by John Creasey
‘There was no answer when—’
‘There would have been, had you possessed a little patience,’ said Janet, and Rollison warmed to her, while marvelling at her steadiness. He marvelled still more when she turned, pushed back the door of the room, and invited Barrow to start his search. Barrow entered the room in front of her.
There was no one behind the door, no sign of the Hammer; even the ugly-looking weapon had vanished.
‘Weren’t you a little too eager?’ Rollison asked Barrow.
‘Mr Rollison, I know my job. We’ve been looking for this man for two years,’ said Barrow icily. ‘How did you know he was here?’
‘From the same source as you, I expect,’ said Rollison, cheerfully. He was thinking that there were two – no, three – ways in which the Hammer might have escaped: the window, the walls or through the ceiling. There might, also, be a loft. He forced himself not to glance upwards.
Other men came into the room, including the local divisional Superintendent. The news of failure had travelled fast, and their expressions were both rueful and disappointed.
It was suggested that they should look in the other rooms. A uniformed policeman was left in the study with Rollison and Janet, giving them no opportunity to speak without being heard.
The search took very little time, but from one of the rooms there came the sound of tapping.
The Superintendent came back and grinned at Rollison.
‘Barrow’s looking for secret hiding-places,’ he said.
‘This is ridiculous!’ snapped Janet. ‘You have not yet explained why you have invaded the privacy of my house. I suppose that man has the right to search?’
‘Every right, ma’am, yes.’ The Superintendent smiled at her, as if anxious to placate. ‘Your lodger is a notorious character.’
‘A what?’
‘A notorious character. Known as the Hammer.’
‘Then,’ said Janet firmly. ‘I am extremely glad that he got away. There is more good in him than in—’
The Superintendent gave an uneasy laugh.
‘Could be. But all the same, ma’am, I shouldn’t voice sentiments like those about wanted men.’ He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had become more official ‘I understand he gave the name of Taylor?’
‘Yes.’
‘When did he first come?’ asked the Superintendent, and the formal questioning was soon under way.
Janet answered coolly and without hesitation. Her story was that Taylor had left that afternoon and sent a message that he would not be returning. She allowed it to be understood that she felt bitter towards the police, because they had lost her a good lodger who paid well. All this the Superintendent accepted good-humouredly, while another man took notes.
Barrow’s tapping continued.
He came into the study when the questioning was finished, and began operations there. Only when the walls and ceiling had been examined and the carpet rolled back did he appear satisfied.
When he began on the desk, Janet asked permission to go downstairs. After she had gone, Barrow turned to Rollison.
‘How did you know the address?’ he demanded.
‘A man telephoned me and told me I would find the Hammer here,’ Rollison said, brightly.
‘The same trick as he used on us,’ said the Superintendent, looking up. ‘Someone doesn’t like the Hammer, that’s clear, but he seems to have been too fly for the informer and for us.’
‘What about the girl?’ asked Barrow, sourly. ‘She doesn’t look the type to live in a place like this, does she?’
‘She’ll be watched,’ the Superintendent said. ‘You’ve let this business throw you off your balance, sergeant. She’s lived here for ten years, to my knowledge.’
Barrow shrugged his shoulders.
They left after a stay of nearly two hours, and Rollison went with them. He still had no idea how the Hammer had got out of the room, or where he had gone. Barrow gave him a lift as far as Trafalgar Square, and then went to the Yard to report. On the way, the sergeant had been aloof and unfriendly. Rollison’s dislike of him crystallised.
In a taxi, he tried to clarify his thoughts. The Hammer had created a powerful impression. He liked what he had seen of the man. Was there someone else impersonating him? Or was it a case of split personality, already suggested by Grice? He brooded over the possibility. The impassioned voice of the man lingered in his ears, but in someone with a split personality, such passion and sincerity were to be expected.
Rollison reached Gresham Terrace a little after midnight. There was a light in the front room. Jolly opened the door as he reached the head of the stairs, having judged the moment with uncanny accuracy.
