The Toff on The Farm t-39

by John Creasey

  “That isn’t quite true,” she said. “I told him that Mr. Rollison regarded Mr. Brandt as a suspect.”

  “It amounts to the same thing.”

  “Not quite,” said Grice, surprisingly mildly. “Mr. Rollison will be coming across to Scotland Yard soon, to answer a few questions, I can deal with that matter then. What time did you hear about it, Mr. Mome ?”

  “It must have been about six o’clock.”

  “You’ve taken a long time to report it to the police.”

  “It’s the first chance I had, it “

  “You made a statement about an assault which took place in this building early this evening, and could have made this accusation then,” said Grice coldly. “I hope you will realise that withholding material information is an extremely grave matter and can lead to most unpleasant consequences.”

  M.M.M.’s finger quivered again.

  “What about him.”

  “Would you mind telling us what you want quickly?” asked Gillian quietly. “My brother needs a good rest.”

  Grice looked at Selby, and could come only to the same conclusion as Rollison: that here was a man who looked jumpy and on edge, unshaven, with bloodshot eyes: a frightened man. In a different way, M.M.M. was frightened, too. The girl was much more composed than either of them, and it seemed to Rollison that her whole mood was governed by the fact that she had found her brother. She was no longer frightened, but was resigned to whatever was to come.

  “I understand that you were taken away from your home against your will,” Grice said to Selby. “Is that true, Mr. Selby?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” answered Selby, “and nothing you can do or say will alter my mind. I had to meet a man who called himself Charlie at one o’clock this morning, outside the cottage. He forced me to go away with him. He said that I’d be released once my sister had agreed to sell Selby Farm to him. I—I was kept without food or drink, and they beat me with a rubber truncheon.” His voice quivered. “And they threatened my sister.”

  “Who are ‘they’ ?”

  “Until today, there were the three of them, Lodwin, this Charlie, and a kind of man-of-all-the-dirty-work : I don’t know his name. There was also an American. I didn’t see him, but I couldn’t mistake an American voice. It must be this Brandt.”

  “How did you escape?” asked Grice.

  “I didn’t escape, I was allowed to go. Two men brought me in a car to the next street, and told me exactly what they’d do if I didn’t persuade my sister to sell the farm to their representative.”

  “Who is their representative now ?”

  “They’re going to tell me, I don’t know yet,” said Selby. “But it’s my sister’s farm, you can’t stop her from doing what she likes with it. It’s no crime to sell what you possess.”

  “It’s a crime to conspire with criminals to break the law, Mr. Selby.”

  “They won’t be breaking the law by buying the farm ! It’s hers to sell. They broke the law by kidnapping me, but that’s nothing to do with me.”

  “They broke the law with two little matters of murder.”

  “You can’t prove it. That was probably this American, Brandt,” Selby said angrily. “Why don’t you go and deal with him?”

  “Mr. Selby,” said Grice, in a sharper voice, “you seem to have peculiar ideas about the proper way to behave. I have two officers outside. They are going to ask you, your sister and Mr. Mome for detailed statements. When I have studied those statements I can decide whether I should take any action. You yourself may not be involved in this, but both Mr. Mome and your sister appear to have been in a position to murder or to abet one or both of the murders—of Charles Habden and Reginald Lodwin. The statements must be extremely detailed.”

  He turned towards the door,

  “You’ve no right “ M.M.M. began.

  “I know exactly what rights I have and I shall assert them,” Grice said aggressively. He took a paper out of his pocket, “Here is a search warrant for this apartment, consequent upon your statement about the assault this afternoon, and doubts cast upon it by other witnesses.”

  He opened the door, and two plain clothes men from the Criminal Investigation Department came in, while a third stayed outside, obviously to be on guard.

  Grice turned to look at the trio.

  “Your statements will be taken separately, and will be closely scrutinised for inaccuracies and errors of any kind. I don’t need to tell you how serious this matter is.”

  Selby said in a quivering voice: “How—how long will it take?”

  “I don’t know.” Grice was sharp. “Why?”

