Hammer the Toff

by John Creasey

  ‘I have thought of that, sir, and firmly rejected it,’ Jolly told him, mildly. ‘I just cannot believe that he would have betrayed us. I admit the evidence, and yet I feel sure he will re-appear, with a perfectly satisfactory explanation of what has happened. I wish that were our only anxiety, sir.’

  Rollison gave him a shrewd look. ‘Well, out with it. What’s weighing heaviest on your shoulders?’

  ‘Your visit to the Hammer, sir. If that young woman, Mrs Piper, should be detained and questioned, she might tell the police the whole truth. That would be extremely unfortunate, sir. And since she spread the rumour that you had betrayed the Hammer, I find it hard to believe that she is wholly reliable.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Rollison. ‘You may have something there.’ He got up. ‘I’m going to drown my sorrows,’ he said. ‘Stay in until I come back. Jolly.’

  ‘May I ask you where you are going, sir?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered that I haven’t yet visited the Hammer Club,’ Rollison said. ‘Damn it. Jolly, there must be a line somewhere!’

  ‘You won’t try to drive, with that arm, sir, will you?’

  ‘No, I’ll get a cab if necessary.’

  The Hammer Club was only twenty minutes’ walk from Gresham Terrace, and Rollison decided to walk. His thoughts were heavy and depressing. Why had Snub chosen to disappear just then. How strong was the weight of evidence against him? It seemed to Rollison that he was being pursued by demons of doubt in which his own judgement of people was being brought sharply up against contrary evidence. He believed in Snub; he liked Janet Piper; he had been inclined to trust the Hammer. Yet no one in his senses would refuse to admit that this confidence might have been misplaced. The sensible thing was to assume that the Hammer was the man responsible, that Janet Piper knew it, that they had deliberately conspired to discredit him in the East End, and that Snub was somehow involved.

  The Hammer Club – and Benson. If that man who had sat in his living-room had killed Benson, he had come fresh from the killing. Take away what he, Rollison, knew of the man personally, and he would not have any hesitation in saying that the Hammer was the murderer.

  Well he now knew what the other Hammer, if he existed, had been looking for: Drayton’s new formulae.

  Rollison reached the Club and went in. ‘Was he a member?’ asked an attendant.

  ‘A friend had told him,’ murmured Rollison. The entrance fee, he was told, would be five pounds. He paid it, and walked up a narrow flight of stairs. A band could be heard playing above him. Not a very good one, decided Rollison.

  He passed a telephone booth. A man was standing in it with his back towards him. It had a familiar look about it. Confound it, everyone looked familiar! The little bowler-hatted man, whom he had placed, the plump man with the brief-case—

  The telephone-booth door opened, and the man emerged.

  It was Snub.

  He said easily: ‘I’ve just been ringing you. Jolly told me you were coming here. How did you know?’

  ‘Know what?’ asked Rollison.

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  Rollison said gently: ‘No, in point of fact I don’t. What are you talking about?’

  ‘There are times when a fellow has to act on his own initiative,’ protested Snub, ‘This was one of them. I had an urge to try to see Janet Piper again,’ Snub went on. ‘Couldn’t resist it. And I popped over to Milch Street.’

  ‘Not friendly?’

  ‘Almost wept on my shoulder,’ declared Snub. ‘Told me that the Hammer was in danger. Had a message from a man she’d never heard of, called himself Kennedy. She was to meet him here at half-past nine tonight. So here I am. Apparently he breathed fire and gunpowder about what he would do to the Hammer. Says he knows his hiding place.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘And Janet, whatever the rights of the case, is in a ferment of anxiety. Oh, and she’s stopped blaming you for the Hammer’s misadventure.’

  ‘Really,’ said Rollison, dryly.

  ‘This Kennedy man told her it was he who had given the Hammer away. Pal of Benson’s apparently. But I mustn’t ramble on,’ declared Snub. ‘Wait until you’ve seen Kennedy.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Had him pointed out,’ said Snub. ‘Shocking prices charged here,’ he added, as he led Rollison into a smoke-laden room, filled with a crowd of dancers.

  Janet was sitting at a corner table, alone.

  ‘Watch her,’ Snub advised.