‘I’m very glad you are back, sir. A gentleman has been waiting to see you for the last hour, and insisted on waiting, however late you were.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Rollison.
‘He would not give me his name, sir,’ said Jolly, disapprovingly. ‘Will you see him?’
‘If he’s taken that much trouble, who am I to thwart him?’ asked Rollison, a trifle wearily.
Jolly opened the sitting-room door, and as Rollison entered the Hammer stood up.
Rollison looked at Jolly and said quietly: ‘We’ll have coffee, Jolly, and no more visitors until I’m through.’ Jolly bowed and left the room, while Rollison and the Hammer confronted each other, Rollison straight-faced, the Hammer with a slight smile. The silence grew prolonged; it was as if each man was determined that the other should speak first.
At last, the Hammer said: ‘I’m here to prove that I’m convinced of your integrity, Mr Rollison.’
‘Thanks.’ Rollison offered cigarettes. ‘Don’t test it too far. Why did you really come?’
‘We had not finished our conversation.’
Rollison laughed. ‘You could call it that! How did you get out of the room?’
‘Through the ceiling, then to the roof of the house next door,’ said the Hammer. ‘I only needed a little time, and you obtained it for me. How is Janet?’
‘They didn’t detain her.’
‘I’m very glad about that,’ said the Hammer. Jolly brought in the coffee, and there was silence until he had gone.
Then Rollison said: ‘This enemy of yours shows malice.’
‘Yes. His name is Benson, by the way. On two occasions I have been able to look after much of the proceeds of his burglaries for him, and he has not appreciated it.’ He smiled at Rollison, silently appealing to him to see the funny side of this.
Rollison murmured: ‘Set a thief to rob a thief.’
‘I like to think that I did more good—’ the Hammer began. Rollison said: ‘Just a moment.’ He sat on the edge of the table, bringing a touch of informality to their conversation. ‘Don’t think I’m out of sympathy with anyone who helps the poorer people in the East End, but motives are only half the battle. Hold-ups, smash-and-grab and the rest of it, whichever way you look at it, are crimes, and you commit them. I gave you time this evening because I wanted to talk to you again, because I didn’t want you to be trapped in that way, certainly not by me, but you’ve got to understand that I am on the side of law.’
‘Oh, I understand that,’ the Hammer said.
‘This man Benson betrayed you, you say. If he learned where you lived he must have spent a lot of time tracing you. He could only do it through Ebbutt and people like him. He almost certainly knows that your Janet is a party to your crimes. If he can betray you he can betray the others. Isn’t that common-sense?’
The Hammer did not speak, but stubbed out his cigarette.
‘By coming here, you’ve forced on me the onus of either giving you up, or letting you go again,’ said Rollison. He smiled grimly. ‘By coming to my flat, a place which might be watched by the police, you’ve put me in a spot. It’s a curious attitude for a man who professes to be a philanthropist, isn’t it?’
The Hammer said slowly: ‘What are you driving at, Rollison?’
‘Find
ing out why you’re here,’ said Rollison.
After a pause, the Hammer said: ‘I’m here because in spite of what I said earlier, I think I can help you to find Bruce Drayton. I hope that is a sufficient reason.’
Chapter Seventeen
Benson
It was easy to believe the man.
Rollison, convinced until that moment that the Hammer had come in a spirit of mingled gratitude and bravado, attempted to hide his surprise.
‘You want to find him, don’t you?’ the Hammer asked calmly.
‘Is he alive?’
‘I have every reason to think so. Benson will be able to tell you, I am quite sure of that. Earlier tonight,’ went on the Hammer, ‘I told you that I was slightly acquainted with Horniman. I did not think it wise, just then, to tell you that I have known Horniman for some time; not because of his recent activities, but because he is – or was – a friend of Benson’s. I have long been aware that Benson, once he found me, would do everything he could to have me caught. Horniman, at one time, was a partner of Benson’s in the Hammer Club. I think it was named after me,’ he added, mildly.
