by John Creasey
‘Two should do,’ said the Toff. ‘Ibbetson won’t leave that hidey-hole unless he’s forced out. The trouble is that Peveril’s men might find a way of getting in.’ He finished his tea and poured out a second cup, crunching a piece of toast as he did so, told Jolly the essentials of his story and added: ‘You learned nothing else?’
‘Nothing, sir. But a few minutes ago a man telephoned. I liked neither his voice nor his manner but he said that Ibbetson would be leaving The Bargee at ten o’clock this morning!’
‘Did he, by Jove,’ said the Toff slowly. ‘We’ll ponder over that. Now you’ve done better than I hoped,’ he said warmly, ‘and we should be able to make it. Jolly, we’ll see this thing through ourselves; it isn’t safe to leave it to others.’
‘Meaning the police.’ murmured Jolly.
‘I’m not in favour with the police just now. Peveril has convinced them that I’ve been working for Paterson and June for some time. Grice thinks that I’ve taken a quixotic interest in the couple and that I’m backing their innocence against all reason. Very carefully Peveril has convinced Grice that for once I’m a danger to a successful police action, rather than a help to them achieving it, and Peveril has a considerable degree of low cunning. Why hasn’t he been to The Bargee? He certainly knows about it.’
‘Did you tell me that he was under arrest, sir?’ asked Jolly discreetly.
‘There are others working with Peveril, he’s not on his own. And what they will want to do is to offer further “proof” that I’ve been in it all the time and thus strengthen their contention that I’ve been helping Paterson and June for longer than I’ve pretended. Also, they will almost certainly prefer me to get into a jam, Jolly. For instance, they will expect me to go to The Bargee, to see Ibbetson. They telephoned a message for me, didn’t they? On my arrival they’ll break in or follow me in. Violence is likely and, if their plans don’t go awry, Ibbetson and the other witnesses will be silenced. And—and,’ continued the Toff very tensely, ‘they will shape the evidence to make it look as if I did the silencing.’
‘Are you serious?’ ejaculated Jolly.
‘Of course I’m serious,’ said the Toff sharply. ‘From the time that I saw young Jameson I’ve been the Aunt Sally. All the evidence and most of the actions have been turned against me: the major effort of the other side has been to switch police attention to me. It’s been done well. Grice is more than half-convinced. Our question is: who has worked with Peveril and who conceived the idea in the first place?’
‘Have you any idea, sir?’ asked Jolly faintly.
‘A glimmering,’ admitted the Toff. ‘No more than a glimmering and, if it grows into a bright light, we’ll have deserved most of what’s happened for being too free with our sympathy. Or I will,’ he amended hastily. ‘Now, if I’m right—and please God I am!’ he exclaimed with unaccustomed fervour – ‘the flat is being watched. I shall be followed. You’ll follow my follower. And I think—’
He paused, then stepped across to the telephone and dialled a number in Aldgate. In a few moments he was talking to a Mr Samuel Diver, who kept a large and prosperous public house near Aldgate High Street and who was indebted to the Toff for several particular favours. Amongst Sammy Diver’s various activities there was the running of a gymnasium in the Mile End Road, a chopping-block for ambitious boxers, a rendezvous for the hundreds who had battled in the ring and passed their heyday. The Toff, in peace time, had been a regular patron of the gymnasium and knew most of the members of Sammy’s club. Jolly, knowing that, had called upon the man for help and the Toff obviously considered the idea worth imitating, for he asked Sammy for another four or five men who were to go to The Bargee and to wait nearby.
Sammy promised gladly that he would arrange that at once.
The Toff replaced the receiver, lit a cigarette and then nodded slowly. Although he looked as tired as he felt, there was a gleam in his eyes and a sense of satisfaction within him which rendered him oblivious to the chance of being proved wrong. He would have denied emphatically that he was working a hunch: that he had been framed carefully and cleverly from the beginning – his beginning – of the affair was obvious and he considered the last act in the framing a natural consequence of the earlier ones.
