by John Creasey
Morris pulled back the sheet over the dead man.
It was Conway.
Halloran, also dead, was on the second stretcher.
Cy’s men and the policeman were only wounded.
“So there we have it,” Cy Day said, heavily. “It’s all clear now - as clear as we’ll ever get it. The call from the farm was to here, the operator has a note of it. So Valerie Hall called Conway. He’d made a friend of her all right.
I don’t know what deal they planned, but if Rollison’s right and Conway was half-way to squealing, we can guess. Conway and Halloran would do a deal on the side, maybe to free Wilf Hall.”
Morris nodded.
“You can take it that Conway and Halloran went to pick the girl up, and took her somewhere in the city,” Cy went on. “Then they came back here. A man was in Conway’s room, and there were two shots - that’s all and it was plenty. The killer shot his way out past my men and the cop.”
Rollison said: “Yes.”
“Dutch Himmy meant to make quite sure that they couldn’t talk,” Cy Day went on. “That’s his big worry.”
Rollison said: “Yes.”
“Listen, Rolly,” Day said; “you won’t help yourself or anyone by behaving as if you ought to have seen through it.”
Rollison was drawing at a cigarette.
“No,” he agreed. “I ought to take it easy. And why not? Russell’s sister was killed because she came to see me. Valerie’s walked into a holocaust because I didn’t make sure that she was watched properly, because I didn’t trust you or the police. Just a little mistake! But she dies.”
“We don’t know that he’ll kill her,” said Cy Day. “We don’t know why he wants her, or what his game is.”
“No, we don’t, do we?” said Rollison. He finished the cigarette. “Has anyone talked at all?”
“Dutch Himmy’s men don’t talk,” Cy said. “If they show any sign of talking, they get what Conway and Halloran got.”
“You’ve checked Legs and . . .“
“Rolly,” Day said, “I trust Legs as far as I trust myself, and I trust myself as far as I trust you. I can’t say more. I’ve had Legs watching Dando; sometimes I wonder about Dando, but - let’s face it, Dutch Himmy has been a name for years. He’s never been caught. He is still at large because he makes sure that no one who knows him lives to tell the tale. It’s ruthless and it pays off. He . . .-”
Rollison jerked his head up.
“Say that again.”
“What’s biting you?”
“Say it again. Why isn’t Dutch Himmy caught?”
“Because he makes sure that no one who knows him lives to tell the tale.”
“That’s it,” said Rollison, softly, and there was a new light in his eyes. “That’s the beginning and the end. That’s why he got Wilf. That’s why he got Conway and Halloran. That’s why Julie died. That’s why Mark Quentin died. Remember Quentin? He died in Valerie’s arms. He telephoned her. He went to the Arden-Astoria in fear of his life, to warn Valerie. Of what?”
Morris had joined them; and was watching intently.
“Whatever you’re driving at,” Day said, “I don’t get it.”
“Common denominator for death - knowing the real identity of Dutch Himmy,” said Rollison. “Julie Russell - Mark Quentin - Wilf Hall - who did they know in common? Come on, tell me. Who?”
Cy Day said in a strangled voice: “No. No, I don’t believe”
“Van Russell,” Morris said, in a steely voice. “Van’s a Dutch form, too. Van Russell. Would he kill his own sister”
“If he thought she knew him and feared she was coming to tell me,” Rollison said; “wouldn’t Dutch Himmy kill anyone?”
Day breathed: “Morris, let’s get there as fast as . . .“
“Hold it,” Rollison said, very quietly. And they waited. “Have a cordon thrown round the apartment house, but don’t let Russell know we’re on the way. Valerie might be alive still. First, find out whether a girl answering her description has gone to the apartment. Then let me go alone. That won’t surprise Russell, won’t start the shooting - but a police raid will. I might be able to fool them and get the job finished without more killing.”
Morris gave his slow smile. “That could be the job for you, Mr. Rollison. I agree - Russell won’t expect a visit from me or any policeman or Cy here. He won’t be surprised at a visit from you. We could be wrong about Russell - and right or wrong we could use a chance to see this through without more killing. Sure you’ll play it that way?”
“It’s the only play possible,” Rollison said.
Half an hour later, he knew for certain that a girl answering Valerie Hall’s description had gone into the building with Van Russell.
The police were within call, but not too close by when a subdued Sikoski drove Rollison into the street, and stopped outside Russell’s building.
“Colonel,” Sikoski said, “take care of yourself.”
Rollison said: “Okay, Bud.”
He went forward, knowing that if he wasn’t out in twenty minutes, the police would raid the building.
23
MAN ALIVE
The Toff stepped into the hall, which looked no more impressive than before. No one was in sight. The four elevators stood at the ground floor, the doors closed. He pressed the nearer, and the doors slid open. He stepped inside. He was not watched; and it seemed unlikely that the approach to Dutch Himmy’s apartment could be so easy.
First floor; second; third . . . seventh.
The lift stopped and the doors slid open. Rollison stepped out. A man was doing some work on the electric lights near the lift; and it might be work which wasn’t really necessary. He looked curiously at Rollison, and said:
“Hi.”
