by John Creasey
‘There won’t be a next meeting,’ said the Toff in a cool, easy voice that was pitched on a low key and which echoed to every corner of the big room. ‘Put your hands up, gentlemen – high. Especially Garrotty!’
There was a lilting mockery in his voice, a challenge in the words flung out so nonchalantly; but as thirteen pairs of eyes turned towards him, as half of the men moved and the others jumped up, as Garrotty’s hand went towards his shoulder, the Toff spoke again, and there was all the threat in the world in his voice.
‘Move another fraction and you’re finished! I’m carrying fourteen bullets, and that leaves one to spare. Garrotty –’
And then two guns spoke in quick succession, two flashes of flame – one from the Toff’s gun, one from Garrotty the Yank’s.
15: MORE SUSPICIONS
Had the Toff been working at full pressure during the past three weeks he would probably have adopted different methods; most likely he would have tried to get out of the warehouse without raising an alarm, and follow the little man who talked like Dragoli. It might have been the wiser course; but the Toff, with what he called three weeks’ rest, was at the absolute peak of confidence, and he had acted almost as quickly as he had thought. He had never worried about odds; the heavier against him the better he liked them. A ten-to-one chance gave him an opportunity for pulling off some unexpected and completely unbeatable stroke, where in a two-to-one effort the very fact that he was the Toff, and he had played such games for years, practically levelled them out to evens.
He had a gun in each hand, and he had expected the shot from Garrotty.
He fired a fraction of a second before the gangster, and Garrotty squealed’ as the bullet bit into his wrist. His gun clattered to the dusty floor, and at the same time the Toff fired again, towards a tall, thin man in evening dress, who had his right hand at his pocket. A second gun clattered; and then as the smoke drifted upwards and the echoes of the shooting stopped, eleven sound and two wounded men stared at the tall, lean figure in reach-me-downs, a face that, despite its disguise of grease-paint and dirt, carried the devil-may-care spirit of the man, and gave them some idea of the strength in him.
No one spoke, but from the passage there was a sharp sound of running footsteps. A single set, if the Toff reckoned rightly. He lifted his left hand, still carrying the gun, to his lips, exhorting silence that he did not think he would fail to get. And then the masked man in evening dress, who had used the word ‘bally’, burst through the heavy curtains.
The Toff was standing by them, facing the gathering. His right foot shot out, and the youthful man pitched over it, hitting his head against the floor-boards with an unpleasant thump. He stayed where he had fallen for several seconds, and then the Toff stirred his posterior with a gentle toe.
‘Join the boy friends,’ he said.
The man on the floor started to crawl towards them, and the Toff, sensing a trick or an attempt at one, used a toe that was no longer gentle. The man jumped to his feet and sped towards the group of men staring towards the Toff.
Had they been ten yards nearer, the Toff knew the chances of success would have been negligible. As it was, he was by no means sure that he would manage to bag them all, and if he tried he would probably lose the lot. The most comforting thought at the back of his mind was that Garrotty’s men would not bar the way out.
He was thinking fast. One thing was certain; he could not persuade any one of them to go for the police, and there was no telephone at hand. He could not lock the door on them, for the curtains made that impossible; perhaps it was one of the reasons why they had been installed. If he went out of sight they would move, perhaps towards another exit. But he certainly could not stand where he was for hours on end, and hope that something would turn up. For the first time he wished he had asked Winkle to get in touch with the Yard; and then he comforted himself with the thought that he might have failed to get anywhere had he done so.
The little man had been speaking as though at the end of his instructions. The arrangements, he had said, were working smoothly, and there would be no alterations. Probably in five minutes, ten at the most, the meeting would have broken up. Before the police could have reached the spot the mice would have scurried to their holes.
No, it was better as it was, and the thought made the Toff feel more pleased with himself than ever.
He broke the silence mockingly.
‘Well, gentlemen, we seem to be stuck. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m kind-hearted, you with the bowler. You’ve seen a little of the shooting I can manage, and I assure you I can do better. Anyone care to say a few words?’
