The Toff at Camp

by John Creasey

  ‘My nerve’s okay,’ Clark said. He drew at his pipe, as if to prove it. He looked calm enough; in fact, he was a merry-looking man, in repose. ‘Cy,’ he went on, ‘about dem three Redcoats.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Where are dey?’

  ‘I’ll look after my end of the business, you look after yours.’

  Cy had a nasty look in his eyes, which were rather small and very dark brown.

  ‘Cy,’ said Clark, while the pianist kept striking the wrong notes and the two girls made cups and saucers and plates clatter, ‘I want to know. They’re okay, aren’t dey? You haven’t bumped dem off.’

  Cy didn’t answer.

  Clark’s hand moved, and clasped Cy’s wrist. It was a strong, powerful hand. He gripped the bony wrist tightly.

  ‘You heard me,’ he said.

  ‘I haven’t done anything to them,’ Cy said. ‘Not yet. Not until we’ve finished. When it’s all over and we can get away, who cares what happens to them? They’ll be the only people who could name us, wouldn’t they? So who cares if they feed the fishes? They’d go down deep.’ He laughed.

  The pianist was trying to play, ‘I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair.’

  ‘So long as they’re alive and kicking now,’ Clark said. ‘I don’t want to stand a murder rap.’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ asked Cy, impatiently. He looked weak, against Clark, and his hand seemed white and frail, but he freed his wrist without any real effort. ‘Don’t get funny, Horace,’ he said. ‘How about a shower before we eat?’

  The two men had chalets near each other, in the same Camp as the Toff. Clark left his, first, and the other joined him a few yards nearer the bath-houses. They disappeared. Rollison, watching from a corner and unseen by them, slipped across to the dark-haired man’s chalet and looked through the window.

  It was empty; but there were two beds, and a woman’s dress hung over one.

  The man would be away for ten or fifteen minutes at least, but the woman might be back at any moment.

  Rollison took a pick-lock from his pocket; many cracksmen would have found the lock difficult to force, but he had it open in a trice. It was a trick of which the police disapproved. Someone came hurrying along the path, and Rollison stood with his face to the door, waiting; a youth passed.

  Rollison went in quickly, closed the door, and went straight to the little chest of drawers. The oddments one might find in a married couple’s room were here; clothing, toilet accessories, newspapers, magazines, make-up. None of these interested him. He glanced through the drawers, and found two letters addressed to:

  Cy Beck Esq.,

  c/o Butlin’s, Pwllheli,

  Wales,

  Cy Beck …

  The letters told Rollison nothing that he wanted to know. He put them back, then looked at the suitcases, three of which were on top of a hanging wardrobe, two under one bed. Rollison dragged out one of these, and found it unlocked; so was the second; so were the three on the wardrobe. He found nothing else in which anything might be hidden, so he started to look in the suitcases.

  The third one he opened made him pause.

  With a kind of sixth sense, he knew that he had found what he sought: a case which looked deep from the outside but was shallow inside; in short, one with a false bottom. He began to prod and probe the case, especially near the handle, until he found the spring control.

  He was able to lift the lid of the false bottom.

  He heard footsteps approaching, was ready to jump to his feet, but as he pulled at the lid, he felt a fierce sense of excitement.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Rollison let the lid fall, turned and faced the door, gritting his teeth. Then heard a key grate in the lock of the door of the next chalet. It slammed. He grinned, but felt himself sweating as he pulled the lid up, and looked down – at dollar bills.

  There weren’t really many; two small wads of fifty each; but each was for a hundred dollars, so this hoard was of five thousand dollars, not far short of two thousand pounds. The bills were all old and used; nothing suggested that they were counterfeit.

  Rollison took one from each wad, slipped it into his pocket and closed the case. There was no need to relock it; the spring snapped into position. He straightened up.

  He heard footsteps again.

  He wanted to look for something else, to find out where Beck lived; anything; but this time the footsteps were a man’s and they stopped outside the door. Next moment, the key grated in the lock.

