Hunt the Toff

by John Creasey

  She drew him into the living-room.

  ‘Jolly, I—’

  ‘Excuse me, my lady,’ said Jolly, primly – and winked.

  It was almost a revolution for Jolly to wink at Lady Gloria.

  She dropped his hand.

  ‘It is a most distressing affair,’ Jolly said with heavy formality. ‘Of course the police have made a grotesque mistake, it is not really surprising, but – why did Mr. Rollison run away? I just can’t understand it, I can’t understand it at all.’

  As he spoke, he went to the fireplace and knelt down, examining it closely. Apparently satisfied, and mystifying Lady Gloria, he stood up and walked round the room, examining the walls and the wainscoting and looking beneath each of the pictures – all woodcuts.

  Understanding dawned on Lady Gloria.

  ‘Had you any idea that he was working?’ she asked.

  ‘None at all. He gave me to understand that he felt a few weeks of complete rest would do him good – after he was wounded in the last affray, he wasn’t at all well, m’lady. He wasn’t seriously ill, of course, but he certainly needed a change of air. I advised him to visit the Continent, but he said he would prefer the south-west – he is very fond of the Country House Hotel. He insisted that I should also take a holiday, and I have little doubt that he went without any expectancy of a sensation of this nature.’

  Jolly still poked, prodded, and peered.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It is very difficult to be sure,’ said Jolly. ‘On the other hand, he was feeling off-colour. To my knowledge, he had not made Miss Lane’s acquaintance at the time, and although we knew of the man Keller, we’ve never had any personal dealings with him. I had time this morning to telephone Mr. Linnett, of the Daily Cry.’

  Jolly stood in front of the desk, looking down, then lay flat on his stomach and peered underneath – and saw nothing. He stood up, dusting his knees.

  ‘Can Linnett help?’

  ‘He was able to give me some information,’ said Jolly, and his gaze roamed over the trophy wall. He stiffened, but didn’t interrupt the flow of words, although a curious thing happened – he began to speak more softly as he pulled a chair to the wall and stood on it. He was almost whispering, but his words came clearly. ‘Linnett is an extremely able reporter, and gave me this information in the strictest confidence. Mr. Rollison claims to have been in this Miss Lane’s company from eight-thirty until two-thirty on the night of Wednesday and Thursday. The man Keller was killed some time after eight-thirty, and the nearest the police can get to an accurate estimate of the time is half past nine.’

  While he said this, Jolly was moving the top hat with the bullet hole through the crown, and peering up into it; and he had to lean heavily against the wall, so as to do that without disturbing the hat.

  ‘Mr. Rollison has been emphatic that they were nowhere near the village of Hexley, where the body was found, but Miss Lane was seen there. At least, an independent witness has testified to that, and several local people saw a young woman whose description is undoubtedly like Miss Lane’s. Also, the young woman was wearing a distinctive dress, of an unusual material and design. Certainly a young woman of Miss Lane’s colouring, size, and build, and dressed in apparel believed to be hers, talked to Keller soon after half past eight on Wednesday evening. Linnett suspects that the police have other evidence: an iron spanner bearing Miss Lane’s fingerprints, found near the scene of the crime; two or three hairs, believed to be identical with hers; footprints, which coincide with the size and type of shoe she usually wears. The fingerprints themselves would be sufficient to build a strong case, of course.’

  While he had said this, gloomily, Jolly had raised the hat a few inches, and pointed with his free hand. Lady Gloria went closer to the wall, looked up, and saw the small instrument which was fastened to the peg on which the hat rested; she hadn’t any doubt what it was. Jolly eased the hat back into position, climbed down, and began to talk in a more normal speaking voice.

  ‘The indications are, of course, that Mr. Rollison thinks there is good reason to defend the girl, and is taking a great risk in lying about being with her all the time. That is obviously what the police think. Knowing Mr. Rollison as we do, that could be so.’

  ‘Would he be such a fool?’

  ‘In a good cause, yes,’ said Jolly primly. ‘Will you excuse me a moment, my lady?’

  She nodded, and stood staring at the hat.