“Hi,” said Rollison.
He pressed the bell of Van Russell’s apartment, and the clock seemed to be turned back. The first time he had done this, the door had been opened by the timid little girl, whom he hadn’t known existed. She had seemed rather scared, as if overshadowed by her successful brother.
Dando had been here.
Dando.
There was no immediate answer to the ring. Rollison rang again. Then, the door opened - and Dando stood there.
Dando had always looked a fanatic, with that lean and hungry air and the glittering eyes and the hatred and the bitterness in his voice. Now, he looked wild and savage, and the moment he saw Rollison he cried:
“Get away from here, Russell is Dutch . . .“
There was a sharp report; hardly loud enough for a bullet-shot. But it was one. Dando staggered. He backed away, coughing. His eyes flickered. Rollison swung round - but he didn’t go far, for the electrician was just behind him, and he had a gun in his hand.
“Just go inside,” he said; “you’ll be welcome.”
Rollison didn’t speak.
“Very welcome, Van Russell said.
There was a gun behind and a gun in front of him; so Rollison had no choice. He went into the apartment. Dando was still coughing, and now he was leaning against a table. Russell held a gun limp by his side. He closed the door. He seemed to be alone, but wasn’t, for as the door closed another man came forward, and said:
“Just raise your hands, Toff.”
Rollison raised them, and felt the man slap his sides to make sure that he hadn’t a gun. He lowered his arms, and Russell said with a one-sided smile:
“Well, it had to end one day.”
“That’s right,” said Rollison. He went forward under the pressure of a gun, into the sitting-room where he had seen Dando and Russell that morning. Dando’s coughing, coming from behind him, was hard and almost frightening.
It stopped.
Dando came staggering in. Rollison knew that he
had a wound in his back, where Russell had shot him. He was in agony and was dying on his feet; yet Van Russell could look at him with that one-sided smile, as if he was enjoying the sight.
“Dando,” he said, “why don’t you take a walk?”
Dando stood by a chair. He had to hold on to it with one hand, or he would have fallen. He swayed, helplessly. Rollison moved towards him, but before he reached him, the other man said:
“Just keep still.”
“The man’s hurt . . .“
“Listen,” Russell said; “we aren’t interested in your humanitarianism here, Toff. He was told what he’d get if he tried to warn you, but he had to be a hero. So he’s hurt. That’s how he’s going to stay. You’re going to be hurt, too, and this time I won’t make it easy; you’re going to talk fast”
Rollison didn’t speak.
“To - Toff,” croaked Dando. “Don’t - don’t tell him a thing. Don’t”
“Shut up,” Russell said roughly.
“Val - Val’s here,” Dando tried to shout. “She’s here! She”
Rollison cried: “What’s that?” He spun round on Russell as if he was astounded, and he saw the glint of satisfaction in Russell’s eyes; this was just what Russell wanted, to find out whether he had expected to find Valerie here.
The man behind Rollison said: “Take it easy.”
Rollison rasped savagely: “Is that right? Is Valerie”
“That’s right, and it won’t make any difference to you,” Russell sneered.
“Come - come see - see Russell, saw Val - saw Val come in,” Dando articulated, very slowly and very care fully. “Tried - tried go for police, but”
“We can do without the life-story,” Russell said. “Okay, take him away.” He nodded to the man behind Rollison, who stepped to Dando’s side.
Dando shouted:
“Always swore I’d kill you!” and he leapt at Russell, finding a strength which no one had thought was left in him. He actually reached Russell, his hands fastened round Russell’s neck. The other man shouted: “Get away from him!” and fired into the back of Dando’s head.
Dando hadn’t a chance.
Rollison had.
He had a chance and he took it. He had to stall, until the police arrived - and anything that used up time was vital. Russell believed that he could talk, so he wouldn’t kill - yet.
He would only wound.
How many others were there? Where was Val? Was Wilf Hall alive? How could he best win them all a chance, as well as one for himself?
The questions flooded his mind as he leapt for the gunman, who saw him coming, swivelled round, and fired.
The bullet grazed Rollison’s arm, but didn’t stop him. The strength in his blow on the gunman’s chin floored the man, and sent the pictures on the walls quivering.
For the first time, Rollison saw a chance of winning on his own, even before the police arrived.
Russell had Dando’s dead body leaning against him.
Rollison dived forward again and grabbed the gun from the gunman’s limp hand, then backed swiftly towards the door.
As he did so, another man appeared from the bedroom.
Rollison saw this man’s startled expression grow into one of stupefaction, then into bewilderment as a bullet struck him in the chest, close to the heart.
He groaned as he fell.
Russell pushed Dando aside.
Rollison fired at Russell, and the bullet caught the man’s gun hand. Rollison meant to kill; it was bad shooting, he simply hadn’t made allowances for the fact that he was gasping for breath, and couldn’t keep steady.
But Russell’s gun dropped.
Rollison said thinly: “Keep away from it.”
He pressed tightly against the wall. The man he had shot in the chest had fallen out of sight. Russell stood over Dando’s body, breathing very hard, looking at Rollison from beneath his eyebrows. He might carry another gun, and if he did he would soon go for it.