  Rollison moved swiftly towards the door, getting behind it as it opened. He grabbed the bedspread off the bed. The door opened wide, and Cy Beck stepped in, obviously not giving a thought to the possibility that anyone was here. He didn’t turn, just went forward, pushing the door behind him. Rollison flung the bedspread over his head and shoulders, then pinioned his arms in swift, planned movements.

  He heard Beck gasp.

  He felt the man’s muscles tense, ready for an attempt to fight back. For a moment Beck tried to free himself with desperate heave, but Rollison held him tightly and still more tightly, crushing him painfully.

  Then he let him go.

  People were passing to and fro outside; a woman was calling to a child.

  ‘Be careful, Cy,’ Rollison said, clearly enough for the man to hear him. ‘You’ll get yourself into trouble if you’re not careful. And— you might get hurt.’

  He let Beck go, hooked the man’s feet from under him, broke his fall, then bundled him under the bed. Then he went to the door, opened it, and slipped outside.

  No one saw him.

  The woman was still calling to the child.

  He hurried towards his own chalet, with the two $100.00 bills burning holes in his pockets.

  Chapter Five

  Shadows…

  Rollison heard footsteps outside the chalet, five minutes after he had returned, and started unpacking. He looked up; at Jolly.

  He grinned a welcome.

  ‘Hallo! Having a nice time?’

  ‘I do wish you would leave the unpacking to me, sir,’ said Jolly, almost peevishly.

  ‘Gladly. What do you know?’

  ‘I can tell you to within a penny how much it costs to provide eighteen thousand meals for campers and six thousand for the staff each day,’ said Jolly, and shuddered. ‘And how long it takes to eat them, sir.’

  ‘Anything important?’ asked Rollison, and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  ‘I am receiving a great deal of help, but I don’t think that I have discovered anything which will assist us with the investigation,’ Jolly said, starting to pack shirts into a drawer. He had closed the door so that they could not be seen from outside. ‘One or two fancies have passed through my mind.’

  ‘There are a lot about,’ said Rollison, straightfaced. ‘Wearing nicely-filled T-shirts or swim-suits.’

  ‘I have been trying to satisfy myself as to the reason for the organization’s eagerness to find the three missing men,’ Jolly went on, ignoring this flippancy. ‘If we allow that there is some anxiety about them as individuals, I think we should also allow that there may be some stronger motive.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Is the organization afraid that it is being swindled, sir?’ asked Jolly tentatively.

  ‘They’d use accountants to find that out.’

  ‘I think we shall find that they are particularly anxious to make sure that the disappearances have nothing to do with the accounts and supplies,’ Jolly said, as he finished the unpacking. ‘Is there anything more you require before dinner, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘May I ask what it is, sir?’ Jolly’s startled tone showed that his question had been purely rhetorical.

  ‘I want to know what Curly Clark is doing here,’ said Rollison. ‘Remember Curly? He served three years for a cat burglary—the few thousand pounds’ worth of jewels he pinched were never recovered. He’s been out for a year or so—and he’s her
e, a bosom friend of a man who could be an Old Testament prophet beloved by Lucifer. We’d better find out who they meet, what they’re doing, how long Clark’s been here. We’ll soon have to decide whether to use the Camp Security men or manage on our own, too. I’ll have a word with the Camp Controller.’

  ‘Among six thousand people, you are bound to have one or two old lags, sir,’ Jolly reasoned.

  ‘That’s reasonable. But this one followed me first. Then he met a man named Cy Beck, who had two thousand dollars in the false bottom of his suitcase in chalet K34,’ went on Rollison brightly. ‘Now shout currency racket at me.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jolly, in a very respectful tone.

  ‘Remember Clark?’ asked Rollison.

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think he saw much of you. We’ll let them sweat for a bit, but haunt Clark’s chalet, and find out what you can about his boy-friends—including Cy Beck.’

  ‘I most certainly will,’ promised Jolly.

  He went through the communicating door to his own room. He seemed dazed, although in fact nothing the Toff did would ever really surprise him.