‘Is that where Benson lives and works?’
‘He lives nearby, in Hackett Mews. I learned some weeks ago that he was concerned in a kidnapping affair, and. wanted help for the job. I did not know who was to be the victim, but I think I know now. I heard afterwards that something had gone wrong and that murder had been committed, though the kidnapping itself had been successful. It may be wrong, of course,’ he added, slowly, ‘and yet …’ he shrugged his shoulders. ‘I know Benson fairly well. He once worked with me.’
‘Did you know that Horniman was concerned in this case?’
‘I suspected it, but I couldn’t be sure. I am sure of this though: Horniman and Benson between them, worked up a most comprehensive and dangerous organisation for extorting blackmail. When this business is finally cleared up, I am pretty sure that you will find blackmail on a grand scale at the root of it. Men like Benson and Horniman may change their methods, but rarely their objective. Benson’s part in the crime wave has been carried out largely by men he had blackmailed into doing what he told them. For a long time, Rollison, I have wondered how I could stop it. The man does the East End nothing but discredit.’
Rollison let the remark pass.
‘That is why I was prepared to handle him, when I learned what you had told me,’ the Hammer went on. ‘But I misled you, Rollison: I intended to kill him.’
Rollison watched the man intently: the handsome face, the faint smile, the gleam in the calm eyes, all were impressive. The Hammer was still sure of himself, but his confidence had become dangerously like conceit. There was no doubt of the man’s courage, and none of his hatred for Benson. He had come to seek revenge; and in his seeking there was a coldness which went ill with his benevolent appearance and charming manner.
He leaned forward.
‘Believe me when I say that I shall not allow myself to be caught. I began this work with a set purpose in my mind, taking every care and precaution to build up a perfect organisation. My one weakness has been Benson, and I do not think he will trouble me much longer. I could have dealt with him without telling you, but that would not have helped you. I think the police will uncover other crimes than that against Drayton, Horniman and Finnigan. I would like them uncovered. And I owe you a debt which I can best repay with this information. But—don’t make the mistake of thinking that I can be frightened by the threat of any penalty whatever.’
‘I see,’ murmured Rollison, mildly.
‘When this affair is over, I hope that you will forget that we have ever met,’ said the Hammer. ‘In different ways we aim at the same thing, you do understand that, don’t you?’
‘You’re reputation is certainly high in some quarters,’ said Rollison.
‘Have you any doubts?’
Rollison laughed. ‘I have doubts of anyone who coolly contemplates murder,’ he said. ‘If I may advise you, I would suggest that you retire now, from, this moment.’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘But I used simple words! You won’t keep free from the police indefinitely. You’ve done some good. Be satisfied with it.’
‘Is this a declaration of war?’ asked the Hammer, gently.
‘It’s a clear-cut warning,’ said Rollison. ‘You’re already at war with the police. I help the police. Let’s call this a temporary truce.’
‘Rollison, over two hundred people in the East End of London receive regular assistance from me: financial assistance which they cannot afford to do without. You and the police know a little of one side of my organisation, you do not know anything about the other. If you want to learn more about it, ask Janet. She deals with the benevolent side. You should know that if people like Ebbutt offer unswerving loyalty, that the East End is solidly behind me. You have been tolerated by many and liked by some for years, but you are not one of them, I am. Don’t underrate the importance of this.’
‘I won’t do that,’ Rollison assured him.
‘And advise the police,’ went on the Hammer, ‘that everything in which Benson is interested, everything at the Hammer Club, will warrant the closest possible investigation.’ He stood up. ‘I must go,’ he said simply. ‘You won’t be foolish enough to try to stop me, will you?’
‘We’ve agreed on a truce.’
‘Thank you.’
Rollison led him to the door and across the hall. The Hammer walked lightly. At the front door, he gave Rollison a flashing smile. ‘Thank you,’ he said again, and let himself out.
