Hunt the Toff

by John Creasey

  It seemed an age before he saw Rowse clearly – and even then the man seemed to be moving up and down and round and about. The room was unsteady, and two great lumps seemed to press against Rollison’s wind-pipe.

  Rowse said: ‘Like it? That’s just the beginning, Rollison. Tommy will do what I tell him. He’s had a lot of experience in making people uncomfortable? Where’s Leah? Where are those papers?’

  Tommy rapped hard knuckles against Rollison’s temples.

  ‘Painful?’ asked Rowse. ‘Perhaps you’d rather have the police, and that knife in your pocket. Look.’ He held the knife close to Rollison’s eyes, point forward; the dulled blade was sharp, there was only a little of the bright steel still untouched by blood. ‘Look! You can have it back, if you’ll tell me where Leah and those papers are. If not …’

  He stabbed forward with it.

  The point seemed to enter Rollison’s eyes. There was a spasm of dreadful pain – but it wasn’t physical, the knife didn’t touch the eye.

  Rowse drew back.

  ‘He won’t last long,’ he said confidently. ‘He hasn’t been used to real rough stuff. Ease off for a few minutes, Tommy.’

  The man stood back.

  ‘Take a rest and do some serious thinking,’ said Rowse. ‘And remember you wouldn’t have a chance in hell if you hadn’t taken Leah and the papers. Just talk.’

  If he talked, what? Death? Or a mocking laugh and a blow which would knock him out, the knife in his pocket, and the police on the way? That was the probable end; there would be no honour in Rowse’s promise. The man knew exactly what he wanted, and would stop at nothing to get it. The thoughts passed laboriously through Rollison’s mind; he was almost past thinking.

  Then he heard a cry.

  ‘Micky!’

  It was a woman’s voice. He heard running footsteps down the stairs, and the call came again.

  ‘Micky, look out of the window!’

  A girl swung into the room. She was young and attractive, and she might have been taken for Marion-Liz. She had the same colouring, the same kind of figure. Rollison’s gaze was hazy, he couldn’t really see her clearly. He knew she hadn’t Marion-Liz’s ravishing beauty, but she would do. She rushed across the room to Rowse, as he turned towards the window and looked out.

  He stood rigid.

  Rollison’s thought, ‘Police?’ And it hardly seemed to matter.

  Rowse swung round – and laughed. Laughed on a loud and triumphant note, making Steve grin broadly. The girl hung on to Rowse’s arm, he put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her.

  He moved in front of Rollison.

  ‘You make a lot of mistakes, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Leah’s coming up the drive. Steve! Go and open the door.’

  XXII

  LAST MISTAKE

  Steve hurried out of the room. Rowse laughed again, slid his arm round the girl’s waist, and they went towards the door. If Leah had escaped …

  Leah had escaped.

  She probably had the papers with her. Jolly had failed, no one could blame Jolly, but at this crucial stage he’d failed. Rollison leaned back – and caught sight of Tommy, staring towards the door. He had a foreshortened view of Tommy’s massive chin and bulging nostrils. His neck still hurt and his breathing was painful, but Tommy’s attention was on the door, and the others were going out into the hall.

  Rollison stretched up his arms.

  Tommy saw that, and started – and Rollison got his fingers round Tommy’s thick throat, and squeezed. Even Tommy’s strength of grip couldn’t have held on more tightly.

  ‘Leah!’ cried Rowse, from the hall.

  ‘Darling!’ crowed the girl.

  Tommy made a choking noise and smashed at Rollison’s head. The blows hurt, but didn’t make him relax his grip. He pressed into the wind-pipe, could feel Tommy’s heaving chest, felt also the slackening power of the blows.

  Tommy went limp.

  Rollison squeezed him again, for safety’s sake, and let him go. He fell, slackly, slid down by the back of the chair and lay in a heap on the floor. Rollison got up slowly, and his head reeled. He wasn’t out of this wood yet, but he could see the path. They’d made a big mistake, a fatal one; they’d been so sure of themselves that they hadn’t searched him.

  He took out his gun, and stepped towards a corner, near the door.