  Rollison decided to do just that. He sat down at an unoccupied table, and gave an order to a tired and harassed waiter. An hour in this fug, thought Rollison, would weary anybody.

  Then the music stopped, and the dance-band leader gave a theatrical wave to the crowd. He was a biggish, plump man, fair-haired. His evening dress was well-cut, and he looked supremely happy and confident, as if a saxophone and hot music were all that he asked of life.

  Snub nudged Rollison’s elbow.

  ‘Kennedy. Remember him?’

  Rollison said softly: ‘Yes, Snub. The second man who applied for your job.’

  ‘Got it in one! Give him a wig and glasses and he measures up—’

  ‘To the brief-case merchant,’ Rollison exclaimed. ‘Get out, Snub, and telephone the police. Not from here, from outside. Hurry!’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kennedy

  There was no doubt that it was the same man. He had once entered Rollison’s flat, full of his own importance, and had been the only one of the applicants to show resentment when Rollison had not engaged him on the spot. With a little greasepaint here and there, dyed hair or a wig, could become the man of the brief-case easily enough. That he was the same man, Rollison felt quite sure.

  Kennedy left the platform and, bowing right and left, joined Janet at her table.

  They sat talking for some time, then a waiter went up to Kennedy with a folded slip of paper. The dance-band leader looked up, sharply. The waiter turned and pointed towards Rollison.

  Kennedy jumped up.

  Rollison pushed his chair back, and walked towards the man, ignoring the staring people, the waiters who were watching him, the intense interest of the other members of the band. In that moment tension had sprung into the room, tension so great that everyone seemed affected. It was caused by the expression on Kennedy’s face, the hardness on Rollison’s, as he moved forward.

  Rollison was thinking: ‘Snub will be ten minutes, the police perhaps twenty. And I haven’t got a gun.’ Rollison pushed his way past another table. His arm was throbbing painfully. If it came to a fight, he would have little chance against the man. Were the waiters sympathetic towards Kennedy? And what of the band?

  Suddenly Kennedy panicked. He picked up a champagne bottle and flung it at Rollison. Someone screamed. Janet, attempting to get to her feet, was pushed back and fell heavily.

  Kennedy raced for the door.

  Rollison rushed after him, but the bandsmen, deliberately obstructive, delayed him a precious few minutes. By the time he reached the stairs, Kennedy’s footsteps could be heard on the pavement.

  Then he heard a shout, and recognised Snub’s voice.

  Hope rose again. Only for a short time, however, for as Rollison reached the street it was to see Snub picking himself up from the ground. There was no sign of Kennedy. Snub dusted himself down, his expression one of extreme acerbity.

  ‘I should have kept out of sight,’ Rollison said consolingly. The fault was his, he could not blame Snub, who took out a cigarette case, and then put it back unopened.

  ‘What are you going to do about Janet?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Well, I’m on her side,’ Snub said. ‘Whatever the truth about the Hammer, she believes in him. But Kennedy isn’t the Hammer you met, is he?’

  Rollison shook his head.

  ‘Then it’s beginning to look as if you were right about there being two of them,’ Snub said. ‘Look here, can’t we pitch a story? I
saw the plump man and followed him here and hung about until I could be sure it was the same fellow? After all, the police will blame me for not sending for them earlier, whatever we do about Janet. And she’s got quite a story. Shall we cover her?’ When Rollison did not reply immediately he urged: ‘You’ve backed your judgement so far, and it seems to be turning out all right. Give her a break.’

  ‘All right,’ said Rollison, slowly, ‘we’ll give her a day or two.’

  He was not surprised that Grice made no complaints when he heard what had happened, and seemed to accept Snub’s story without reservations. Little information had been forthcoming from the staff at the Hammer Club. The ‘guests’ had made a conceited rush for their hats and coats as soon as Rollison had left, scenting a raid. The staff was sullen. The bandsmen declared that they had no idea what Kennedy had done, but he was a good leader, they had protected him against Rollison, not against the police.

  The hunt for Kennedy was stepped up.