No one did.
‘The man on the weighing-machine,’ said the Toff, ‘can unmask.’ The little man obliged, promptly, but still no one spoke.
‘Well, well,’ said’ the Toff mournfully, ‘you must be shy. It doesn’t matter; the police know ways of making you talk; those I want McNab to have, that is.’
There were three distinct oaths; an “Oh, God!” and the sound of a very deep breath. There was more disquiet in the eyes of the thirteen men – all except Garrotty and the little speaker masked – than there had been a few minutes before. The Toff smiled engagingly. He had pulled his mask down, for no one here would recognize him, although some doubtless guessed he was the Toff. For the moment he did not propose to confirm the truth or otherwise of their guesses.
‘Someone sound’s worried,’ he said. ‘All right, let’s start the procession. We’ll alter the methods and move in single file instead of circles.’
Someone else said: ‘God!’
‘Blasphemous lot,’ said the Toff, and he sounded sorrowful. ‘Now listen carefully, my friends, for I’m in a touchy mood. The little man with the sad voice – yes, you,’ he added as the speaker jerked his head up, ‘will lead the way. Turn round, and walk backwards towards me.’
He expected another attempt to fight, but nothing happened as the little man obeyed him. At ten paces the Toff stopped him, and said: ‘Bowler Hat, I’ll take you next.’
He was particularly interested in Bowler Hat. The man was tall – as tall as himself, Warrender, Frensham. And Bowler Hat obeyed with the same silence as the little Egyptian.
‘Excellent,’ said the Toff cheerfully, ‘we’re going to get along nicely, I can see. Now the door-keep man join the procession – turn your back, and walk towards me. Little man, proceed.’
He was laughing to himself, and his teeth were flashing, as the little man came within a yard of him. The Toff almost guessed what was coming, for like an eel the fellow squirmed round.
Rollison’s fist shot out like a battering-ram.
The other was moving towards him, and he took the pile-driver on the point. He went up a foot, and then slumped down, but three others were moving towards him. The Toff saw them, and yet he was elating, for none of them drew guns! They would have done had they possessed them.
He fired once, and his bullet took a man in the thigh. It was all the extra warning needed, and the conquest of Bowler Hat and’ the door-keeper was pitiful. Garrotty, nursing his wounded hand, was looking murderous, but had never been more innocuous. Three men were lying unconscious near the Toff, and a fourth was sitting on the floor with a badly shot thigh.
And then the Toff did an odd thing.
He took his cigarette-case from his pocket, and in doing so dropped his gun. He bent down in a flash to pick it up again, but kicked it farther away.
And he had never seen men move like it.
He had’ deliberately angled to get away from the door. The mention of the police, he believed, would make the men – unarmed as they were – aim for one thing only: get-away.
He had his left hand in his pocket all the time, in case there was a grab for a gun, but his reckoning was right. Garrotty was well in the lead in the rush for the door, and he paid no attention to the Toff. The crowd threatened to block the passage, and the Toff fired a couple of shots over their heads in order to hasten them.
He need hardly have worried. Thudding of feet along the passage, the walls of the warehouse shaking, the banging of a door. Someone knew how to operate the electrically controlled partition.
And then a deep, loud voice: ‘What the hell’s this?’
It was a question not likely to be answered for some time, but the Toff recognized the speaker, knew that Ted Frensham was here, and he greased along the passage.
The doors were open. Two men were having a stand-up fight in the small courtyard, and there was a thin stream of men racing along the alley beyond.
The Toff, his smile still showing, but a large question mark in his mind, approached the fighters. As he came up Frensham put a hefty left fist beneath a heavy jaw, and his man went backwards. He fell almost on to the Toff, and the Toff finished him off with a clout behind the ear.
And while Frensham was staring at the unfamiliar figure, the Toff said gently: ‘Can’t you obey orders, Frensham?’
Frensham stared.
‘Good God – Rollison!’
‘The same,’ said the Toff, and his voice hardened a little. ‘What are you doing here, Sonny Jim?’
