The Toff on The Farm

by John Creasey

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” M.M.M. insisted. “It must be something to do with this dreadful business, but I tell you I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “If I know the truth, I might be able to stop another attack.”

  “Goddam it, you know the truth !”

  “Monty,” said Rollison, still in that soft voice, “a peculiar thing has happened to you today. You couldn’t have been more affable than you were this morning, but the next time I saw you you were very anti-Toff indeed. That’s all right as far as it goes, but I want to know why.”

  “I’m not anti-Toff. I just think you’ve done a hell of a bad job, and done Gillian more harm than good. I love her, don’t you understand ? I love her so much it hurts to think that she might be in danger. I’ll do anything I can for her, absolutely everything.”

  “Even keep silent when you know that another attack on your life might be successful”

  “I can’t tell you anything else!”

  “Monty,” persisted Rollison, “I didn’t like the way you behaved on the road today. I didn’t like it when you made an excuse to get away from me. I didn’t like thinking that you telephoned a warning to the house in Norton Street, and so let Charlie’s friends escape—doubtless believing you were helping Alan Selby and Gillian. I didn’t like it when you decided to try to make Gillian throw me over. I still think I can help Gillian. I didn’t even like it when you decided to be all nice and friendly at Clapham Common. You’re a somewhat obvious young man, far too obvious to get away with that kind of thing. I want to know why you’ve changed since you came to see me this morning, and I want to know now.”

  M.M.M. was sitting in a small armchair, his back very straight, sweat dripping down his forehead, his hands trembling. He looked a sick man, and yet this morning he had been in buoyant spirits and, except for his leg, in boisterous health.

  “It—it’s not true,” he muttered. “You’re imagining things.”

  “Am I imagining that your mood changed entirely when you were at the Wheatsheaf for lunch?” asked Rollison. “Is it imagination that there were two men, not one, in the Wheatsheaf interested in the farm, and that I followed one.

  “The man Charlie, and the other talked to you? He put the fear of death into you, Monty, didn’t he?”

  “You—you’re crazy !”

  “Or the fear of the death of Gillian. Which was it?”

  “I tell you you’re making it all up!”

  “If I hadn’t come ahead you would probably have been killed.”

  “They wouldn’t have killed me, they would only——”

  M.M.M. broke off, realising that he had made just the admission which Rollison needed. Would he give up, now, or would he try to fight on? He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead, gulped, and then dabbed again.

  “Let’s have it, Monty,” Rollison urged.

  “I—I couldn’t help myself,” muttered M.M.M. “I didn’t know how serious the situation was when I talked to Gillian this morning, if I had I wouldn’t have told you. You— you’re right. Another man came into the Wheatsheaf, and sat at my table. He said that if I didn’t get you off the job, he’d kill Gillian.”

  “And you believed him.”

  “I couldn’t take a chance with Gillian.”

  “Let’s pass that,” said Rollison. “What was he like?”

  “He was an American. If you ask me, he and Brandt are in this together.”

  “We’ll find out. What about tipping off the people at Norton Street ?”

  “He gave me a telephone number and told me to ring there if—if you looked like getting too close. I had to do it, if I hadn’t it would have been letting Gillian down. I could tell that he was serious, he—he showed me proof that he’d got Alan prisoner, and told me that if he didn’t get hold of the farm he would kill both Alan and Gillian. The only way to help them was to get you off the case, and then persuade Gillian to sell.”

  “So that’s what you were going to do?”

  “Yes I had to. I thought we could butter you up a bit, and—well, what else could I do?” Now that it was off his chest, M.M.M. seemed less troubled, but kept dabbing at his forehead. “I still think the only safe thing is to let these swine buy the farm.”

  “Do you know why they want it ?”

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “I’d never heard of them until this morning, of course I don’t know.”

  “How much did they offer you for your help to get me off the job, and to persuade Gillian to sell ?”

  “That’s a swine of a question. You know damned well that the only thing they could offer me was Gillian’s safety and after that, Alan’s. Money didn’t enter into it. Good God ! I’ve got enough money for anything I’ll ever want in this life.”