‘Are you ready to start, sir?’ asked Jolly.
‘I’ve had some second thoughts,’ the Toff told him. ‘You and I will go together. We’ll both be followed and our man or men will think that it’s working out very nicely. And why shouldn’t it?’ he added for no reason at all. ‘We’ll go slowly to The Bargee, getting there after Sammy’s reinforcements have arrived. Our follower probably won’t think of reinforcements in the form of Sammy’s men, he’ll be on the lookout for police, not bruisers.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets, hesitated and then stepped to the window. He saw nothing to interest him in the Terrace and turned to say quietly: ‘If you wanted to murder three or four men, all of whom could provide evidence against you, what would you do? Assuming,’ he added, ‘that the men were likely to come out of a house or a shop or even a pub together.’
Jolly considered for a while, and then said: ‘I don’t quite follow you, sir.’
‘Don’t you?’ asked Rollison softly. ‘Think again, Jolly. Think back to the newspaper stories we read about the Chiswick murder, and … I see you’ve got it,’ he added softly. ‘I see you’ve got it.’
Jolly eyed him for a moment in amazement and then with a dawning apprehension. They were silent for a while, before Jolly said as softly as the Toff: ‘You think they’ll try the madman-with-a-gun trick again, sir?’ ‘It certainly wouldn’t surprise me,’ declared the Toff. ‘Come on, let’s get over there.’
They left the flat a few minutes afterwards and walked to Piccadilly, going down to the Underground station. As they walked they were careful not to look behind them or to give the slightest impression that they suspected that they were followed; but they were followed by a man in the uniform of a Commando with the three stripes of a sergeant on his sleeves.
The Toff and Jolly reached The Bargee at five minutes to ten. The public house was on the corner of two narrow roads, a dingy little place with boarded windows and a dilapidated sign hanging outside. A frowsy woman was swilling the pavement outside the pub with dirty water. Rollison and Jolly passed on the other side of the street, walking casually but seeing three of Diver’s men within easy distance.
Rollison ignored them, whispering to Jolly: ‘Wait here for a moment.’
He went on, turning a corner and seeing a fourth of Sammy’s men waiting near it, apparently interested in the window of a confectioner’s shop. Rollison spoke before he reached the man, to receive a shake of the head which suggested that nothing of interest had happened. Rollison continued to speak, not raising his voice but uttering the words loudly enough for the other to understand.
‘Tell the others to watch for a car, which will probably pull up opposite the pub, and stop anyone who goes towards it.’
‘Oke,’ came a gruff response.
‘Thanks,’ said Rollison and then turned and sauntered back, glancing at his watch as he turned the corner and seeing that it was three minutes to ten. The need for keeping away from the front door of The Bargee was obvious but the temptation to go there was strong. He saw Jolly strolling along the road thirty or forty feet away while the minute hand of his watch crept round and he saw that only one minute remained. The possibility that the message had been telephoned to get him there while action was staged elsewhere made him uneasy but then he heard the sound of a car engine approaching from a nearby road and unfastened the flap of his holster, taking a grip on his revolver.
The car turned the corner. It was an open one and he did not recognise the man at the wheel. But he did recognise the man in khaki with a Commando tag on his shoulder who suddenly appeared in the porch of a house alongside the hotel.
As the man
appeared the hotel doorway opened and a man glanced quickly up and down the street. Rollison, the Commando and Jolly were all hidden from his sight. The man peered at the car, which was driven past at a fair speed, then backed into the pub. A moment later he reappeared with two companions. Despite greasepaint and dirt smeared over the face of one of them, Rollison recognised Ibbetson. He imagined that one of the others was “Mike.”
Rollison stepped into sight and started to go across the road. The Commando advanced suddenly and in his hands there was a small machine-gun of the type used by the British shock troops. He levelled it as Rollison neared the party coming from the hotel and while Ibbetson, seeing the Toff, turned and began to run.
Quite calmly, Jolly fired his automatic at the Commando.
