“Anyone who helps Kemp will be lucky if he doesn’t get his neck broken,” said the thick-set man.

Then, with one accord, they jumped at him.

Rollison was prepared for the rush. He switched off his torch, stepped to one side and shot out his foot. The simple method worked. The thick-set man fell heavily and the other tripped over him, gasping. Rollison drew away, not certain that the worst was over. The night’s silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching from both directions.

He slipped into the yard of the house next door and stood by the gate. The men on the ground picked themselves up, muttering, as a newcomer drew up.

“You okay?” he asked, hoarsely.

“Yes,” grunted the thick-set man. “If I come across that man again, I’ll break his neck!” He uttered a stream of expletives as he dusted himself down while Rollison backed further into the yard and other men arrived.

None of the newcomers saw him. He kept close to the wall, trying to estimate the chances of climbing into the next yard if they should start to search for him. In the darkness, climbing would not be easy but there were at least three newcomers and odds of five to one were too heavy.

He crept further away, although he could hear their heavy breathing. There was a furtive air about them all and they spoke in whispers.

“Who was he?” asked the man with the cultured voice.

“Some fool who fancies himself,” muttered the other. “I didn’t think Kemp would ask any of his posh friends to come and help him. We’ll have to put a stop to that.”

“I never see no one,” one of the newcomers said.

“I think I seed him go Jupe Street way,” volunteered another.

“He’s scared stiff,” said the man with the gruff voice. “Let’s get away.”

“Oughtn’t we to look for him?” asked the man with the cultured voice.