Hammer the Toff

by John Creasey

  At sight of Susan his glum face broke into a smile. ‘Good evening, Miss Susan.’

  Dodging round him came young Higginbottom.

  ‘Take your bag, sir?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Rollison in alarm. ‘Don’t touch, it.’ He laid it gingerly on the hall table. ‘That has given me more nightmares in an hour than I’ve had in a lifetime. You’re working late, aren’t you?’

  ‘Where duty calls,’ murmured Higginbottom, righteously.

  ‘An admirable sentiment,’ said Rollison. ‘Susan, this is Mr Higginbottom, my new amanuensis. Higginbottom, Miss Susan Lancaster. Now if you really mean the sentiment you have expressed, telephone Scotland Yard for Superintendent Grice, and if he isn’t there, try and get him at his home address. Jolly will tell you the number.’

  Susan watched him with a smile as he hurried into the living-room.

  ‘Well, we’re here’ she said.

  ‘And that’s here, too,’ said Rollison looking with curiosity at the brief-case. ‘Go and tidy up, Susan, you’ll find everything you want in the spare room,’

  Alone, he approached the case with keen anticipation.

  After much trouble and many explanations, he had been allowed to bring it from Waterloo. He had nursed it gently in the taxi, but, because of the constant jolting, had not examined it; and in any case, Grice must be present when it was searched. He felt quite sure that an embedded hypodermic needle would be discovered, and that the plump man had been waiting at the station to kill Susan.

  Having looked at it from every angle, Rollison then picked up the brief-case and took it into the living-room. Higginbottom was at the telephone. ‘The Superintendent’s on the line, Mr Rollison,’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rollison put the case on the desk and added; ‘Touch it at risk of your life.’ He took the receiver.

  ‘Welcome home,’ greeted Grice.

  ‘And what a welcome! You’ve heard from Bournemouth, I suppose?’

  ‘Indeed I have.’

  ‘I’ve got the brief-case here,’ said Rollison. ‘Come and have some dinner with me,’

  ‘I’ve dined.’ said Grice ‘but I’ll come over.’ He paused, and then added: ‘Are you sure it’s the same brief-case?’

  ‘No. But I wouldn’t mind taking a hundred to one bet on it.’

  Grice gave a grim little laugh. ‘Well, expect me in half an hour.’

  Rollison replaced the receiver.

  ‘Ever seen a case like that before?’ he asked Higginbottom, indicating the brief-case.

  Snub looked up. ‘I can’t say I have,’ he admitted, ‘but then, I haven’t seen anything like that before.’ He glanced at the wall of the living-room. It was adorned, with a miscellany of souvenirs from criminal cases in which Rollison had been involved; a collection that was both Rollison’s joy and Jolly’s sorrow.

  Rollison shook his head as he surveyed the wall.

  ‘The case is too big to go up there,’ he said regretfully, ‘though I might be able to do something with the handle,’ He sat on the corner of his desk. ‘How much do you know of what’s been going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Well … most of it, I think.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Jolly’s been very helpful,’ Snub told him.

  ‘Well, that’s a comfort. The taming of Jolly, I mean. Congratulations. How is the quest for rooms going?’

  ‘Jolly’s fixed that,’ said Snub, cheerfully. ‘Is there anything Jolly can’t fix?’

  ‘Not much,’ said Rollison. ‘He’s a good model to follow,’

  He looked with approval at Higginbottom. ‘Well, if you’re not too busy, you might clear the desk of everything except the briefcase, and touch that only with a handkerchief or gloves, we don’t want any more prints on it.’ He nodded, smiled and went out. Jolly appeared from the kitchen.

  ‘You haven’t dined, sir, I suppose?’

  ‘No. Can you fix something?’

  ‘I have made arrangements with the restaurant,’ said Jolly reassuringly.

  Rollison went into the dining-room and found Susan standing in front of the mirror. She turned to face him, her expression grave.

  ‘Gin and tonic or sherry?’ Rollison asked.

  ‘Sherry,’ said Susan. ‘Dry, please.’ She took her glass and then put it down again.

  ‘Rolly, what can I say? What can anyone say, when you’ve saved their life twice in twenty-four hours?’

  ‘Luck!’ declared Rollison.