The single shot from his gun echoed sharp and clear in the crisp morning air. The Commando gasped and half-turned; there was blood on his right hand and the automatic machine-gun drooped towards the ground. He made a quick, desperate effort to regain it but Jolly fired again.
Ibbetson and the others were running full pelt towards the nearest corner. The man at the wheel of the small car was in the middle of turning in the road. He glanced over his shoulder and his expression held horror and dismay. Rollison divined his intention of getting away while the chance remained and fired towards the car; his second bullet punctured a rear tyre which exploded with a loud report. The car slewed across the road then crashed into the kerb and against the brick wall of a small house. As it crashed, Ibbetson and the others reached the corner and then ran into the arms of Sammy’s men, taken so much by surprise that they did not even put up a fight. Had they done, two more of Sammy’s men, hurrying towards the scene, would have stopped them.
The Toff and Jolly turned towards the wounded Commando, whose gun was on the ground and who was leaning against the wall of the house where he had taken shelter, his face twisted in pain. Everything had happened so swiftly and been carried out with such assurance that Jolly’s mild question was an anti climax.
‘Do you know him, sir?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the Toff. ‘I told you that my sympathies had been working too freely. That’s young Jameson but his second attempt wasn’t as successful as his first. I think we’d better ‘phone Grice now or he’ll lose patience.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Without Frills
On the way to Scotland Yard, in company with several of Grice’s men, were Jameson, Ibbetson, Mike and the landlord of The Bargee whom Jolly knew but who was a stranger to the Toff. With them was the driver of the car which had been intended for Jameson’s getaway, on exactly the same arrangement as Ibbetson’s car had been used during the attack at Chiswick.
Grice’s men were questioning the rest of the staff at The Bargee while the Toff, Grice and Jolly stood together in the small parlour of Canal Cottage. In the kitchen the little woman was weeping piteously and young Jameson’s father was trying to comfort her.
Convincing evidence had been found in Jameson’s room to prove that he had worked with Peveril and several other men – including the car driver and the couple who had tried to attack Paterson near the Bedloe Station. One of them, young Jameson had admitted, had killed Fred at the Vauxhall Bridge Road apartments.
‘And now we have the whole story without frills,’ said the Toff quiedy. ‘The question that worried me most was motive. I could believe in a young couple like Paterson and June Lancing trying to destroy evidence which might send one of them to the gallows but I couldn’t believe that several different parties all wanted the case for the same reason. Peveril and Ibbetson were obviously separate organisations, both after the black case. I wanted to know why and made a guess.’
‘Go on,’ said Grice quietly.
‘If the contents of that case were what June Lancing told me, it was worth a fortune to any man unscrupulous enough to use the evidence Brett had gathered as a means of extorting money. That simple motive seemed to me the most likely: Ibbetson and Peveril, both rogues of some cunning, both confident of their ability to work the racket as well as Brett, probably knowing about the case because information against them was inside it, wanted the contents for just that reason. With it they could make money to their heart’s content. But of course Brett would object. He did but they knew that he did not leave for America and with Jameson’s help they killed him.
‘June Lancing had confided in the Jamesons, her old servants, and the parents had no idea of their son’s part in it, so they passed the news on. June doubtless told them that Paterson was to meet Brett outside the Chiswick shop – she knew the interview had been arranged, that Brett had sent for Paterson to discuss further payments. The idea of the man running amok seemed a sound one. They used it to good effect but, when it seemed possible that Jameson would become implicated, he worked up a pretty story which, for a time, convinced me. I wasn’t sure of Jameson until I saw him this morning but I had been thinking of him for some time. You see, his parents apart, Jameson was the only man who could have spread news both to Peveril and June Lancing that I was working. Ibbetson, of course, learned it from Peveril. Peveril checked it up by forcing June to tell him the whole truth and, as June had sent me the case, he let her go free.’
‘I see,’ said Grice slowly. ‘And Jameson has made a statement?’