  Jolly was back in three minutes, carrying a step-ladder and a small screwdriver. He put the steps into position, lifted the hat off the peg, and examined the tiny battery-recording unit. He loosened two small screws, took them out and pulled the wire free. He didn’t speak for a moment, but went across and closed the other doors.

  ‘I think it is quite safe to speak freely now, my lady.’

  Lady Gloria laughed.

  ‘Jolly, you’re superb!’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  ‘But are you sure there aren’t others?’

  ‘I know the type of instrument. It is extremely sensitive, and would pick up every sound in the room. When we’ve finished our confidential discussion I will reconnect the battery, and we can talk a little more, for Mr. Grice’s benefit. There is one really disturbing factor in this, my lady.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If Grice will go to these lengths, he is in deadly earnest. I wish I could understand why Mr. Rollison has run away.’

  Lady Gloria said, ‘I know why. If he hadn’t, Grice would have put him on a charge this morning, and he would have been remanded in custody for a week. He thinks he can use that week to help the girl.’

  Jolly gave a slow, satisfied, contented smile.

  ‘So you have heard from him.’

  ‘He is at Miss Cartwright’s flat. I’ve seen her. He wants you to find him a furnished flat, one room would do, where he can go after dark. It must be fairly near here – in the centre of London.’

  ‘I can arrange that,’ Jolly said.

  ‘Then he wants to find this Elizabeth or Marion Lane.’

  Jolly didn’t speak.

  ‘He thinks that a Mr. Reginald Rowse might be able to help,’ said Lady Gloria. ‘Rowse owns a chain of cigarette and tobacco shops in London, and you should be able to trace him. Richard says that he is young and red-headed, and has the temperament that goes with it. Apparently Rowse is devoted to Miss Lane.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jolly, softly.

  ‘Use anyone you like to find her, including Ebbutt,’ said Lady Gloria. ‘And once you’ve found her, Mr. Rollison wants to go and see her. He thinks she’s hiding in London. He also thinks that the police know where she is, and are holding their hand because she might lead them to someone else. It’s what Grice called a “big racket”, Jolly.’

  ‘I can well believe it!’

  ‘He was with the Lane girl all the time, and she didn’t kill Keller. So he wants to find a girl who could have impersonated her, and also to find someone with a good reason for wanting her to be suspected of Keller’s murder.’

  Jolly smiled again, serenely.

  ‘Obviously knows exactly what is needed. Did he give you any indication of the motive?’

  ‘He doesn’t know the motive.’

  ‘I also have some news,’ said Jolly, rubbing his hands together. ‘Linnett told me that just over two years ago Miss Lane’s father was sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude for embezzlement, and for complicity in a jewel robbery. He was a solicitor. He had access to confidential documents relating to the hiding-place of a large collection of jewels, objets d’art, and priceless miniatures, worth altogether a very large sum. These were stolen. They have not been traced. I recall the affair well, of course. The police are apparently of the opinion that Lane’s unknown accomplices and his daughter knew where this cache was. They think that the girl and the others quarrelled. That the daughter has removed the collection, and that there is a fight between the two parties to secure safe possession of them.’ />
  Jolly paused, then went on with great emphasis.

  ‘The police theory implies that whoever is behind this murder will offer to get Miss Lane out of the country, in return for telling him where to find the collection. As a large sum is involved, the police are not surprised that murder has been committed, and another murder might be committed. If that is the proper explanation,’ finished Jolly, ‘it is easy to understand much of what has happened. The vital task is to find Miss Lane.’

  ‘But Mr. Rollison thinks the police know where she is.’ Lady Gloria’s voice was sharp.

  ‘I think we can safely leave the details to him,’ said Jolly. ‘The immediate difficulty lies in the fact that the police are watching us closely. I was followed to Bournemouth Station and met at Waterloo. There was another in the street, presumably watching you, my lady. That would greatly distress Mr. Rollison, if—’

  ‘Fiddlesticks!’ said Lady Gloria. ‘It would amuse him. And do you think I’m wrapped in cotton-wool? Mr. Rollison’s a fool, he always has been a fool, but he wouldn’t be quixotic about this Lane girl unless he had a good reason. Only one thing worries me, Jolly.’