There were sounds, as of other men in the next room.
Russell said huskily: “Don’t waste your time, Rollison; there are four men in there. And they can bring more if they need them.”
Rollison didn’t answer.
“And don’t build your hopes,” Russell went on. He spoke as if with an effort; as if he was fighting against something he couldn’t understand. “No one will come to help you. I’ve got the apartment next door both ways and the apartment underneath and on top. All the apartments in this part of the building belong to my men. And after you came up, I fixed all the lifts, and I’ve barricaded the only stairs. That’s how thorough I am.”
Rollison didn’t speak.
“Lost your tongue?” Russell demanded harshly. He breathed very heavily, and kept glancing towards the door. No one could get at Rollison from the door - they might from the window, but that wouldn’t be easy for any of them. He tried to imagine how they would try to get in, what Russell was waiting for.
Russell said: “Rollison, you haven’t a chance.”
Rollison said: “That’s right,” and waited. He didn’t like the silence. He didn’t like the way Russell stared at the door, as if he knew that help of a kind was coming for him. What would they do? And where was Valerie?
Valerie - and brother Wilf.
Russell said: “I’ll say this for you, you tried to do a job, and you did it better than most would have done. You like to know something? If you’d had a little more luck you could have got away with it. You like to know something else?”
He was calmer, now.
He glanced towards the door, and grinned.
Rollison said: “All I know is that whatever happens to me or Valerie or Wilf, I’m taking you out of this world. I wouldn’t let you live if it was the only chance of living myself. Don’t make any mistake.”
“I won’t make any mistake,” Russell said. “I can even believe you. I”
He broke off, grinning; as if he had seen something which really delighted him; and the way he looked put dread into Rollison’s mind. He stared towards the door, not knowing what to expect, covering Russell and determined to shoot him rather than let him go.
A man staggered into the room.
It was Wilf Hall.
24
NEWS OF WILF
There was no doubt; it was Wilf Hall.
He limped, badly. His right arm hung by his side, and there were dirty bandages at the elbow. There were bruises at his face, too. He hadn’t shaved for days; he probably hadn’t shaved since that evening when he had left the Arden-Astoria for Idlewild. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, from want of sleep and from pain. His fair curly hair looked matted and filthy. His mouth hung open, and he kept licking his lips.
Russell sneered: “There’s your pal, Toff. Proud of him?”
Rollison didn’t speak; in fact, he couldn’t.
Wilf Hall looked towards him, but didn’t seem to recognise him. He staggered a little further forward. For the first time, Rollison saw that there was a rope tied to his right ankle, hobbling him; and the length of rope stretched out of sight.
“There’s your pal,” sneered Russell, and added viciously: “Rollison, drop your gun and keep where you are, or we’ll kill your pal’s sister. We’ll kill sweet little Valerie. You there, Valerie?”
There were other sounds of movement.
Russell shouted: “Make her talk!”
There was a pause; a gasp; a muted scream. Rollison had no doubt at all that it was Valerie, but she didn’t call out.
“Make her talk!” Russell shouted wildly. It wouldn’t take much to make him lose all his self-control. “Hurry!”
Rollison called, quietly, “Valerie, don’t make it worse. Are you in there?”
“Yes,” she sai
d, and her voice was pitched so low that he could only just hear it. “Yes, I’m here.”
“All right?”
“They haven’t - they haven’t hurt me - ” She paused, and then flung a word out as if defiantly: “Much!”
“We’ll hurt her if you don’t drop your gun, Rollison,” Russell said. “You haven’t a chance and nor has she. And you know what they’ll do to her if you shoot me?” He leered into Rollison’s face. He had looked so diffident, so pleasant, so kindly - and now he leered. “You don’t know? I’ll tell you. Midge!” he called.
A man said: “Take it easy, boss.”
“You know what happened to the Willis girl?”
“Sure!”
“It can happen again.”
“Sure, boss.”
“Rollison,” Russell said, “did you ever see a photograph of what happened to the Willis girl? It looked as if she’d climbed into the lion’s cage at the zoo.”
Here it was; the absolute climax. There wasn’t a thing Rollison could do. The girl was out of sight, and all he would know about anything they did to her would be the screaming. He was sweating, and his mouth was very dry.
“Rolly,” Valerie Hall called, “never mind what they say, kill Russell.”
There was a sharp, slapping sound; then silence.
“Midge . . .“ Russell began.
“Russell,” Rollison said in an even voice, “Valerie made a lot of sense to me. If she screams again, I’ll shoot you. Don’t make any mistake. One more scream, and I’ll shoot you first and the rest of them afterwards.”
Silence.
Valerie said: “Rolly, whatever you do, don’t let him escape alive. Look what he’s done to Wilf. He had him tied to a bed, he tortured him, he”
She broke off.
“Just imagine what I can do to you,” Russell said viciously.
Valerie gave a little gasping sound; it wasn’t a scream. Rollison didn’t know for certain but he guessed that Midge had a hand over her mouth. Next moment there was a rough exclamation in a man’s voice; the kind of gasp a man might make if he’d been bitten.