  Rollison, still content, washed, and looked at his watch; it was a quarter to six. He turned towards the door, and someone tapped; it was a small youth, carrying a bright-red coat on a hanger.

  ‘Mr. Ryall?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Yer coat,’ said the youth. ‘Mr. Middleton says he forgot to tell you about it.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Rollison. ‘Thanks.’

  He put it on. He had known poorer fits. He went out, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious. He grinned to himself, to the obvious delight of several girls. Two stood in their doorways, watching him. But no men followed him – yet.

  He expected reprisals soon.

  At the road at the top of the chalet lines, he turned right, towards a water tower with huge toy soldiers at each corner – giants who gazed benevolently down in a children’s playground. There, swings, roundabouts, see-saws, and contraptions of all kinds were being used with a kind of concentrated enjoyment by children from five up to fifteen. Wray, or the Pied Piper passed, with a crocodile of infants in his wake. He looked at the Toff. ‘No extra charge, but they still follow me. See you later.’ He hurried on.

  Rollison entered the offices and found his way among glass-walled passages and nearly empty offices to a door marked: ‘Controller’.

  Two men were inside.

  He tapped; they looked up, and one beckoned.

  Rollison went in.

  ‘Hallo, Mr. Rollison,’ said one of the men, rising from a large desk. He was short, spruce, and in some odd way, retiring. ‘I’m Captain Aird—I’ve been expecting you. This is Mr. Llewellyn, my assistant.’

  Llewellyn was a smaller, milder Colonel Wickford White, wearing a black-and-white check jacket.

  ‘Hallo,’ said Rollison brightly. ‘My name’s Ryall.’ He grinned as Aird waved him to a chair.

  ‘How are you finding it?’ Aird was dressed in brown, and had a quiet-speaking voice; he might be a brilliant administrator, but looked the last man in the world to be in command of a Camp. ‘Any villains in mind?’

  ‘Four,’ said Rollison, carefully.

  Aird was startled. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Half-seriously. There’s a jewel-thief named Clark whom I’d like to know more about, and a friend of his. My man’s after them, but I don’t think he’ll be able to manage for long on his own.’ Rollison accepted a cigarette, was very bland, gave no hint that he had a dollar problem and reason to suspect a motive. ‘Thanks very much.’ He lit it. ‘I think your Security fellows ought to come in, without being told what’s on. We could be after a thief or a suspect.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Aird. ‘What’s this Clark like?’

  Rollison told him.

  ‘Hardly likely that a jewel-thief would expect a picking here,’ said Llewellyn, sceptically. ‘Shall I tell the Security Officer about it, or would you like to work with him yourself?’

  Aird made no comment.

  ‘Oh, you for the time being,’ said Rollison. ‘I’ll remain a Redcoat. Had any trouble with Middleton?’ he asked casually.

  Aird said slowly: ‘Yes and no. I’m told he’s had a rough time domestically, and certainly he’s a bit sour. We want to try to help him, so are letting things ride for a bit. If you mean do we think that Middleton knows anything about this—no, he’s the last man I’d suspect.’

  ‘Why?’

  Aird shrugged.

  ‘The thing is,’ Rollison pointed out, ‘that Redcoats have to do what Middleton tells them, more or less. He could say: “Meet me at the boating lake” or “by the rock gardens”, and the Redcoat would almost certainly be there, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Llewellyn, making a more hopeful contribution. ‘Hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘So one of the things we want to find out is whether Middleton saw each or any of the three who’ve disappeared, about the time they were last seen—and whether he gave them any special orders,’ Rollison said. ‘Also whether my villain Clark or anyone he knows at the Camp is acquainted with Middleton. There are two ways to handle this—Jolly and I alone, which would take a lot of time, or with help from you people. I rather lean towards help.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Aird. ‘I’ll get moving.’

  ‘Another thing,’ Rollison murmured. ‘If all three Redcoats disappeared for the same reason—and under compulsion—the same individuals might have compelled them. That means any member of the camp staff who’s been here since Easter—and also any Campers.’