  ‘And what is that, my lady?’

  ‘I must have been seen talking with Miss Cartwright. If her flat is also being watched we’ll be in the cart.’

  ‘I remember her flat,’ said Jolly almost dreamily. ‘It is on the top floor of a house in a terrace, not far from here. I imagine that if necessary, Mr. Rollison will escape over the roofs, he probably had that in mind when he selected the spot.’

  Lady Gloria sniffed, and said abruptly, ‘There has always been a risk that he would get himself into trouble from which he can’t escape. I hope this isn’t the time. Be careful, Jolly – be very careful.’

  At half past five that afternoon, while Rollison leaned back in an easy-chair and read more of Meredith’s poems than he had done since his schooldays, musing occasionally on Iris’s love of poetry, he heard footsteps approaching the fiat; they were hers. She had been back, for lunch, and gone out again on another shopping excursion – and, she had said, to spy out the land. She opened the door and came in with a whirl, slammed it, and rushed towards him. She carried several brown-paper parcels, her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled. She tossed the parcels into a chair, stood in front of him, and burst out: ‘How on earth you can sit back like that with all this going on, I just don’t know!’

  ‘It’s easy. With so many friends …’

  ‘A fat lot of good your friends will be if the police come here, and there’s a man in the street. A detective.’ Iris almost hissed the word. ‘I’m sure. I saw him in the other case, a big man with a flat nose and fair hair. We’re being watched. You’ll have to leave.’

  ‘Not until after dark.’

  ‘It won’t be dark for nearly four hours. As you know, I told Lady Gloria everything you wanted, but I can’t imagine how Jolly will let you know where to go. You’re asking the impossible, and—’

  She broke off.

  There were footsteps outside again, this time heavy and deliberate, the footsteps of a man. Rollison closed the door.

  Iris’s face blanched.

  ‘Richard!’

  ‘Now take it easy.’

  He stood up.

  ‘It’s that detective, he—’

  The front-door bell rang.

  Iris put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes; and her lips moved, Rollison actually heard three words. ‘Eight – nine – ten.’ She opened eyes that had become like stars and whispered: ‘What are we going to do?’

  There was a sound at the letter-box, just audible, suggesting that someone was trying to peer through.

  X

  NEWS

  Rollison moved to the window and glanced out, keeping close to the side, so that he couldn’t be seen from the street. A heavily built man was walking along on the other side, reading a newspaper. Iris stood with one arm raised, as if she wanted to strike Rollison and make him act.

  There was no other sound outside.

  Rollison went to the hall door.

  He stood looking at it, and began to chuckle. Iris stormed towards him without a word, thrust him to one side and stared at the letter-box across the tiny hall.

  A newspaper poked through.

  ‘My sweet, alarm for nothing at all, it’s just the evening papers.’

  Iris caught her breath. Rollison went forward to take the newspapers, and Iris followed him, clutched his arm, and said urgently: ‘Don’t touch them!’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘I don’t have evening papers delivered, I always get one while I’m out.’

  ‘Well, well,’ murmured Rollison, and pulled the papers through. ‘So someone’s sent us a present.’

  He took them into the living-room, and opened them out; there was a Star, Standard, and Evening News. The Toff was in every headline, and his picture was on each front page.

  Something dropped from the Standard and hit Rollison’s shoe – a Yale door key.

  ‘Look!’ cried Iris.

  ‘Not bad,’ said Rollison, and his eyes were happy. ‘A present from Jolly.’

  He opened the Standard, and there was a pencilled note, in the margin, written in Jolly’s precise hand. Iris peered over his shoulder, pressing against him in her eagerness to read. They read.

  ‘Twenty-seven Lumley Street,’ said Rollison, ‘top floor, a two-room flatlet, rented under the name of Stevens – isn’t Jolly wonderful? I’ll soon be away from here, Iris, but never out of your debt.’

  He read on.