Jolly appeared by the kitchen door as soon as the man had gone. He took one look at Rollison’s face and promptly went back into the kitchen. ‘Jolly!’ called Rollison irritably. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t keep popping in and out. I particularly want to speak to you.’
Jolly appeared again. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You heard most of that, I suppose?’
‘Everything, sir.’
‘What do you make of it?’
‘A curious gentleman,’ said Jolly. ‘I think you were wise to let him go, and I also think you will be wise to telephone Scotland Yard immediately and ask them to investigate all Benson’s activities.’
‘Yes,’ said Rollison. He turned to the telephone and dialled the Yard, but Superintendent Grice, it appeared, was not in, nor was Inspector Ridgely. Rollison was put through to Ridgely’s office, where a sergeant took his message. The sergeant’s gruff: ‘Yes … Yes … Yes … after every pause gave Rollison no indication of what was to come.
‘That’s the lot,’ said Rollison.
‘Thank you, sir. But you’re rather late, if I may say so.’
‘Late?’
‘Benson was found dead in the office of the Hammer Club an hour and a half ago,’ said the sergeant. ‘His skull had been smashed in with a hammer.’
Rollison’s first impulse was to go at once to the Hammer Club, but he resisted it. With the police in charge, there would be little that he could do. So he went to bed, to Jolly’s obvious relief. Grice would either come himself, or send for him, early in the morning. He could decide then whether to tell the story of the Hammer’s visit; he need not disclose his first encounter with the man.
He slept well.
At eight o’clock. Jolly came in with tea and the morning papers. Each, as Rollison expected, had a front page headline about the Hammer Club murder, but only two of them had the story of the raid on the house in Wapping; and only one had connected those two stories. That was the Daily Cry, and the Cry had made a splash in half-page headlines, liberally adorned with photographs. Somehow they had obtained one of Janet which startled Rollison, though not as much as the sub-heading itself:
HAMMER GIVES FORTUNE IN PENSIONS
Thefts All For Charity?
Rollison read on.
‘The police were astounded to find at the Hammer’s home, 27 Milch Street, Wapping, a card-index system administered by Mrs Janet Piper, his hou
sekeeper. Over five hundred names and addresses were found, and each person in the file has been the recipient, at some time or other, of charity from the Hammer. In many cases this incredible “Robin Hood” actually makes regular payments, or pensions, to the deserving poor of the East End of London. Total payments amount to over ten thousand pounds.
‘Mrs Piper told the police that she understood her employer, who gave his name as Taylor, was a wealthy philanthropist who preferred to dispense charity without publicity. She had no idea that he was the Hammer. According to a police statement, the Hammer is a notorious criminal wanted on charges of robbery with violence, but in the East End there is a different version of his activities. He has won the respect of thousands of people. It is safe to say that many of them could identify the Hammer, but no one will betray him.’
Rollison finished reading, pouring out another cup of tea, and then looked up as Jolly came in. He touched the paper.
‘Have you seen this, Jolly?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Any conclusions from it?’
‘The man last night looked capable of such munificence,’ said Jolly, after a moment’s reflection. ‘And in view of what he said, the story is hardly surprising. I wish he had not killed Benson, though.’
‘Did he kill Benson?’ asked Rollison.
‘I don’t think there is much doubt about that, sir,’ said Jolly. ‘Your bath is ready, sir,’ he added, and went out.
‘Ah,’ murmured Rollison. ‘My bath is ready!’
Snub came in soon afterwards. Rollison heard him busy in the sitting-room, going through the correspondence.
For several days he and Jolly had handled that between them, which amused Rollison. It was surprising how quickly and easily Snub had become ‘one of the family’. His unobtrusive presence disturbed nothing of the smooth efficiency of the household, he had been a first-class investment. And, thought Rollison, he was no fool; it would be interesting to know what he’s made of the present situation.
Snub had read the Daily Cry, and Rollison told him of the Hammer’s visit.
‘And that puts you up to date with everything,’ he added. ‘What do you make of it?’