Salute the Toff

by John Creasey

  Now she said: “Rolly, what does it all mean?”

  He did not try to evade the issue.

  “I don’t know, but I hope to find out Fay, have you ever met a man named Lorne?”

  “No.”

  “A woman named Myra?”

  “No—what’s she like?”

  The Toff was about to explain when a waiter interrupted, a sleek and silent man who leaned over him and said softly: “Excuse me, sir.”

  “What is it?” asked the Toff, and then extended a hand to take an envelope which was being handed to him. “Who from?” he asked quickly.

  “The gentleman arranged for it to be sent through several waiters, sir, in order not to be recognised.”

  “Oh.” said the Toff, and made sure that he would recognise the waiter if he wanted to question him. The letter contained only a visiting-card, and on it – scrawled in block-lettering – the words:

  RETURNED WITH THANKS – BE WISE,

  AND DROP THIS BUSINESS.

  The Toff stared down, and began to laugh.

  It was a deep, rollicking laugh, and one that seemed to be of sheer enjoyment. It altered the expression on Fay’s face, for she had been anxious when she had seen the note, and had followed his movements closely as he had opened it. It attracted people at near-by tables. It made the manager stare across the floor, and even started him towards the scene of this outrageous solecism, but he stopped when he saw who it was. It made the members of the orchestra peer in bewilderment, and it brought Jamie and Anthea from the floor. It did all that within two minutes, and it was two minutes before the Toff stopped laughing.

  Then Fay said, very clearly: “If it’s so funny, share it, please.”’

  The Toff stopped himself from laughing again, and handed her the visiting-card.

  “It’s my own,” he said. “I hoped to scare our Mr. Lorne with it. I’m beginning to appreciate that gentleman.”

  Jamie did not see that it was so very funny, and was inclined to resent the fact that attention had been drawn to the table. Anthea handled him, but Fay said quietly.

  “I don’t like it a bit.”

  “Don’t you?” asked the Toff. They were dancing a slow foxtrot, and she was easy to dance with. “I’ve been sending out those cards for seven years; it’s the first one returned, and I give our Luke full credit.”

  “Luke?”

  “Myra called him Luke. Don’t look so sombre, Fay. You’re dancing with me, and you’re in London’s latest highspot. Your Jimmy is alive, and—”

  “Please don’t say that!”

  The Toff said quickly: “I’m sorry, Fay. In some queer way I’ve been looking at Draycott as your private property, and it came out without warning. You fell pretty deeply in love, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. And she was close to tears, although he knew that there was small chance of breaking down. She had buoyed herself up with the belief that Draycott was not dead, but the stimulus would not last indefinitely. She went on quickly: “Rolly, what has he done?”

  “Has he done anything?”

  “Don’t hedge, please. You know that he’s in trouble of some kind. Rolly, he didn’t kill that man did he?”

  The Toff continued to dance with assurance. The orchestra was at its best, the gaily dressed and brightly lighted throng turned slowly and gracefully, while about them there was the hum of conversation, occasional laughter, the waiters threading their way amongst the tables. They were there, amid that crowd, and yet they were alone.

  “I don’t think so,” said the Toff very quietly. “I don’t know Draycott, but I’ve formed an impression of him, through you, Harrison and others. I feel it in my bones that he killed no one, but if you ask me to say why, I couldn’t.”

  “Thank you for that,” she said gratefully. “But the police are looking for him, aren’t they?”

  “I think so.”

  “Can you help him?”

  “I hope so,” said the Toff. “I think—”

  But she did not hear what he thought, for he stopped speaking and stared across the big room, past a hundred people, towards a small party at a table in one corner. The table was secluded with palms and draperies, and yet from the corner of that dance-floor he could see all its members.

  And Phyllis Harvey was there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Action Again

  Draycott’s fiancée was there, and the Toff’s card had been returned to him that night and in that place.

  The two facts might be coincidental, but there was also a possibility that they were connected. He looked away from the party, but not for long, for Fay stiffened in his arms.

  “Do you know her?” Her voice was a whisper.

  “I’ve seen her,” said the Toff, and he tightened his grip about her waist. “Chin up, Fay.”

  Fay said: “I’ve never seen her looking so beautiful. Oh, I hate her sometimes! I—” she stopped and forced a laugh. “Slap me, Rolly, or I shall get hysterics. Why do women have to be such cats about each other?”

  It happened that the tempo of the dance quickened, and he swung her round more quickly, so that they were hidden from the party in the corner.

  “How do you know cats hate? Fay, if you knew where Jimmy Draycott was, would you tell anyone you didn’t know?”

  Fay missed a step again, but recovered. The Toff saw the hope flooding her eyes.

  “Rolly, do you know where he is?”

  “I’ve been told where he might be.”

  “By—by Miss Harvey?”

  “That is sheer guesswork, and I’ll have nothing to do with it. You haven’t answered the question.”

  “You know very well I wouldn’t tell,” said Fay, and then the music stopped and the Toff led her back to the table. Anthea and Jamie were watching them. Anthea was particularly pleased with life, and she said as they arrived: “Did you know that you make a nice-looking couple?”