‘He has and Ibbetson has confirmed a lot of it. Peveril’s other man, who was the car driver this morning, admits to having sent two men to kill Paterson last night. Jolly took notes in shorthand,’ added the Toff, ‘but I don’t think you need worry, you’ve got everything now. The simple motive,’ he added slowly. ‘The value of the black case was the information in it; they wanted the information, not to save themselves but to use it as Brett had done. Peveril tried to hoodwink me by talking of getting five thousand pounds for it and by trying to persuade me that Ibbetson was working for Lancaster. I doubt whether Lancaster knows anything about it; those letters were probably forgeries.’
‘Ye-es,’ said Grice and pushed a hand through his hair. That’s his contention anyhow. He is nervous in case I press the charge too far. I think he has plenty to hide.’
‘I doubt whether you’ll get anything against him but that’s up to you,’ said the Toff. ‘Brett had plenty, in the case, but we know what happened to that. It’s odd,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Brett died before I heard of him and I haven’t met Lancaster. The hierarchy of big business evaded me. I would have liked a cut at them. However, it didn’t work out that way,’ he added with a crooked smile. ‘Will you look after everything and let Paterson and June know what’s what as soon as you can? You’ll want to verify everything before you release them, of course, but ask them to go to my flat when you’ve finished.’
‘I will,’ promised Grice and then added with some embarrassment: ‘Roily, I feel badly about this. I should have known better than—’
‘Hush!’exclaimed the Toff. ‘A policeman never apologises!’ He rested a hand on Grice’s shoulder and added: ‘I’m glad it worked the way it did. The first real glimmering came when I saw a possible source of the rumour that I was deeply involved in the affair. And when I remembered that June Lancing had learned it from the Jamesons, because of my visit—’
He shrugged while the crying woman in the next room grew quieter and her husband’s tones grew softer and still more soothing. Rollison did not like what had happened to them and yet there was nothing he could do to offer comfort. But he told them to call on him for anything they needed and then went to the nearby houses and redeemed his promise of ample compensation to Mrs. Mee and even more generously rewarded the less avaricious Good Samaritan next door.
Jolly went ahead of him to the flat and Sammy Diver’s men, satisfied with their brief appearance, were on the way to Aldgate.
Rollison strolled along the canal thoughtfully, thinking of the desperate lies June had first told him, of her story of being an alien related so plausi
bly and, like that of Jameson, once deceiving him. His chief anxiety was that Gerry Paterson might face a charge of the murder of Brett’s secretary and, before he returned to Gresham Terrace, he interviewed a rotund little man in the Public Prosecutor’s office, who shook his head sorrowfully after he had heard the story of Paterson’s confession – without learning names – and said: ‘Rollison, my boy, you’re not yourself. If all the evidence is hearsay, if there is none stronger than that, if everything that we could use in court was destroyed in that black box and when Brett died—why, there isn’t a case. The youngster’s made a confession, you say?’
‘To me, not the police.’
‘Then tell him to keep quiet. Tell Grice yourself and let Grice work it out. I don’t think he’ll want to prefer a charge. I’m quite sure any barrister could get a “not guilty” verdict even if he sent it to court. Your young friend hasn’t much to worry about.’
In a much more cheerful frame of mind, the Toff returned to Gresham Terrace. Outside the flat a plain clothes man was waiting; inside were June and Paterson. He assured himself quickly that June had told the police everything except Gerry’s encounter at Brett’s office.
‘Of course I didn’t tell them that!’ exclaimed June. ‘I’m not quite mad. And in any case it wasn’t deliberate, it was accidental. You yourself said it would be reduced to a manslaughter charge!’
‘So I did,’ smiled the Toff, ‘but it needn’t go as far as that, if you watch your step. Grice has put a man to watch you but he has to do that until everything is over.’ He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened. ‘We’ve just time for some lunch and then I must get to the office. We’ll go out for it. Jolly, will you have a holiday and come with us?’
‘I think I would prefer to stay here, sir, thank you,’ said Jolly and later watched from the window as they walked along the Terrace.