  ‘Don’t get many Campers coming more than twice a season, not many come twice,’ said Aird. ‘They have their week or fortnight’s holiday, and that’s that. Of course, we have daily visitors. We’ll check.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Rollison beamed.

  He went out, still resplendent in his red coat. There were crowds by the swimming-pool, but practically no children; it was getting near dinner-time. Gaily painted bicycles and tricycles were speeding about everywhere.

  Clark was studying books in a shop window, but did not follow as Rollison walked slowly along this road, towards the entrance gates. He had to pass a huge dining-hall, Gloucester – where he would eat. Waitresses were bustling about inside; the place looked colossal. He strolled past the Viennese Bar, which was open and busy, and was soon within sight of the gate-house.

  Now he was being followed.

  At first, he had only sensed it; now he was sure.

  But it was by a girl, not a man.

  She was probably in the early twenties; easy on the eye, and with quite a figure. She wore a cotton frock and a wide-brimmed straw hat, and white shoes. She walked well. Now and again, when Rollison paused at a shop window, she paused, too; but undoubtedly she was following him.

  Rollison turned a corner opposite a building display windows of photographs outside and the words princes theatre blazoned over the front door. He stepped into the doorway of a sweet-shop, opposite, and the girl came round the corner. She had red hair, and he hadn’t noticed that before; it wasn’t very red, but deeper than gold.

  She saw him, and missed a step.

  ‘Hallo,’ he said, and beamed. ‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’

  She stopped.

  ‘You—you are Mr. Rollison, aren’t you? The Toff.’ The words came out with great difficulty; fearfully. ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Listen,’ Rollison said, ‘you can think what you like, but my name is Ryall. I’m a Redcoat here.’ He beamed at her again.

  ‘You’re—Rollison. I want—’ She gulped. ‘I want to talk to you. I—must.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I can’t talk here.’ She looked over her shoulder. Several people were in sight, none seemed to take any particular interest in her – but Clark was at a far corner. That was more as Rollison expected – but had Clark seen the girl? ‘Can I—come to your chalet?’ she a
sked.

  ‘No.’ If this were genuine she might be followed to his chalet, and she wouldn’t want that. If she were fooling him, she wouldn’t care where they met. ‘Let’s dance tonight, and you can tell me—’

  ‘I must see you alone.’ Her eyes had green flecks in the gold. Did they tell of some inward terror? She wasn’t beautiful in the sense that Elizabeth Cherrell was, but she had looks and everything. ‘I—’

  The radio crackled, and a girl gave announcements clearly. This girl started violently, a fair indication of the state of her nerves. She looked nervously over her shoulder.

  Clark had gone into a doorway.

  ‘I mustn’t stay here,’ she said urgently. ‘What’s your chalet number—please?’

  Clark came out of his doorway and walked off.

  Rollison took a chance.

  ‘J21,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ The girl hurried past, adding urgently: ‘I’m Susan Dell. I’ll come when I can.’

  Had she really been scared, or had she been fooling him? Clark may have been watching to make sure she did her job. Rollison left the shop doorway and strolled towards the chalet lines. The radio girl spoke to the unseen multitudes.

  ‘Just to remind you, Campers, that dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes—it’s now six-fifteen. And for those of you who haven’t yet seen the Camp from the air, or seen the beautiful Welsh Coast, why not take a pleasure flight this evening? Visibility is perfect, you’ll never have a better opportunity. Free transport will be provided …’

  There were several other announcements; Rollison hardly noticed them. He kept thinking about the girl. He wished he knew whether, and if so why, she had been so frightened of being seen with him.

  No one else had followed him, and he had seen no one follow her.

  What use could she make of knowing his chalet number?

  Clark and his friends already knew it.

  He went back to the chalet, told Jolly about the girl, and sent him off to his meal, promptly. He himself waited until a quarter to seven; no one turned up. He walked towards the dining-hall. A few other late Campers were hurrying near the huge room.