In the gloom, Frensham’s expression was not easy to see.
‘I – oh, hang it, I thought I’d have a look round. You didn’t seem to take it in about Willows and Kellson –’
‘In short, you tried to see what I was thinking,’ said the Toff, as though he was fully satisfied. ‘It’s a bad habit, but I won’t say I’m sorry you’re here. Know this part well?’
‘I know the bridge, of course, and –’
‘Then you’ll know the nearest telephone box. Call Inspector McNab, will you, and tell him to come here, and to come right in. And then, if you’re not too tired, slip round to Gresham Terrace, and we’ll have a war talk.’
Frensham stared, and then grinned.
‘Right-o. I don’t come back here?’
‘Not unless you want to get hurt,’ said the Toff, and Frensham had the choice of two ways of taking it. He seemed cheerful as he swung away, while the Toff lifted the man whom Frensham had knocked out, and went back to the arena. Now it was over he was beginning to understand the strength of the odds against him.
And then the Toff began to move.
The police – assuming Frensham did go for them – would be here in twenty minutes, and he particularly wanted to talk to the little spokesman without interference from the police. He would have liked to talk with the bowler-hatted man – in fact, with the whole bunch of prisoners – but one in the ‘River Tavern’ was better than all five at Scotland Yard.
Hurrying, and without the need for silence, the Toff managed to get the little man to Winkle’s place in just over five minutes. There were back ways where no one could see that the Toff was carrying his man, and Winkle showed his usual placid front when he promised to look after the ‘bloke’. The Toff hurried back to Willow and Kellson’s warehouse, to be challenged as he reached the doors.
‘Who’s that?’
‘The Colonel,’ grinned the Toff, and Frensham stepped out of the shadows. He had obviously taken on himself the task of guard. ‘Have you been inside?’
‘No, I thought I’d better stay here. I fixed it with the police.’
‘Learning about those orders?’ asked the Toff. ‘Well, we’ll try a little foraging expedition, Mac won’t be here for another ten minutes.’
Frensham raised no objections. The Toff, although by no means sure that he could rely on the man, took a chance. He was always taking chances, and if occasionally they let him down they were far more often the inspiring factors of his successes.
They reached the alley corner where he had parked the first of Garrotty’s guards, and Frensham laughed aloud, but with some amazement. The man was conscious, but the sticking-plaster over his lips prevented him from talking. The Toff slipped the noose from his ankles, and Frensham urged the fellow along towards the warehouse.
By the packing-cases the Toff stopped again.
“There’s another friend here,’ he said, and proceeded to lean over the case, lugging the second gangster up, feet first. In the dim light Frensham’s face was a study.
‘Damn it, you didn’t –’
‘You’d be surprised what can be done.’ said the Toff cheerfully. ‘And here are a brace of Garrotty’s boys who’ll probably be deported although they’d rather live in an English prison for the time being. Ah – reinforcements!’
It was the squealing of brakes, then the heavy clumping of feet, that broke the silence. Supporting a man apiece, Frensham and the Toff waited. Anne’s fiancé seemed to be entering into the spirit of the thing, and his grin disappeared as McNab came up, with Sergeant Owen and three detectives. McNab stopped short, glaring at the couple. He did not know Frensham, and no man in the world would have recognized the Toff in that get up, until the Toff spoke.
‘Who telephoned?’ demanded the Inspector, and the Toff jollied him gently.
‘A friend of mine, McNab, after a shindy that would have warmed your heart.’
‘Rolleeson!’
‘Better and busier than ever,’ said the Toff. ‘There are several more prisoners inside, Mac, and I can promise you interesting revelations when you get them to the Yard. Come on, now, put a move on.’
McNab, Owen and one detective followed Rollison and Frensham through the warehouse. Garrotty and the masked door-keeper were still there, with the man the Toff had shot through the thigh.
But that was all.
Bowler Hat had gone; and the Toff realized first that Frensham had had an opportunity of releasing the man.
Had anyone else been near?