  The girl was saying, ‘Leah, it’s wonderful, we thought you were a prisoner. Rollison—’

  ‘Micky, we’re going to get Rollison,’ Leah Woolf said. Her voice was rich and deep, with all the attractiveness Rollison had first noticed when she had spoken just behind him. ‘I won’t rest until—’

  ‘We’ve got him already!’ the girl cried.

  Leah said, ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, he came here,’ said Rowse with a laugh in his voice, triumph was oozing out of him. ‘He took a chance, we were just using a little persuasion.’ They were much nearer the door, now, would be in at any moment. ‘Leah – did you get the papers?’

  She said, ‘Everything, yes.’

  ‘Wonderful!’

  ‘But how did you do it?’ cried the girl who was like Marion-Liz.

  ‘He left two men to look after me,’ said Leah. ‘One of them left. And you can thank your friend Sammy Gilbert.’

  Sammy; oh, Sammy!

  ‘He decided that it was safer to back you than Rollison. He was at our flat. Rollison made him help him, but Sammy knew where he’d come. He watched, saw Rollison’s servant leave, and then came and broke into Rollison’s hide-out. The other man wasn’t expecting trouble, it was soon over.’

  Relief showed in her voice, she was gloating.

  She stepped into the room, looking at the girl, who was by her side.

  ‘I found the address book and the papers in a drawer, just had to open the drawer to get them,’ said Leah, and laughed; and then her voice changed. ‘But he killed Leo, we’ve got to make sure that Rollison hangs.’

  ‘He would have hanged anyhow,’ Rowse said. ‘I dangled the knife in front of his nose, carrots to a donkey. Hear that, Rollison?’

  Rollison heard him break off as they came into the room, and saw the woman stare towards the empty chair.

  Rollison said mildly, ‘Anyone like to get hurt?’

  Rowse spun round, his hand moving towards his pocket.

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ said Rollison, and fired. He didn’t try to miss Rowse’s gun-hand. Blood leapt on to the man’s fingers before the hand touched his pocket. The women stood as if transfixed, as the shot roared out. Rollison moved like a flash, pulling Leah farther into the room. She stumbled into the girl, and they fell against the wall, together. Rowse was backing into the hall, Steve was between him and the front door – and Steve had the gun.

  He fired.

  Rollison felt the bullet tug at his coat as he squeezed the trigger; and his aim was better than the startled Steve’s. Steve gasped and staggered back, but still held his gun. Rollison rushed at him, and knocked the gun out of his hand. It wouldn’t have mattered. Steve had a wound in his chest and a strange, scared look in his eyes. His knees bent beneath him, and he fell forward.

  Rowse’s eyes were rounded with the same fear.

  ‘Having a nice time?’ Rollison asked. ‘Join the ladies, Jim-Micky Rowse, we’re going to have some fun.’

  He pushed the man back towards the room. He went in cautiously, but neither of the women appeared to have a gun, they stood by a table, limp, dumbfounded. Rollison pushed Rowse towards them, and thrust his fingers through his hair – and hoped they didn’t know how weak he felt at the knees.

  ‘And here we are together,’ he said foolishly. ‘Leah with the papers, too, a nice present for the police.’

  Rowse muttered, ‘Police? You wouldn’t …’

  ‘Now don’t be silly,’ said Rollison, and went towards the telephone. ‘There’s a time and a place for everything, including the police. With all of you huddled together like this, they’d hate to miss the party. One of you mi
ght even think of turning Queen’s Evidence – the sweet young thing who went to Hexley last Wednesday, perhaps.’

  The girl said, ‘No, no!’

  She had lost all her colour, terror shone in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ mimicked Rollison. ‘Not that you’ll stand up to police questioning, my pretty. We can show them everything now, including the knife in your pocket, Micky. Before I telephone them—’

  Rowse said, ‘Rollison, listen! We can pay you for silence, give us a break. We can pay plenty, we—’

  ‘Oh, not that,’ protested Rollison, as if hurt. ‘It’s a waste of breath.’

  He touched the telephone – and heard a car coming along the road. He glanced out of the window, through which he could see the Cupressus-trees and the wall and the top of a car, beyond the wall. Police? He didn’t lift the receiver. The car was slowing down, and it stopped with a squeal of brakes – and immediately afterwards another car appeared, coming at speed.

  The gates were pushed open.