  He had not gone to his flat, which was near the Hammer Club, but piece by piece the evidence was amassed against him. The servant at his flat remembered Horniman and Dr Finnigan; yes, they had been frequent callers. Other things were found: a rubber stamp of the Hammer’s trade mark, some of the proceeds of recent smash-and-grab raids and, the most significant of all, a list of names and addresses. Mrs Willis was on the list; so were the Lenwells; so were the Kents. Against each name was the information which had been used against them. It was a list which would have fed Kennedy with material for blackmail for a lifetime.

  All these entries were in Horniman’s handwriting.

  But there was nothing about Bruce Drayton, nor was there a clue as to Kennedy’s present whereabouts.

  Grice was busy most of the following day, but came to the flat towards evening. He was disappointed because Kennedy was still at large, but the find at the flat was enough to please both him and Meredith. The back of the organisation was broken, he said.

  Rollison dissented. ‘He’s still got his workers, Bill. And he’s still got the cover which the Hammer’s reputation gives him.’

  Grice laughed. ‘I tell you he’s on the run, Rolly. The incredible thing is that he dared to play at the club ’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Who would suspect a band leader? Without his disguise, he wasn’t at all like the man with the brief-case. His only risk was that Susan or I should see and recognise him. The fact that I did, is largely thanks to Snub.’

  Grice nodded. ‘Yes, Higginbottom’s all right.’

  ‘What about Janet Piper?’ asked Rollison, as if absently.

  ‘We’ve talked to her, but we haven’t got anything new,’ Grice admitted. ‘You’ve had a shot at her through Higginbottom, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rollison. ‘I’ll have a word with her again, but we’d better let it rest for a day or two.’

  It was clear that Grice had no idea that Janet had been at the Hammer Club. She had shaken off the policeman who had been following her when she left her house, and she had returned after a couple of hours saying she had been to see a film. It had been reported as a routine matter.

  Grice left soon afterwards, and Snub grinned.

  ‘No suspicions there,’ he said. ‘Janet’s good! I know one thing – she’s so scared in case Kennedy does know where the Hammer is that she’ll let us know at once if anything’s in the wind.’

  ‘We can’t leave it to chance much longer,’ Rollison said. ‘We’ve gone so far that we’ll have to go further, and see her. I’d better go tonight. With luck I’ll slip the police.’ He shrugged. ‘If Meredith really knew—’

  There were footsteps outside, the footsteps of a woman in a hurry. Rollison thought: ‘Is this Janet?’ but knew as soon as Jolly opened the door and he heard the woman’s voice that it was neither Janet nor Susan. Then Jolly came in with unusual haste. Behind him was Susan’s maid.

  ‘She’s run away!’ she gasped, ‘she has run away again! She had a message—’

  There had been a telephone call from a man, who had told Susan to meet him on Putney Heath. That much Rollison was able to learn from the maid. Susan had gone wild with excitement, crying that Bruce was alive. She had rushed off, followed by the watching police; but a man had impeded the policeman, deliberately he thought, and Susan had disappeared.

  Full circle, thought Rollison, gloomily. Everything was known, except the solution to the first mystery; and the whereabouts of the young couple.

  It was easy to understand Susan’s frame of mind. She had looked to Rollison and the police, and they had failed her. Her spirits had drooped until they were at the lowest ebb. No news of Bruce, just an empty life, an empty future … and suddenly, a message, a promise, an assurance that he was alive.

  Snub said: ‘Well, if Kennedy got her away, he wants something.’

  ‘Yes, Drayton’s papers,’ Rollison said. ‘They’re the trump card.’

  ‘Then we might hear—’ began Snub. The telephone bell interrupted him.

  Snub reached for the receiver. There was a long pause, and then with a sharp: ‘Hold on,’ he thrust the telephone into Rollison’s hand. ‘Kennedy,’ he said. ‘I think.’

  The voice came clearly. ‘Miss Lancaster wants to speak to you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Back to Bruce

  The pause seemed a long one. During it Rollison convinced himself that it was Kennedy who had spoken. Jolly had slipped out of the room and was doubtless listening in on the extension. Then Susan spoke. ‘Rolly, Rolly, listen. Bruce is alive. I’ve seen him.’

  Rollison’s heart leapt. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time. Where are you?’

  ‘I mustn’t say. Rolly, you know those papers, the papers in the registered letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I must get them,’ Susan said. ‘They’re mine, they were sent to me.’ Her voice was hoarse, he believed that she was very near to tears. ‘They—they want them, they’ll release Bruce if they get them. Rolly, he looks—dreadful. He’s so ill. You must get them for me somehow.’