16: WILLOW AND KELLSON
The Toff was watching Frensham, and the man’s expression did not change, he did not seem to be looking at Rollison apprehensively, as if he knew Rollison had expected to find an extra man. McNab, of course, had no opportunity of knowing that there was someone missing, and the Toff decided to keep his mouth closed for the time being.
He wished he had recognized Bowler Hat, but there was always the possibility that he would be able to get at the fellow through the girl. On the other hand the man he had paid to find out her address might have collected his half sovereign, and decided that it was easier to drink it than to follow the girl about. It would depend on his honesty of mind – which had nothing to do with his respect for the property of other people.
McNab looked round from the curtains. Frensham was against the wall; Owen and the other Yard man stared in astonishment.
‘Aweel,’ said McNab, ‘hoo’d ye do it, Rolleeson?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ said the Toff owlishly, ‘I felt a bit worried and I told them I was sending for McNab of the Yard. They looked, my Mac, like men preparing for the gallows.’
‘Och, they did, did they?’ demanded McNab suspiciously. He had known Rollison for many years, but had not yet been able to make sure when the man was serious or joking. ‘We’ll collect them. Who helped you?’
‘Mac!’ exclaimed the Toff reproachfully.
It was not until an hour later, when the crooks were lodged in Cannon Street, and Sir Ian Warrender was on the way to the Yard from his Enfield home – he had given orders to be called when any development out of the ordinary was reported – that McNab was convinced that the Toff had managed to do it single-handed. In fact, he was openly dubious when the Toff talked of the nine or ten who had skedaddled. Frensham could support the Toff there, and McNab looked as though he was fully prepared to think Frensham was lying too.
‘Aweel, if ye did, ye did. But, Rolleeson, ye should ha’ sent for me, we would ha’ had the whole body then.’
Rollison, lighting a cigarette, and sitting in McNab’s chair while the policeman kept standing, chuckled.
‘And they’d have been gone, Mac.’
‘Supposin’ they had? We could ha’ surrounded the warehouse by nights, and they’d have come again.’
That was possible, the Toff knew, but there was no reason why he
should admit it.
‘Think so? Walls have ears, and every flatfoot in the cordon would have been located on the second night if not the first. Strike hard and hot when the chance comes, Mac. Waiting in this game will get you a bullet in the back, certainly not a brace of Garrotty’s men in the dock. Well, I’m off.’
‘Ye’ll stay to see Sir Ian again, mon! ‘
‘Give him my regards and regrets,’ said the Toff, who was still looking like a stevedore in his Sunday-best, ‘and tell him that I’m suffering from overwork after my recent illness, and the doctor ordered bed. So long.’
Chief-Inspector Horace McNab had long since given up trying to make the Toff do what he should. And McNab was prepared to admit that Rollison had pulled off a coup that would comprise the second big step towards the stopping of the activities of the Black Circle. The first, at the ‘Red Lion’, had also been the Toff’s doing.
McNab smiled, a, little reluctantly.’
‘Aweel, I’ve nae doot he’ll phone ye.’
‘I’ll lift the receiver off,’ said the Toff solemnly. ‘I need sleep, my Mac, and lots of it. Coming, young Frensham?’
Frensham went. A cab was passing the yard as they reached Parliament Street, and the Toff hailed it, directing the man to his flat. Frensham leaned back in the darkness of the taxi and said slowly: ‘Not so much of the “young Frensham”, Rollison. I –’
‘Not so much of the high horse,’ retorted the Toff. ‘If you’re going to start taking me seriously, we’ll dissolve partnership. Joking apart, your information was damned useful; I hope the next lot will be as good.’
Frensham scowled as he leaned forward.
‘Confound it, man, you don’t want any more?’
‘Don’t I? I told you earlier on that there are probably half a dozen places of assignation. Dragoli wasn’t there tonight, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t somewhere else. This is a big thing, Frensham, and there are two points I commend to your attention. First, there were about a dozen present tonight. This organization is a lot stronger than that numerically.’