  Men streamed in along the drive, and several cut across the lawns. In the front was Bill Ebbutt; and his cronies from the gymnasium were behind him, four in the first group, five in the next, who came from the second car. Then a third car pulled up, and next moment Jolly and Iris appeared, and ran with surprising speed.

  Rowse and the girl looked out of the window.

  Leah Woolf stared at Rollison. Her eyes were glittering in that now familiar glare, and her teeth showed because her hps were turned back. She was as beautiful as a lioness at bay.

  Footsteps sounded clearly on the gravel.

  Rollison said, ‘Friends of mine.’

  But he didn’t smile, nothing in the woman’s face encouraged a smile. He heard a thud at the door and then the crash of breaking glass; Ebbutt was not standing on ceremony. Another window smashed, and a man climbed through and shouted: ‘I’m in!’

  Men appeared at the window, and Rowse and the girl backed away.

  Leah Woolf didn’t speak, but drew herself up and then flung herself forward, ignoring the gun. Rollison could have shot her, but he didn’t. He stepped to one side and she followed; then he saw the knife in her hand. She closed with him, knocking his gun aside; and he’d given her the chance because she was a woman! He felt her breath on his face, struggled to get at the wrist, felt the knife tear through the cloth of his coat, felt the cut in his shoulder.

  Then men rushed in.

  She was dragged away, gasping for breath – and suddenly began to shout and rave. It took Ebbutt and two others to hold her down in a chair, and all Ebbutt’s strength to pull the knife from her fingers. She sat back, snarling; more animal than human.

  Ebbutt wheezed, ‘You okay, Mr. Ar?’ He loomed over Rollison, who was standing upright with difficulty and whose shoulder was throbbing. A great arm went round his waist. ‘Take it easy, Mr. Ar. Just lean on me. We’ll git you away, Jolly’s fixed a car and a n’airyplane.’

  Rollison leaned against him.

  Jolly and Iris came in, the girl in front.

  ‘Richard! Oh, Richard, thank God you’re all right!’

  ‘But we’ve got to get a move on,’ said Ebbutt. ‘The rozzers might be rahnd anytime, can’t trust the rozzers. I’ll carry yer, Mr. Ar, just take it easy.’

  Jolly came across hurriedly, his eyes searching for the truth – for hope.

  Rollison forced a grin.

  ‘All right, Bill. All right, Jolly. No more running. The knife’s in Rowse’s pocket, everything the police will want is here – including the pretty who pretended to be Marion-Liz. All over, bar the shouting. There’ll be a lot of shouting, but who minds that?’

  After a long pause, Jolly said, ‘Are you sure, sir?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Rollison.

  The prisoners were taken into another room, and this large, airy room, with its brightness and luxury, was very quiet. Rollison sat in an easy-chair, coat off and shoulder bandaged. Jolly finished the bandaging and stood back. Iris stood by the window, looking towards the street and waiting for the police. Two or three of Ebbutt’s men were on guard in the rest of the house, but most of them had gone. Ebbutt himself was watching the prisoners.

  ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the mishap at Lumley Street, sir.’ Jolly was himself again. ‘I left Skinner in charge, because I wanted to make arrangements for an aircraft, I envisaged the possibility that it would be wise for you to leave the country for a short while. I had not calculated on Gilbert’s treachery, of course. Miss Cartwright tells me that he left the car a few moments after she drove away from the spot near Lumley Street, and obviously he doubled back and saw where you went. I simply had not allowed for that, and naturally had thought that Skinner would be capable of dealing with any emergency.’

  Rollison smiled faintly.

  ‘Does it matter, now?’

  ‘I feel that it does, sir, although not so much as it might have done. When I found what had happened, I rang up Mr. Ebbutt, and came back here with Miss Cartwright, we had a job getting a taxi so early. Are you quite sure it is wise to face the police at this juncture, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Jolly.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ said Iris, swinging round violently. ‘What a daft thing to say, Jolly. I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t put him up to half the crazy things he does. And if he gets into trouble for hitting that policeman, it won’t do him any harm. No harm at all.’ Her lips were trembling. ‘It’s absolute madness for a man like you to go about risking your life. When are you going to stop?’

  ‘When the bad men stop working,’ said Rollison.

  ‘Oh, you fool!’