  “I—I’m supposed to be “ Selby broke off.

  “You’re supposed to give yourself up at a certain time, no doubt,” said Grice. “We shan’t stop you, Mr. Selby. In fact we shall help you. We’re very anxious indeed to meet your abductors.”

  He went out.

  Rollison followed him, and had at least one cause for satisfaction. Grice had affected all three so much that none of them looked at him, Rollison, only at the man from Scotland Yard.

  Outside in the passage, Rollison said mildly: “Very impressive, Bill. That’s the first time for years that I really enjoyed playing second fiddle.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed something,” Grice said, “because if you mix with the Lodwins and the Charlie Habdens of this world much more, you’ll be in serious trouble. What made you decide to act as wet-nurse to the American?”

  “Thirst for information,” declared Rollison. “He’s a mine of it. Bill, the behaviour of the police has been a bit odd in this show, and it still is. Am I to be kept in suspense and under observation too, or can you tell me what it’s all about?”

  They reached the lift.

  Grice said: “We’ve known for some days that Lodwin and Habden were on some job. Both have records, and we wanted to find out what they were after, and who they worked for. They were the leaders of a party of four who often hired themselves out. Lodwin was a con-man, Charlie

  Habden an all-rounder with a trick of scaring his victims— his chief forte was blackmail—and they used two men to do the rough work. We don’t know who hired them this time. We don’t know who killed Lodwin and Habden, either. We do know that they had been exerting pressure on Selby for some time. There’s no doubt they kidnapped him. The problem is—who and where is the murderer? Could Mome have killed Lodwin?”

  “No, he hadn’t time. He’s behaving as if he’d like to kill me, though.”

  “Don’t tell me he surprises you,” Grice said. “He’s been suffering pretty badly for a long time after the shock of losing that leg. He and Selby are just about at the end of their tether, and they’ll do anything to get out of danger. I shouldn’t blame them too much.”

  “Kind-hearted copper,” murmured Rollison, “I’ll try to be charitable, too. What’s the drill now? Let Selby go, follow him, and grab the people he joins?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you think he’ll lead you to them ?”

  “Desperation.”

  “I wouldn’t place that bet,” said Rollison. “How long has he been under pressure, do you say ?”

  “As far as we can say, three weeks or so.”

  “Hmm. Bill,” said Rollison, “I don’t think he’ll lead you to the kidnapping killers. I think you’re going the wrong way about it. You ought to clap him in irons, so to speak— you could find a dozen things to charge him with if you really tried hard. Get him out of the way, and stop him from exerting too much influence on his sister. Do the same with Morne. Charge them with whatever you like, so that the girl will be on her own, and the people who want the farm will have to deal with her direct. Then we really ought to see the sparks fly.”

  “The trouble with you is that you’re utterly irresponsible,” Grice complained. “It’s not so easy to make charges as you seem to think, we have to work by rule and regulation. I’ll tell you someone who I am going to charge.”

  “Who?�
�

  “A man who calls himself William Brandt, from Abilene, Texas,” said Grice. “Your guest, in other words. He could have killed both Lodwin and Habden, and he had motive, because he wants to buy the farm. He could be fooling the great Toff.”

  “Oh, that’s simple,” agreed Rollison. “How?”

  “Work it out.”

  “Using the rest of the Lodwin gang to exert pressure on the Selbys, while he makes friends with Gillian on the side, so that if anything goes wrong he can get the farm that way.”

  “At least you can still think,” conceded Grice. “Like to be present when we charge Brandt ?”

  “With what?”

  “Habden’s murder.”

  “Poor Charlie,” said Rollison, as if sorrowfully. “Yes, I’d like to be there; I’d like to see how Tex handles a situation as bad as that. On the whole I think I’d be prepared for some surprises. Bill. He is an unexpected young man.”

  “As Mome came to see you we guessed you’d fall for this job,” Grice said, dryly. “Your flat has been watched since mid-day, and we knew the minute this stranger arrived; obviously he’s Brandt. The flat’s been watched back and front ever since,” went on Grice. “I’d like to see him handle this situation!”