  ‘Yes, luck that you were with me … thank you, Rolly.’

  ‘You know, you’re taking this much too seriously,’ Rollison told her. ‘This isn’t exactly a new medium for me. One learns by practice and some things become habitual. You know Grice, don’t you? Nice chap. A policeman with a conscience who will ask you many questions, and it will be even less wise to lie to him than to me.’

  ‘I have not lied to you.’

  ‘That was simply my way of impressing you with the personality of Grice,’ Rollison assured her hastily. ‘Now, I think—’

  From outside the flat, but not far away, there came a scream, a sound of sheer horror. A wild, howling, banshee note which quivered through the air. Once … twice. The second time it reached an awful crescendo almost beyond human endurance to hear. Jolly, and all of them crowded on to the landing, Susan clutching Rollison’s arm.

  ‘Rolly, what—’ she broke off, with a gasp. ‘Stop it!’ she cried, ‘stop it!’

  From somewhere below another scream came.

  Jolly was half way down the stairs as Rollison reached his side. They could see a woman standing on the landing below, her head thrown back, the scream thinned now to a shrill whistle of sound.

  Rollison stopped abruptly. He was a little below Susan, and with a sudden, violent gesture he pushed her aside and raced up the stairs. There was a shadow against the inner wall of his flat. But the flat should be empty. He neared the doorway as the shadow grew darker, blacker.

  A man came out of Rollison’s flat, carrying a brief-case.

  Chapter Ten

  Frightened Lady

  The man was a smallish fellow wearing a hat and a scarf. Rollison could not see his face. He held the brief-case in one hand and a gun in the other. Susan saw the gun, and cried in a high, clear voice: ‘Rolly, look out!’ The man swung round towards Rollison, as Rollison dived towards him. There was a flash and a roar. How the bullet missed him Rollison did not know. All he felt was a resounding blow on the side of the head as he hit the wall.

  Rollison staggered up, dazed from the blow. Snub had wrested the gun from the man’s hand and was struggling for the brief-case. The corner of it was nearly touching his leg. Rollison went forward, filled with a desperate anxiety; that corner must not touch Snub’s leg.

  Waiting for the right moment, he suddenly shot out a hand and gripped the intruder’s wrist. The case fell, and was kicked to one side. The would-be thief drove his knee into Snub’s stomach, sent Susan flying, and raced down the stairs.

  Snub had recovered sufficiently to take charge both of Susan and the brief-case, so Rollison went downstairs, visions of the intruder vivid in his mind. A crowd was still gathered about the woman who had screamed, but now she was silent. She sat with her back against the wall in a state of collapse, her rather too golden hair awry.

  Her eyes were half-closed.

  Rollison looked at her sharply for a moment or two and then bent down and picked her up. Jolly, alongside, gave an air of balance and decorum to the whole proceeding as he carried her up the stairs,

  Rollison strode into the flat and dumped his burden, none too gently, into a chair.

  Susan started forward indignantly. ‘Rolly, she’s ill!’

  ‘Fiddlesticks!’ declared Rollison robustly. ‘She has a very healthy, powerful set of lungs which she has used with great professionalism.’ He leaned forward. ‘You are a professional, aren’t you?’

  The girl – she was little more – jerked her head back.

  ‘I don’t kn
ow what you mean. I was taken ill. My nerves, I—’

  ‘Now I’ll tell you the truth,’ said Rollison. ‘You—’

  ‘The doctor always says that a little tot of something will do me good after an attack,’ said the girl. She fluttered heavily mascared lashes. ‘Whisky,’ she added, ‘or—or brandy.’

  Rollison chuckled. ‘But before you take anything to strengthen your nerves, you are going to hear my version of the incident. You were bribed to create a disturbance, or maybe did it for love, so that a friend of yours could slip into my flat and take away a brief-case. Remember?’

  ‘I wasn’t!’ The girl began to look really scared. ‘I was taken ill, I can show you a doctor’s certificate!’ She began to look round for her bag, then jumped up in alarm. ‘My bag! Where is it? I must have left it downstairs.’ Alarm had turned into something closely akin to panic. ‘I must get it, I tell you, all—all my money’s in that bag!’