  She swung away from him, and Rollison smiled – and saw an answering smile in Jolly’s eyes. Then Iris, changeable as the weather on an April day, swung round from the window.

  ‘They’re here!’ she cried. ‘The police are here.’

  Two patrol cars arrived first; Grice came half an hour later.

  XXIII

  OF REGINALD ROWSE AND MARION-LIZ

  Grice came briskly into the room, and Rollison looked first into his eyes and then at his chin. Nothing could hide the bruise on that long jaw. Rollison raised one eyebrow, looking up into the Superintendent’s eyes again, and let his lips curve in a smile.

  ‘I won’t give no trouble, Guv’nor,’ he said, in a fair imitation of Skinner’s voice. ‘It’s a fair cop.’

  Grice said, ‘You blistering fool.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You deserve to hang.’

  ‘I never killed no one, Mister.’

  Grice said savagely, ‘You look as if you’ve had a rough time, and for once I’m glad about that. Perhaps this will bring you to your senses. How long did you leave the Lane girl on Wednesday night?’

  ‘Oh, lor’,’ said Rollison, ruefully, ‘do we have to go into all that again? Bill, I was with her from half past eight until half past two, remember. She didn’t go away, and she didn’t kill Keller. I don’t yet know who did. The girl taken for Marion-Liz is in another room here, and I don’t know her name, either. You’ll probably find a dress like one of Marion-Liz’s, too. Sorry, but you’d like something left for the maws of the Yard, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘So you’re sticking to that story.’

  ‘Tight as glue. With some evidence.’

  Rollison went into some detail, but before he finished, Grice cut him short.

  ‘We can hear all that at the Yard. Middleton!’

  Sergeant Middleton came in promptly.

  ‘Richard Rollison,’ said Grice in a heavy voice, ‘it is my duty to charge you with obstructing the police in the course of their duty, striking a police-officer, which is common assault, and I have to warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence. All right, Sergeant, take him to the Yard. I’ll come as soon as I can.’

  Iris cried, ‘But he didn’t do it, you can’t—’

  ‘If I were you, Miss Cartwright,’ said Grice heavily, ‘I should keep quiet until I start to que
stion you. Jolly, you will return to Gresham Terrace and wait there until I send for you. Come on, Rollison.’

  ‘I’ll come quietly,’ said the Toff humbly.

  He was remanded for eight days; on bail.

  At the second hearing, the magistrate fined him twenty-five pounds. The police preferred no other charges. That against Reginald Rowse, for striking Grice, was dropped.

  The trial of Leah Woolf, the elder Rowse, Nevett, and the girl, whose name was Lois Denton, took up five days of the Old Bailey Calendar that autumn. It had more space in all the newspapers than any other case of the year. Much transpired.

  The Woolfs had been accomplices of Marion-Liz’s father in his crimes, and it was only one of their major crimes. With James Michael Rowse, they had organised robberies, confidence tricks, crime on a large scale; and Leo Woolf had believed that when he got the Riordon Collection he could call it a day. It had obsessed him, he’d worked and planned to get at the cache.

  He had given evidence for Lane’s defence, and so had won the loyalty of Marion-Liz. He had believed that she had the keys to the strong-room where the collection was hidden, and knew where the strong-room was.

  She swore that she did not know.

  He had given her a few gay weeks, renting a furnished flat for her, and then dropped her. That was normal; and his normal behaviour had worked on his wife’s nerves until she had become distraught and neurasthenic, but beneath it all, passionately devoted to him; and he had traded on that. It was an ugly story, but none of the ugliness which came out in court matched that which Rollison had seen at the Woolf ’s flat or the Hampstead house.

  Marion-Liz had called the Woolf affaire a closed book, although she was nervous of him, and started to work with Eddie-Harry Keller. All that she had told Rollison about her plans to work with Keller, she said in court, was true; but her bitterness seemed to have gone. Judge and jury could not fail to be favourably impressed. She said she hadn’t been sure that Woolf still believed she could get at the Riordon cache. He’d watched and waited his chance, learned of the quarrel with Keller, planned swiftly and struck. He had intended to frame her, by luring her to Hexley; when she didn’t go, and he discovered she had gone out with Rollison, he had framed Rollison as well. The independent witness had speeded up the police work, but the gang had framed Liz perfectly.