  “All right, no hysterics,” said Rollison. “Now, about this man who warned you ?”

  “He came in just after you’d left, a biggish chap in a brown suit. He had a whispering kind of voice but he was American all right. He drove that black Humber, the car Charlie came in. Mildred and Bert couldn’t hear a thing he was saying, although they were at the bar all the time. And you can call me everything you like, but I still think that the wise thing is to buy this swine off.”

  “In spite of two murders?”

  “You talk as if ordinary, decent people had been killed, instead of a couple of crooks !”

  “Monty,” murmured Rollison, “their way of earning a living apart, a lot of crooks are ordinary, decent people. They have wives and children who mourn them when they die, and a lot of very good qualities.”

  “These two were brutes! They would have killed

  “They daren’t kill Gillian until they have the farm, and they daren’t use too much pressure because any sale made under pressure could be ruled invalid,” said Rollison. “They could use threats, but couldn’t do physical harm to Gillian. That speaks for itself.”

  “That’s what you say,” Monty almost sneered.

  “All right,” said Rollison, crisply. “And the couple waiting in the other flat were going to ginger up your spirit of co-operation. Ever seen the woman before?”

  “No.”

  “I hope that’s true,” said Rollison, and seemed to relax; but he had never been further from relaxing. “Monty, I want you to try to remember this. You never benefit from making a deal with bad men. You can’t buy safety and you can’t buy an easy conscience. If you do what this man in brown orders, and persuade Gillian to sell the farm, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. That might not be for long, because once you’ve done what you’re wanted for, you might be rubbed out. Nice, expressive phrase, rubbed out, even if it is a little old-fashioned. They’re expert at the rubbing process. They’ve killed two men, and I think they would cheerfully have killed me. Don’t fall for it, Monty. Come back on my side.”

  M.M.M. didn’t answer, and before Rollison could speak again, there came a sharp ring at the front door-bell. He glanced at the door, and M.M.M. turned round, as if glad that he didn’t have to listen to anything more from Rollison.

  “This will be the police to ask more questions,” Rollison said. “I’m going out by the fire-escape, but tell them who I am, and that they’ll be welcome at my flat any time of the day and night.”

  M.M.M. only stared at him.

  Gillian was sitting in the car near the corner, watching police cars and the crowds which gathered; obviously she hadn’t got out, and nothing had happened to alarm her except the evidence of trouble.

  “Is Monty all right?” she asked quickly.

  “Perfectly, and so am I,” said Rollison, “Charming of you to ask.” He squeezed her hand. “I hope that Monty will see things my way in future.” She didn’t answer, and he started off, watched but not stopped by the policemen at the main entrance.

  Jolly opened the flat door before he reached it. His lined face would soon be wrinkled, his sparse grey hair was neat, his eyes were the eyes of an affectionat
e sheepdog. He looked at Gillian with surprise; and in spite of her tensions and her worries, she was quite lovely.

  Rollison led her straight to the spare room, which had its own tiny bathroom.

  “Tidy yourself up, and let me know when you’re feeling respectable again,” he said.

  She looked into his eyes.

  “Roily, I don’t know whether you’re right or wrong, but thank you for being so charming,” she said, “I know I’ve been a little beast.” When Rollison smiled, she went on with more spirit: “And don’t say it’s nothing : it’s a great deal,” Then she burst out: “Do you know if Tex Brandt’s been here yet?”

  Her expression told Rollison that one day she was likely to have bad news for Montagu Montmorency Mome; that was a strangely ironical fact.

  “I think he’ll turn up,” Rollison said.

  He did not remind her that Brandt could have killed both Charlie and Lodwin, He closed the door on her, and went back into the big room, and told Jolly to send the American in. He stood with his back to the remarkable Trophy Wall.

  The Texan came striding in; he seemed to grow in stature every time Rollison saw him.

  “Hallo, Mr. Rollison, it’s good to see you again,” he greeted, and held out his hand.