  “So would I,” murmured Rollison, and sounded as if he meant it. “Bill.”

  “Yes?”

  “You wouldn’t know why everyone wants Selby Farm, would you? You wouldn’t know what makes it so valuable ?”

  “I don’t know yet,” answered Grice, “but it’s one of the things I’m going to find out. Now, let’s go downstairs.” He pressed a button for the lift. “On the way, you can search your conscience and decide what you’re going to put in the statement you’re going to make when we all get to the Yard.”

  “Me too?”

  “You especially.”

  The lift came up, and the doors opened automatically. Rollison stood aside for Grice to pass, then followed him, and Grice pressed the button for the ground floor. After a pause, the doors began to close.

  “Well, I didn’t think I’d be reduced to this,” said Rollison. He beamed, shouldered Grice to the back of the lift, and squeezed out between the closing doors. He had to pull his arm free to let the doors close. He pressed the button of the other lift, saw the Lift Coming sign light up, and wondered whether Grice would go down, stop at the next floor or press an alarm button and come back here. In either case Rollison had only a few seconds grace.

  The second lift opened.

  He stepped in and pressed the sixth floor button, to take him three floors up, and as he waited while the doors closed and it moved, he took out a cigarette and lit it. His expression was very bleak. The lift stopped and the doors opened. He stepped out swiftly and hurried along a passage towards a window which overlooked the street, then pressed the door-bell of the nearest flat. There was hardly a pause before footsteps sounded. An elderly man holding a book opened the door.

  “I’m so sorry to trouble you,” said Rollison, “but I need to make an urgent telephone call. I wonder if you’d be good enough to allow me to?”

  “Why, glad to,” the elderly man said, and stood aside; as Rollison stepped past him, he closed the door.

  16

  WARNING

  Tex Brandt was still fascinated by the Trophy Wall. He would read a newspaper, put it down, and step across and study the articles on it; the rope, some chicken feathers and a cuckoo clock which cucked bullets seemed to hold his attention most. He would switch on the television, watch for ten minutes, and then with the singing or the dancing, the talking or the acting going on behind him, he would return to the trophies. He would open a book, pour himself a drink, light a cigarette; and keep looking at the wall. Jolly came in to ask him if he would like some coffee. “Sure, let’s see how you can make it,” Tex said, and stood up, drawn as if by magic to the wall. “You didn’t tell me what that top hat is doing on the top of the heap,” he went on. “Is that a bullet hole through the crown?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jolly, “and the bullet actually tore away some of Mr. Rollison’s hair, but did no harm. It was the first souvenir, and it amused Mr. Rollison to hang it on a nail in the wall. Then this collection somehow grew of itself. I confess”—Jolly was talkative, which showed that he also liked the Texan—”I was not enthusiastic at first, it had a melodramatic touch, if I may put it that way, and a kind of flamboyance. However, Mr. Rollison is a little melodramatic, and he also has a touch of the flamboyant, so it was in character.”

  “And now you approve?”

  “You might say that I am the curator, sir.”

  “Is that so? Do you keep a catalogue ?”

  “Yes, sir. I have always felt that the time would come when an eminent biographer would like to write Mr. Rollison’s life story, and I felt that the least I could do was to keep a brief, detailed account of each of the causes celebres which are indicated here.”

  “I’d sure like to see that catalogue.”

  “I will have to obtain Mr. Rollison’s permission,” Jolly declared. “He is a little reluctant to allow anyone but his closest friends to see it.”

  “So he’s not so flamboyant after all,” observed Brandt. He looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven, I wonder how much longer he’ll be?”

  Then the telephone bell rang.

  “With your permission I will answer it here, sir.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Now the Texan seemed as fascinated by Jolly, who was so doleful looking in repose, so full of vitality when talking about the Toff.

