“Insured?”

“No.”

Rollison kept quiet for a moment, and then asked:

“How many homes broken up like it?”

“Seven now.”

“So the newspapers got that right,” murmured Rollison. Till, it isn’t often you welcome me with open arms. Were you hoping I might look in about this job?”

“Yes,” said Grice promptly. “In fact, I wanted to call and ask you to look in, but—”

“The boss said no,” suggested Rollison, narrowing his eyes and putting his head on one side. “You want me in, you’ve got six similar cases on the record, you were at Middleton Street yourself within a few hours of the job being done, yet you couldn’t catch anyone. Add all that together, and I suspect you know who’s behind it but can’t pick him up.”

“Unofficially,” said Grice, “you’re right.”

“Sure of him?”

“Them.”

“Who are they?”

“It will interest you to know that we checked up on Tiny Wallis and Mick Clay, but their alibis were so perfect that no one in his right mind would believe it. The court, judge and jury would have to accept it as evidence, though. That hint broad enough for you?”

“So gentle,” mused Rollison. “Any idea why Jones was singled out?”

“No, and he swears he doesn’t know. He has a good reputation, and there’s no reason to think he’s lying.”

“Hm. The other six cases?”

“We’ve checked them all closely but haven’t found any connection, except that they’re indirectly associated with the firm of Jepsons,” said Grice, “although I’m pretty sure there is another link. Every victim says he’s no idea why he was attacked. If they’re lying, we haven’t been able to prove it.” He put his hand on a pile of manilla folders on the desk. “Here is a full account of every one, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t look at them. You could get the information from any newspaper office if you put your mind to it.”