  Rollison took it.

  “Hiya, Tex,” he said. “Used any lethal daggers lately?” He twisted his arm, and quite suddenly Brandt was bent almost double, held in a grip which he could not escape unless he wanted to break his arm. He was still looking flabbergasted when Jolly came in, and Rollison said :

  “Search him. Jolly, just in case he has a bloodstained knife.”

  13

  TEX TELLS

  Jolly was both expert and quick. Tex made no attempt to free himself as hands dipped in and out of his pockets, sometimes coming out empty, sometimes loaded : as with an elaborate pocket knife, a cigarette-lighter with a hole in the wrong place, and a small compact automatic pistol of German make. Jolly next ran his hands along Tex’s legs, arms, waist and chest, and then drew back. As he did so, Rollison released the Texan, smiled cheerfully, and said:

  “What are you going to have to drink?”

  “I need Bourbon on the rocks,” Tex said, in a bewildered way.

  “Bourbon on the rocks for Mr. Brandt, Jolly,” said Rollison, and went to the large desk where the weapons had been placed. “Quite an amount,” he observed, and picked up the palm gun. “One of the Toledo jobs, isn’t it, made by Yanez.” He weighed the automatic in his hand. “Otto Schmidt, of Hamburg, gets better and better. Isn’t the knife American made?”

  Tex said : “Sure.”

  “Don’t ever let it be said that I left a man defenceless in a foreign land,” murmured Rollison, and handed all three of the weapons back. “Unless you’ve a licence for that automatic I shouldn’t let the police know you have it, and the lighter could get you into a lot of trouble. I know. I’ve got one. Does yours fire slugs or gas pellets ?”

  “Slugs,” answered Brandt, a little less weakly.

  “I prefer gas pellets,” Rollison confided. “They’re just as quick, they scare more, and if I get caught ladling them out, no-one gets so angry. You probably don’t know it, but the police in this country can be very tough when they think you’re going to throw lead about.”

  “I’m beginning to find out that in this country a lot of people can be tough,” declared Brandt, in a voice that was much nearer normal. He began to smile. “I’m beginning to understand how you acquired those trophies, too. How about hanging me up there ?”

  “I hope you won’t have to be hanged,” said Rollison, judicially, and glanced round as Jolly came in, with a tray with a bottle of Bourbon, a bottle of Scotch, soda water and ice cubes. He placed these on the desk, then went to a corner and opened a cupboard to take out glasses. “Did anyone call when I was out. Jolly?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jolly began to pour out drinks, and the American watched him, fascinated.

  “Who?”

  “There were a number of social calls of which I have made a note, and Lady Rimgedden is anxious to know whether you will open the Borstal Boys Bazaar next month. It appears that Lord Rimgedden was to have arranged it with you, and overlooked it.”

  “Are we free?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We will open the bazaar.”

  “I’m sure Lady Rimgedden will be delighted, and I will telephone her at once,” said Jolly, who spoke in exacdy the same level tone all the time, and did not appear even to Wink. “An American gentleman who did not give his name also telephoned.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, sir. He left a message.”

  “What message?”

  Jolly glanced at Tex Brandt, but Rollison made no comment, so the manservant went on, still without flickering an eyelid:

  “He said that unless you withdrew from the investigation into the disappearance of Alan Selby and the mysterious events at Selby Farm, you would be seriously inconvenienced, sir,”

  “Oh, no,” breathed Tex.

  “Get out, stay out or be put out,” mused Rollison. “When was this?”

  “An hour ago.”

  “Hmm. What did you tell him ?”

  “I said that I would pass on your message, sir.”

  “Gimme that drink,” said Tex Brandt, and grabbed and tossed down much Bourbon and little water. “If I weren’t standing here and listening, I wouldn’t believe this could be taking place,” he said.

  “Oh, it happens every day,” declared Rollison lightly. “That the lot. Jolly?”

  “Mr. Grice telephoned.”

  “Ah.”

