“I will, before long,” promised Rollison. “How soon can you get men to Little Lane?”

“Take me the best par’ve a coupla hours,” declared Bill.

“Make it less if you can,” urged Rollison and rang off.

Walking back to Little Lane, he mused on the conversation. What had been left unsaid, a great deal. Ebbutt had preferred not to speak about Keller on the telephone, which was curious, and had presented an urgent plea for Rollison to go to see him. Something about Keller obviously worried Bill.

An hour and a half later, a knock at the door of Whiting’s house heralded the arrival of three men from the gymnasium. Rollison spoke to them, to make sure that they were genuine ‘club’ members, gave instructions and left the house with Kemp.

In the street, Kemp asked gruffly:

“Who are those fellows, Rollison?”

“Good friends of mine and they will be friends of yours if you show them what you can do with your fists,” said Rollison. By the time he had finished explaining, they were back at the church hall.

As they attempted to tidy up the small room which Kemp used, Rollison spoke thoughtfully.

“I should have fixed a bodyguard for you, too.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Kemp. “You’ve taken a load off my mind and I don’t know how to say thanks. I can look after myself but when it comes to other people being victimised—” he broke off, and smiled. “You certainly know your way about!”

Rollison was on the point of leaving when a taxi drew up outside and Jolly arrived.

He had little information. No word of the trouble at the hall had yet reached Freddie Day or others whom Jolly had seen but the hostility towards Kemp was already well known. Not until they were in the taxi, the driver of which was still in a good humour, did Jolly confide that the majority were taking a neutral attitude. Kemp had not yet made a very good impression among his parishioners.