  ‘Hallo! He’s not wonderful, he simply works miracles. “There are three possible places where the woman Lane might be found, and the most likely is at 5 Hilton Street, Kensington – most likely, because the police are watching that address from a flat opposite. It is the flat of a close friend of Miss Lane’s, on the second floor. I obtained this information from Mr. Rowse, who was most anxious to be helpful, but was somewhat excitable. He had twice been interviewed by the police, but assured me that he had not given them the Hilton Street address.”’

  ‘How on earth did he find all this?’ asked Iris. ‘Let’s read on. “In view of the urgency and my own limited capacity, Lady Gloria made arrangements with the private enquiry agency of Kenways, whose report arrived a few minutes ago. Among Miss Lane’s associates are several ex-convicts and others whose activities are suspect.”’

  Rollison learned everything that Linnett had told Jolly.

  Iris gave up half-way through, walked away, and dropped into an easy-chair. Rollison finished reading, then took out a penknife and carefully cut out the writing on the margin, folded the piece and put it in his wallet, and screwed up the rest of the paper.

  ‘We’d better burn this.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘See Marion-Liz,’ said Rollison absently.

  ‘That woman! But the police are watching her, it would be crazy …’

  ‘That’s right, I’m crazy,’ said Rollison.

  She jumped up, gripped his hands, and peered closely into his face.

  ‘Richard, listen to me. That would be walking into a trap. The police probably expect you to get in touch with her, the moment you go, they’ll pounce.’

  ‘They don’t have to see me go.’

  ‘You can’t make yourself invisible.’

  ‘I can do the next best thing,’ said Rollison, and returned her grip, then freed his hands and slid an arm round her waist. ‘Don’t worry, Iris. I started to gamble last night, this is only increasing the stake. And it’s a simple issue – proving that Marion-Liz was framed for that murder. If I can’t do that I’ve either got to retract my story or face a murder trial. Sad but true.’

  She drew away.

  ‘I’d hate you to be caught. Is there anything else I can do?’

  ‘What about Reginald Rowse?’

  ‘I’ve managed to find some people who know a Reginald Rowse who owns some tobacco and cigarette sho
ps, but is it any use now? Jolly’s been in touch with him.’

  ‘It might help if you make friends with Reginald,’ said Rollison. ‘But don’t overdo it. After I’ve left—’

  ‘Rolly, you don’t seem to understand, you can’t leave without being seen. They’ll stay outside by night, there’s a street-lamp quite near. There’s no back way and no fire-escape here. You can’t get away.’

  Rollison said, ‘Let me pour you a drink.’

  He went to a small corner cabinet, opened it, and revealed bottles and glasses. She just stood and watched him. His eyes held the brightness of daring, his lean body was relaxed. He was like no other man she had ever known; and he even silenced her fears.

  ‘In the roof at Gresham Terrace I’ve made a hole,’ he said lightly, ‘and once or twice I’ve had to get out by it. Where there’s a roof, there’s a way, old song! You will stay down here, I’ll look at the roof.’

  ‘You’ll never do it,’ said Iris desperately. ‘Your only hope is to stay here.’

  ‘Drink up,’ said Rollison. ‘Here’s to your bright eyes, my sweet.’ It was easy to make a hole in the roof, although it took some time. When he came down, Iris had overcome her fears sufficiently to be preparing a high tea. They had it, companionably, and he relaxed for a while afterwards; until it was time to go.

  The weather favoured him. Clouds blew up, it was sultry hot, and the thunder could hardly be long delayed. But it was pitch dark on the roof of the house in Mayfair. He hauled himself through and groped his way across die sloping slates towards a chimney-stack, crouched there, and looked back at the hole – and at Iris’s head, which disappeared. He had made a neat job of the hole, Iris was going to spend the next half-hour trying to repair it; she might do that well enough to avoid notice if the police should search the flat.

  After a while, he was able to see a little.

  He lowered himself so that his feet were touching the guttering, and lay flat on his stomach, his head near the chimney-stack. Then he edged his way slowly towards the right – and the nearest corner. He didn’t need to go far; two or three houses would probably be far enough; he could reach a fire-escape and climb down to safety while the police watched the flat.