  Jolly murmured: ‘Is this the bag. Miss?’ He held out a small, imitation crocodile bag.

  The girl snatched at it, but Rollison was before her. He stood back with the bag in his hand, while the girl stood glaring at him. She had gone white.

  ‘Get her a drink. Snub,’ said Rollison.

  He opened the bag, and strewed the contents carefully on to the table. The girl jumped forward, but Rollison fended her off.

  ‘Are you sure you ought to do this?’ asked Susan, uncertainly.

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Rollison blandly. ‘Now, what have we here?’ he added, standing back with a restraining hand on the girl’s arm and contemplating the oddments on the table. ‘Powder compact, lipstick, book of stamps, eyebrow pencil, rouge, but … surprise surprise – no doctor’s certificate!’

  ‘Give me those things!’

  Snub jogged her elbow. ‘Here we are,’ he said, ‘a double scotch and I only added a splash. That ought to steady your nerves.’

  She took the glass and drank half the contents at a gulp.

  Rollison continued his inventory of the articles on the table.

  ‘A handkerchief, a little red purse …’

  The girl was breathing heavily, straining forward, held back only by Snub, whose grip was more powerful than it appeared to be. Her gaze was fixed on the purse, which was the only thing that Rollison had picked up.

  ‘Drink up,’ urged Snub. ‘Waste not, want not.’

  The girl flung the whisky, glass and all, at Rollison. He dodged to one side. The glass hit a chair and broke. Jolly raised his eyebrows with a self-righteous frown of resignation, and went into the kitchen. Hardly a moment passed before he was back with a cloth, dustpan and brush. He began to sweep up the mess.

  Quietly Rollison started to open the purse.

  ‘No, don’t!’ she cried, ‘don’t do that!’

  Rollison shook the contents out on to the palm of his hand. First, there fell something which scintillated with astonishing brilliance, then followed a tightly folded piece of paper.

  Rollison selected the jewel. It was a diamond pendant, a lovely thing of great value; certainly much more valuable than anything this girl might have been expected to own.

  ‘That’s quite a bauble,’ he said, looking at the now terrified girl.

  ‘Rolly, what is it?’ asked Susan.

  ‘We’ll find out,’ said Rollison. He opened the folded paper.

  There was no writing on it; but there was a rubber-stamped impression of a claw-headed hammer. Rollison picked up the pendant again, and weighed it in his hand.

  ‘Instructions and reward,’ he murmured.

  The girl did not speak.

  Rollison pulled a chair up and sat in front of her.

  ‘You’re a silly girl,’ he said, gently. ‘You shouldn’t accept bribes of this kind even from the Hammer. It will only get you into trouble with the police. You know that, don’t you?’ When she did not reply, he went on: ‘I don’t propose to tell the police about this, provided you tell me the truth. The Hammer sent you instructions to come here and create a disturbance, didn’t he? And as reward, he sent you this diamond pendant.’

  After a long pause, she muttered: ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘Is it the first time you’ve worked for him?’

  She caught her breath. ‘Yes!’

  ‘That isn’t true,’ said Rollison.

  ‘It—I—no, it isn’t true,’ she gasped, ‘but I had to do it, I had to because the Hammer made me.’ She was scarcely coherent. ‘It isn’t any use refusing, no use at all.’

  ‘How did you get the message?’

  ‘A kid brought it,’ she said. ‘I had a message to meet him at Aldgate station, he told me to come here right away and kick up a fuss. I had to obey. Those who—’ she broke off.

  ‘Go on,’ murmured Rollison.

  ‘Those who don’t do what he says get what’s coming to them,’ she said, and now there was a hopeless note in her voice.

  Susan stirred restlessly, but did not speak. There was a long pause before the girl went on again.

  ‘He’s got a hold over me,’ she said sullenly.

  Rollison did not press her to explain; but that she had been blackmailed in a curiously unusual fashion was clear enough. Yet was it so unusual? She had been given a jewel that was probably stolen; and, once she kept it for herself, she would be further in the clutches of the man who had sent it to her, for she would have received stolen goods.

  Rollison began to dislike the Hammer very much indeed.

  He asked: ‘Do you know who came here to break into my flat?’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t know why I had to do it, he didn’t tell me anything else, he just told me to come here,’ She turned to Rollison with a flare of defiance. ‘Are you going to tell the police?’