  “All of that is wasted,” said the Toff. “What’s more important is that the three of you are going to make a nice-looking trio, while I slip off for a word with Frederick.”

  The Can-Can’s manager welcomed Rollison warmly. He was standing by the door, surveying the throng, and with justification he could have said that everyone seemed happy. Frederick, a Swiss was one of those men who liked to see a happy world, and was not primarily interested in money or profit, although he did not neglect them. He was short and he boasted considerable embonpoint, he wore the small, dark, waxed moustache which hotel and restaurant managers so often consider necessary. His brown eyes were gleaming as the Toff reached him.

  “Ah, Mr. Roll’son, I was expecting to see you. Everyt’ing is perfeck, yes?”

  “I couldn’t ask for more,” said the Toff amiably, “as far as service is concerned. But I am a worried man.”

  “M’sieul You a worried man! Oh no, no no, no! I, Frederick, cannot believe it.” He beamed.

  “I hope you’ll try,” said the Toff. He explained the matter of the note, and pointed out the sleek waiter who had handed it to him. Frederick frowned, scowled, clicked his teeth, and sent for the waiter. Thereafter it seemed to the Toff that a regular stream of sleek suave men came to Frederick, were questioned, and went away. It was the seventh man to be questioned who had been given the letter; when he had entered the foyer, by a man not in evening dress and who appeared to have arrived only a few seconds before. He had mentioned Rollison by name, explained that it was a joke and that he wanted as many waiters as possible to handle the letter.

  The man had been tall, and very fair.

  The Toff tipped the waiter and thanked Frederick, and returned to his table. He did not know whether to be pleased or disappointed that the card had not come from the table where Phyllis Harvey was sitting. Lorne had come in, and, what was worse, Lorne had
followed him or had him followed.

  The Toff disliked the thought that he could be trailed without noticing it. He did not get much opportunity to see the corner party, although in one dance he and Fay saw them clearly, and she told him that the grey-haired, austere-looking man talking to Phyllis was Mortimer Harvey.

  A grey-haired, majestic-looking woman was not Harvey’s wife but his sister. The other man of the party was neither old nor young, nor particularly prepossessing, although in a swarthy way he was handsome. He had a thin dark line of moustache, bold dark eyes, shining, wavy black hair. “That’s Harvey’s secretary, Mr. Ramsey,” Fay said. “You seem to know the family well,” said the Toff.

  “Jim—Mr. Draycott does some business for Harvey, and Ramsey has been several times to the office. And I had to call at the house one evening with some papers. I saw them all then, and next morning he told me who they were.”

  “I see,” said the Toff.

  He was worried by Phyllis Harvey’s presence at the club, for he did not think she was in a mood for gaiety and music. She still gave the impression of being somewhere else; still looked picture-beautiful and did not once dance, although her aunt danced, both with Ramsey, and Harvey. His impression that the girl was under the influence of drugs was strengthened.

  “Did you meet Mrs. Harvey?” Rollison asked.

  “No, she wasn’t there,” Fay answered. “They don’t get on too well.”

  Rollison laughed. “I can imagine Harvey is difficult to live with. However, there’s just no reason in the world why they shouldn’t be here. Fay, do you feel like a breath of fresh air?”

  “I’d love it,” she said.

  He took her to the foyer, and then into the street. A bright moon showed the people walking past, the occasional private car and taxi, and also a man who was standing on the opposite side of the road and looking very bored. A largish man, with a bowler hat.

  “Well,” said Fay, “have you seen what you wanted?”

  “You don’t miss much,” said the Toff. “Yes, I’ve seen what I wanted, and I could be amused.”

  He did not enlarge on that cryptic statement, for he saw no reason why Fay should know that McNab was watching Phyllis Harvey. When they returned to Bayswater Road he told her that he had sent Jolly to investigate the possibility that Draycott was in hiding in Hampshire.

  “I have a feeling that he is hiding from something that scares him, not the police. I think there’s danger, and that he knows it, and is handling it the only way he thinks he can. Need I say more?”

  “No,” said Fay.

  “Did you ever get any impression that he was scared or worried? At the office, or out of it?”

  “No, none at all.”

  The Toff recalled Phyllis Harvey’s assurance that Draycott had received a letter, and had threatened to ‘kill the swine’.

  “Has he been bested in any kind of deal lately?”

  Fay looked startled.

  “How did you know that?”

  The Toff stood back from her, and sat on the edge of a chair, took out his cigarette-case and eyed her thoughtfully as he flicked flame to his lighter.

  “I saw it as a possibility. You should have told me before if there was anything out of the ordinary happening in the past month. Don’t you hold out on me.”

  “Oh, Rolly, please don’t say that!” She was surprisingly young and naïve. “I didn’t think there could be any connection. He had the agency for the Mid-Provincial Building Society, and he lost it. I think it was because he lost Mr. Harvey’s support when Harvey resigned. It made a difference of a thousand a year to him, and I know he was worried by that. But when you said ‘worried’ I didn’t think you meant in the way of business.”

