘Here? You’ve heard of the wrong side of the tracks? Well…’ He jerked his thumb upwards, to the bridge. ‘Those are the tracks.’
‘And you haven’t made a move yet, you’ve done nothing to alarm the occupants?’
‘No sir. You said to wait and we waited.’
Royston lit another cigarette from the butt of the old one. Ted continued to face the front, maintaining a watch on the street. The night was thinning out, it was possible to distinguish the houses one from another. Suddenly he leaned forward.
‘Movement,’ he said softly.
Royston’s head materialised beside him.
‘Where?’
Ted pointed. ‘See that flash of white… some kind of… stick, I think. Yes, that’s it. A blind chap. Coming out of the downstairs flat.’
Royston was puzzled. ‘How do you know it’s the downstairs flat?’
‘Well, there are two front doors, you see. Next to each other. I didn’t see the first man enter the house, but the second man did, because he was there ahead of me, and he spent a lot of time just nosing round the door on the left. There’ve been lights on upstairs, so I reckon the door on the left leads to the upper flat…’
‘And the blind man came out of the door on the right… yes, I understand now.’
Royston lowered himself back into his seat.
‘He’s reached the gate. Shall I go and take a look?’
‘No, don’t do that…’
But Royston was too late. The tense, polluted atmosphere inside the car had become too much for Ted. He stood on the pavement, drawing in gulps of fresh air, then strode off towards the house under the embankment. Royston’s hands tightened on the seat in front of him, but he said nothing.
As Ted approached the house another door opened further along the terrace and a shaft of light illuminated the pavement. A young woman emerged, holding in her arms a child who seemed to be asleep. She reached her front gate just as the blind man with the stick stepped on to the pavement.
‘’Allo, there, Mr Trumper,’ said the girl. ‘’Ow are you, then?’
As Ted sauntered past in the grey half-light he was vaguely aware of a shabby mac and dark glasses obscuring the upper part of an elderly face. The old man muttered something that Ted couldn’t catch.
‘Oh dear, your chest bad again, is it?’
The man nodded and coughed bronchially. Ted was almost past now.
‘’Ere, what was all that racket upstairs, then? Screamin’ and that.’
‘Din’ ’ear nuffin’.’
‘Coo, wish I could sleep like that. Well, look after y’self. Cheers, then.’
Ted walked on a few paces, crossed the road and began to retrace his steps. The girl hurried off down the hill, still carrying the child, while the old man shuffled slowly in the opposite direction. Ted walked back to the car and reported. At first Royston said nothing, his face creased in thought.
‘This man’, he said suddenly. ‘The one with the stick. You’re sure the girl knew him?’
‘Oh yes, no question. She spoke to him like an old friend.’
‘He wasn’t one of the men you followed?’
Ted suppressed a desire to laugh. ‘No sir.’
‘Even in disguise?’
‘Different build, different… everything.’
Royston remained in thought a few moments longer.
‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘Check with the second car on the other side of the embankment. See if anybody’s gone out that way, over the railway lines.’
The driver’s hand moved to the radiophone.
‘Then we’ll go and get a warrant. Or rather, the Special Branch will. It sounds from what the girl said as if you’re right about the upstairs flat, then. I want to take a look in there.’
The driver turned to Royston. ‘No one’s been out that way.’
Royston nodded. ‘Get going, then.’