  Rollison said promptly: ‘Yes, I can manage that.’

  Her voice rose. ‘You will? Oh, Rolly, I was so afraid that you might say you couldn’t, that you’d have to tell the police. Don’t tell the police, whatever you do, if—’

  Rollison thought: ‘The old, old story, threats and menaces.’ ‘How am I to get them to you?’

  ‘You’re to send them by special messenger to Woking golf course,’ said Susan. ‘A man will be waiting for them by the club house. He’ll be there at half-past ten tonight.’ She caught her breath. ‘Rolly, you won’t do anything—make any attempt to trap the man, will you? You know how Horniman was killed, how quickly he died. If—if they don’t get the papers tonight, they will give Bruce an injection. He—he looks so ill, Rolly, he must have had a terrible time. You won’t fail me, will you?’

  ‘No,’ Rollison promised her.

  After a pause, a man’s voice said: ‘You’d better not, Rollison.’

  Then the receiver was hung up.

  Jolly came hurrying in from the hall, his face set in stern disapproval. ‘You can’t let him get away with it, sir.’

  Rollison said: ‘No. The question is, how are we to prevent it?’ He smoothed his hair. ‘I had to tell her that it would be all right, I’ve no doubt the man was listening. Kennedy!’ He laughed, explosively. ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘Nearly nine o’clock.’

  Snub said: ‘What will you do? Make up a dummy packet of papers? They might release him on the strength of that.’

  ‘I think they’ll know the real things when they see them,’ Rollison said, ‘Woking club house and half-past ten. We could have the place surrounded by police, there are plenty of bushes about for concealment, but you may be sure of one thing: Kennedy himself won’t come.’ He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘We can have the man followed by the police.’

  ‘Isn’t it the obvious thing to do?�
�� asked Snub.

  Jolly murmured: ‘So very obvious that it is dangerous. Two people are in acute peril.’

  Rollison looked up. ‘Two?’ he asked. ‘Thousands, Jolly. Kennedy is preparing to step into the Hammer’s shoes. The East End is primed for it. The indications are there for the world to see. Here is a man prepared to use the Hammer’s goodwill to his own advantage. It might mean the biggest outbreak of crime we’ve known for decades. And if the East End side with the man they think is the Hammer, catastrophe will follow. I’m not exaggerating.’

  ‘The two things still seem so disconnected,’ Snub said.

  ‘They’re connected all right, but there aren’t two things but three,’ Rollison assured him. ‘Blackmail, and we’ve seen plenty of evidence of that. An East End crime wave, and a monopoly of the new material. That will give a man power in three different spheres, Snub. Nothing disconnected here. All drawn closely together by the one thing – a desire for power. By telling Grice what has happened and having the golf course watched, we may kill Susan and Bruce and lose Kennedy. But if Kennedy gets the genuine papers, he’ll think that I’ve done just what he wanted. If there’s a weakness in him, it’s the weakness of conceit.’ He stirred restlessly in his chair. ‘Yet I still don’t see what we can, do but tell Grice.’

  ‘Grice has the papers, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you can’t produce the genuine article,’ said Snub. He stood up, as restless as Rollison. ‘Can I help? I’ll gladly have a shot. After all, if you can find out where Bruce and Susan are and get them away, we’ll have made a start.’

  Jolly looked at him witheringly.

  Rollison sat still for a long time, and then said: ‘I think I’ll go and see Kennedy. Without the papers, without pretending that I’ve got them. It will gain time, and it might produce results.’ He laughed. ‘It’s come to a pretty pass when I’m as empty of ideas as that.’

  ‘You’ll just be walking into the lion’s den,’ objected Snub.

  ‘Maybe. But I can leave traces,’ said Rollison. He glanced at his watch. ‘I think I’ll drive out there on my own,’ he said. ‘You go out later, Snub, and wait near the club house. Jolly, at half-past ten, ring up Grice and tell him what I’ve done. We’ll try one of the old tricks, I’ll have a pocketful of rice and sprinkle it at strategic points. Tell Grice to have his men keep their eyes open for it.’