  “This is Mr. Richard Rollison’s residence.” There was a brief pause, and then Jolly’s eyes kindled. “Yes, sir, he is still here . . . What is that, sir?” Jolly glanced at the American, and his manner changed noticeably. He listened intently, said : “At once, sir,” and put down the receiver quickly. “You are to leave immediately by the roof,” he told Brandt. “The police are on their way to arrest you. This way, if you please.”

  Jolly did not utter another word, showed no sign of surprise or alarm, just turned and hurried out of the room, with the Texan close behind him. Yet Tex cast a last glance at the Trophy Wall. Jolly led the way along a narrow passage and into a spotless kitchen, where chromium and tiles seemed to live together harmoniously. He opened a door which led to another door, and then said : “Excuse me, sir, we had better put out the light.” He flicked a switch, and everything went into darkness. He opened the outer door, and the grey light of night filtered in.

  “Step very cautiously here,” he cautioned. “It’s an iron fire escape.”

  “Sure.” Tex’s voice barely disturbed the quiet.

  There was a faint sound, like an echo, as they stepped on to the iron platform. The outline of the steps leading downwards showed clearly, and below there was a pale courtyard. A shadow which might be the figure of a man was stationary at one corner.

  Tex followed Jolly closely, to the wall.

  “There are iron rungs here, sir. If you climb up them you will reach the roof of the building. The best way to turn at the top is to the left. It is a light night, and you will have no difficulty in seeing where you are going. The houses are all’ terraced, but the ninth one along has a very narrow gap. You will find more rungs, like these, leading down from the roof at this side of the gap, and leading to the fire escape. Anyone watching this house will be behind you then, and you need only take reasonable precautions to get away.”

  The Texan whispered : “Sure, I understand.”

  “When you reach the ground, you will find the narrow gap between the houses on your right. Take that, sir. Turn left, and then left again. It will bring you into Piccadilly Circus, with which I imagine you are familiar.”

  “Sure, I know Piccadilly Circus,” said Tex, in a strangely subdued voice; it was not simply that he was whispering, it was as if he hardly knew how to find words. “Let me make sure I have it right. I turn right at the top, I climb down at the house this side of the gap, I go into
the gap, I turn left and left again, and I’m right in Piccadilly.”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Fine,” said Tex, with a little more vigour. “Jolly, will you tell me one thing ?”

  “If I can, sir.”

  “Why is Mr. Rollison doing this for me?”

  “I have no doubt at all that it will serve an admirable purpose, sir.”

  “Which means you don’t know,” said Tex. “I guess I don’t know, either.” He took Jolly’s hand. “Tell him I think he’s a mighty fine guy, will you ?”

  “I will, sir.”

  Now Tex gripped his shoulder, and there was fierceness in his whispered words.

  “I want him to get that message verbatim. You understand?”

  “Perfectly, sir. In your opinion, Mr. Rollison is a mighty fine guy.”

  Tex choked back a laugh.

  He turned, and began to climb up the iron rungs, going very cautiously first, but much faster before he reached the top. Jolly waited until he had disappeared, and marvelled that he hardly showed himself against the grey sky; it was unlikely that he would have been seen from the ground, even if someone had been watching all the time.

  Jolly went back into the flat, closed both doors, and turned on the light. Then he went into the kitchen, and began to get the morning tea-tray ready. He was putting the finishing touches to it when the telephone bell rang. He moved to an extension which was just outside the kitchen door, and lifted the receiver.

  “This is Mr. Richard Rollison’s residence.”

  A man said: “I want to speak to Mr. William Brandt, sir,” in a very clearly defined Southern drawl: so much of a drawl that it seemed almost affected. This was the American who had called before, and the drawl was very different from Brandt’s.

  “I’m sorry, I know no one of that name,” lied Jolly.

  “What did you say, sir?” The caller made the ‘sir’ sound like ‘suh’ and there was a sharper note in his voice.

  Jolly repeated the answer.

  “You must have made a mistake,” the American said. “I was talking to Mr. Brandt only this afternoon. He told me that he was staying at the apartment of an English gentleman, and that the gentleman’s name was Rollison. If you care to hold on a moment, I’ll spell that out to you.”