  “He will be coming round this evening, sir, about half past eight, and asks that you leave a message for him if you will not be in.”

  “Oh.”

  “I just can’t bear this suspense,” said Tex, and held his glass in front of him as if he were likely to finish the drink at the next gulp. “Who is Mr. Grice?”

  “Superintendent William Grice of New Scotland Yard,” Jolly informed him, and then paused slightly to indicate a change of subject, and added to Rollison: “Will you be in to dinner, sir?”

  “Yes. All three of us.”

  “Three?” ejaculated Tex. “Who’s the third?” he broke off, glanced at Jolly, finished his drink and dropped on to the arm of a chair. “I just don’t get it,” he said. “You look too feudal to sit down at the same table together. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being rude, I’m just being American.”

  “We quite understand,” said Jolly, and for the first time gave a slight emphasis to the one word. He bowed. “If there is nothing else, sir, I will prepare dinner.”

  “Remember that all I had for lunch was a miniature pork pie and a pint,” said Rollison. He turned to Tex as Jolly went out, softly. “No,” he added firmly. “No what?” asked Tex, faintly.

  “Jolly is not available for New York, Chicago, Miami Beach, Las Vegas or Hollywood.”

  “I wouldn’t want Jolly,” asserted Tex. “I would want you.” He lit his cigarette and drew deeply on it, drained his glass as if forgetting that he had already emptied it, glanced at the bottle, and went on : “Would you mind telling me something?”

  Rollison refilled his glass.

  “Probably. What is it?”

  “What made you think I might have killed the man Lodwin?”

  “Because you also had the chance to kill the man Charlie,” answered Rollison, and handed him the glass.

  Tex Brandt took it, but sat very still, and didn’t drink or speak for what seemed a long time. Rollison judged him to be rather older than he had seemed : in the middle-thirties. He was rather more handsome, too, and the colour of his hair was quite beautiful.

  “So I could have gone back and killed him.”

  “Or killed him before we left.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You’ll have the police to satisfy, not me.”

  “How easy will that be ?”

  “It won’t be easy at al
l, once they know you’re around,” said Rollison. “So far I don’t think they’ve any idea, but I wouldn’t be too sure. We’ve a weak link in the chain.”

  Tex drank Bourbon as if it were lemonade.

  “Name of Morne,” he remarked.

  “You know him ?”

  “Sure, I know of him,” Tex said, and put his glass down, drew again on his cigarette and stubbed it out half-finished, then stood up and walked to the Trophy Wall; but he paid no attention to the weapons there, no attention even when he brushed past the hangman’s rope and set it swinging. “Mr. Rollison,” he said, and his voice seemed to be more noticeably from the Wild West, “I guess it’s time I told you more about myself and what I’m doing here. I told you that I came from New York to buy Selby Farm, and I’m working on behalf of a wealthy American. Maybe I forgot to say wealthy, but you’d guess that. He wouldn’t have used me unless he expected trouble, and he told me that someone else would try to buy the farm, and use Lodwin and maybe other guys. I was to stop them.” Slowly, Tex shook his head, and his eyes looked dazed. “Two guys have certainly been stopped,” he said. “No wonder you think I killed them.”

  “I just think you might have.”

  “Thanks. My client told me to be very careful of Lodwin, he was a psycho. From the way Lodwin talked to Miss Selby and tried to buy that farm, I guess my client was right. It was the corniest interview I’ve ever heard. Lodwin just told her she had to sell, and that was that. My client told me that the other guy who wanted to buy the farm would try to get it legally first, but would get it somehow, if he couldn’t buy it. He couldn’t buy, so he kidnapped Selby and then put pressure on Gillian through Lodwin.”

  “You think Lodwin and Charlie both worked for the same man—your client’s rival?”

  “Yes,” answered Tex.

  “Who is this rival?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “An American?”

  “Could be.”

  “An American threatened Mome, and scared him enough to make him warn the people at the Brighton house we were on the way.”

  “So they killed Lodwin, knowing we were also going there,” Tex said, heavily.