The Token (Trevor Lowe Book 8) by Gerald Verner

Author:Gerald Verner [Verner, Gerald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-09-04T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

MR. WILLIS TO THE RESCUE

A taxi carried Arnold White to the outskirts of Stepney, and half a mile from the station he stopped it and got out, considering it better to continue the rest of the way on foot. In that un-salubrious district a taxi was an event, and to go too near the Mission in it was asking for comment, which was the last thing he desired. His one ambition was to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

Adopting the slouching gait of the habitual loafer he set off towards his objective. The night was dark and cloudy and there was a dampness in the air that hinted at coming rain.

He arrived at the corner of the street in which the Providence Mission was situated and was turning into it when the sound of muffled shouts and oaths attracted his attention. There was a small public-house on the corner, and as he paused to see what the row was about the door of the public bar burst open and from its lighted interior a tangled knot of struggling men swayed out into the roadway. Arnold caught a glimpse of a blue helmet above the fighting mass, and concluded that some of the inhabitants of the district were having trouble with the law.

The yelling, shouting throng reeled backwards and forwards on the pavement.

“Get the rozzer!” screamed a shrill voice, and Arnold saw a man dart into the middle of the melee and swing a loaded stick at the back of the constable’s head. It reached its mark, and with a strangled cry the policeman slumped to his knees and collapsed in the gutter.

White wasn’t standing for this. Before the knot of roughs could sort themselves out he was halfway across the street. A big, burly brute of a man had drawn back his foot to kick the unconscious policeman when Arnold let him have it, full on the point of the jaw.

With a grunt he staggered backwards among his friends.

“Cosh ’im, ’Arry!” snarled a voice viciously, and Arnold put up his arm just in time to ward off a blow aimed at his head by the man who had laid out the constable.

He swung round and his left caught his attacker a smashing blow on the mouth. The man reeled away, spitting and cursing, and then the others closed in on him. White lashed out at the vicious faces, but the odds were against him. A blow caught him on the side of the head that sent him spinning into the road.

“Poke yer nose into wot doesn’t concern yer, would yer, you—” growled a voice. “I’ll learn yer!”

The speaker raised an empty beer bottle, a weapon he had probably grabbed from the bar during the commotion, and it might have gone hard with Arnold had not a hoarse, Cockney voice interfered.

“’Ere, Ted Brownlow, stop that!”

The man called Ted Brownlow swung round.

“What d’you want to interfere for, “Cosh”?” he snarled. “This ain’t your business!”

“We’ll see whether it’s my business or not, my old cock sparrer!” cried Mr.

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