  “I meant in any way. Who took the agency from him?”

  “A firm in the West End—Murray and Firth. But that could not have any bearing, could it?”

  “I don’t know,” said the Toff, “but I might find out. Well, it’s time for bed.” He had refused an invitation to stay at Bayswater Road, for he preferred to be at his flat during the night, and to commence operations from there the next morning. Jamie insisted on a nightcap, and the women left them together. Jamie measured the whisky, and said: “What do you think of this fellow Harrison?”

  “Probably quite harmless.”

  “Oh yes. But hardly Fay’s kind, d’you think?”

  “Fay seems to agree,” said the Toff dryly. “He came round earlier in the evening, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. He rather annoyed me,” said the worthy Jamie. “He seemed to think that he was the only man for women—you know what I mean—who had any right to look after Fay. He rather got under my skin. However, it’s of no account,” added Jamie. “Here’s to a quick solution, Rolly.”

  The Toff duly drank to the toast.

  At home, he locked the door, put an automatic by his bed for the sake of security, and prepared for bed. It was nearly half past eight when he woke, and the night had been a quiet one. He lazed between the sheets for some minutes, yawned, went into the kitchen and put on a kettle, bathed and then made tea. He did not feel like cooking a breakfast, but made some toast.

  At nine-fifteen the telephone rang, and he heard McNab say: “Rolleeson, why did Miss Harvey call to see ye?”

  “I’m still trying to find out,” said the Toff. “I think she was scared that you were taking things for granted against Draycott, and she came to make sure that I would stop it. Odd ideas some people have about me.”

  “Is that all the truth?” demanded McNab.

  “I don’t mind dealing with your scepticism in the evening, but first thing in the morning it’s beyond me. She told me nothing I didn’t know, and that you don’t know. Next, please.”

  He heard a sound from the other end of the wire which might have been a laugh or a grunt. But there was nothing else McNab wanted to know, and he rang off. The Toff replaced the receiver thoughtfully, then took his Frazer-Nash from the garage near by and drove to Dring Mansions. There was no reply when he knocked and rang at the door of No. 81.

  A clock from one of the flats was striking ten when he went to the end of the passage, and saw that a fire-escape led close to one of the windows of the Lornes’ flat. He could not break in by the front door, but the window in question was open.

  The back of the flats faced smaller houses, and he saw a few tradesfolk in the streets as he walked along the fire-escape without batting an eye, and saw then that by stretching up on tip-toe he could reach the window, He opened it more widely, and then climbed through.

  He did not know whether he was observed, but hoped that the openness of what he was doing would allay any suspicion. He squeezed through the window and dropped lightly on the other side, finding himself in a small kitchenette, which was beautifully kept. He walked through to the front door, listening intently but hearing no sound in the passage. He waited there for some minutes, satisfied himself that no undue interest had been aroused, and then – all the time moving very softly and making no sound – he approached the doors of the two rooms which he took to be the bedrooms.

  Neither was locked.

  He turned the handle of one very quietly, but found a small bedroom empty, one which had not been slept in – unless the Lornes had been up early, and the flat had been straightened before they had left. He did not think that likely, and he approached the second bedroom with even greater caution. The door opened without a sound.

  The bed had not only been slept in, but was still occupied. A man was sleeping, with the clothes dishevelled, and an eiderdown mostly on the floor. In sleep the man’s homely features were relaxed, yet there was a frown at the lips, as if he were complaining in his dreams.

  The Toff stared at Mr. Edward Harrison.

  Chapter Fourteen

  More Of Myra

 
The Toff stood quite still for some seconds, and recovering from the surprise at seeing Harrison there. It was no more than that, for he had had considerable doubts about Ted Harrison.

  The Toff looked down at the key, inside the door.

  He withdrew it, watching the sleeping man all the time, and closed the door quietly. He turned the key in the lock, perched his head on one side and looked at the door as if trying still to see Harrison, then he paid attention to the other bedroom. There was a small wall-safe behind a picture in the lounge. The safe presented little difficulty to the Toff, who was experienced in the ways of most locks. It contained only one thing of surprising interest.

  There was a bundle of shares, some three thousand in all; and a covering letter fastened to them by a rubber band expressed Messrs. Murray and Firth’s gratification that they had been able to obtain the shares for Mr. Lorne.

  And the shares were in the Mid-Provincial Building Society.

  By then the Toff admitted to himself that he was becoming exasperated with the Draycott affair.

  So many trails started, only to end nowhere. Too many things happened behind his back: too many complications presented new problems, so that they continually increased and none showed any signs of approaching a solution.

  Except for the Lornes there was no one he could try to interview, no one from whom information might be forthcoming – except Harrison. He decided that it would be wiser to let Harrison believe that the Toff thought his interest was a chivalrous one on Fay’s behalf; Harrison would later get a shock.

  He completed his search, and returned to the door of the main bedroom: Harrison was still sleeping, for only the sound of his heavy breathing came from the room. The Toff satisfied himself of that, put the key on the lounge table, then started for the front door. When he was two yards away he heard footsteps, and then he heard a key in the lock.