  Rollison shook his head. ‘Not this time, but I’ll keep the note and the jewel. If it isn’t stolen, you shall have it back.’

  She sniffed, not daring to be openly hostile.

  ‘Who are you, and where do you live?’ asked Rollison.

  ‘Ethel Kent,’ she said, and gave him her address in a sullen undertone.

  Rollison barely caught it, for his thoughts were on the attempt to retrieve the brief-case. He smiled at Susan. ‘Take her into the spare room and let her tidy up,’ he said. ‘Hurry, because the police are coming to see me.’

  Susan took the girl away. Slowly, Rollison replaced the contents of the bag, except the note and the pendant.

  ‘Now I know why you’re considered so good,’ said Snub, with transparent admiration. ‘I wouldn’t have pieced that together in a month of August Bank Holidays.’

  ‘You’ll learn,’ Rollison said absently. ‘Feel like stretching your legs?’

  Snub’s eyes glistened.

  ‘Don’t I!’

  ‘Go downstairs, wait until the girl comes out, and then follow her,’ said Rollison. ‘Don’t take any chances, lose her rather than get your skull cracked, but if you can find out who speaks to her and where she goes, it will be helpful. Off with you!’

  Snub went out and Rollison spoke to Jolly. ‘Will you make sure that he isn’t followed in turn?’ he asked. ‘If he is, do some snooping yourself. If he isn’t, come back here.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Soon, Ethel Kent came hurrying back, on edge to get away.

  ‘Shall I get her a taxi?’ Susan asked.

  ‘No,’ said Rollison, ‘she’ll be all right. Ethel—’ he waited until the girl looked straight at him. ‘If you get into trouble about this, tell me. Don’t worry because I’m friendly with the police. I won’t let you down, and I will help. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she muttered.

  Rollison handed her her bag.

  ‘I think I’ll go with her a little way,’ said Susan.

  Rollison saw them off, doubly glad that he had sent Snub to follow the girl and that Jolly was also on the look-out. Left on his own, he poured himself out a drink and sat back in an easy chair, looking at the brief-case. Of its vital importance there wa
s no longer any doubt; or the fact that the Hammer wanted it badly. He wished that he knew more about the Hammer. He thought of everything he could remember about the newspaper article and wondered, now, whether he had been wise to take it so lightly. He felt guilty, too. For many years the East End had been his especial beat, but lately he had been inclined to stay in the West End, going East only when there were signs of trouble. A visit was indicated in the near future, and he wondered how well he would be received by his old-time friends.

  He looked at the jewel. If he were right, this had been stolen recently. The more he thought of it the more certain he felt that it had been used both to pay the girl for her task and to get her further into the Hammer’s clutches. A clever, even a brilliant, move.

  Grice should know something about him. There were few people at Scotland Yard whom Rollison knew well these days for there had been a spate of retirements and promotions. The younger men did not know Rollison, except by reputation, and they were doubtless sceptical about that; he certainly did not blame them. He still had friends there, but none who knew the East End well. Like changes had taken place in the divisional police stations. Grice was, in fact, his one reliable link with the past.

  The new Chief Constable, Meredith, had been promoted from the C.I.D. Branch. A stolid, worthy fellow, but one who had never had any time for the Toff, for he disliked unorthodoxy and all breaches of regulations. Rollison did not think that had been a change for the better; certainly Grice had been wise when he had warned him to move carefully.

  There were footsteps on the landing. Rollison opened the front door, and Grice came in, He led him into the sitting-room, and Grice’s eyes immediately turned towards the brief-case. Rollison took the pendant from his pocket and toyed with it. The fiery darts sped everywhere, until at last they caught Grice’s eye. He turned.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked, and then, when he saw the pendant, he demanded in a taut voice: ‘Where the devil did you get that? That’s a Hammer job.’

  Chapter Eleven

  The Poison

  ‘And who might the Hammer be?’ asked Rollison, innocently.

  Grice was examining the pendant. It was sufficiently unusual in shape, cut and setting to be easily recognisable, and his expression seemed to confirm his first judgement. The immediate tension had gone, but there was a grim note in his voice when he spoke.