by John Creasey
The Toff’s expression, while he waited, was bleak.
He was looking at his watch and hoping for Jolly to arrive ahead of time, when a stout man waddled towards the Blue Dog, hesitated for a moment, and then went inside. He had been muffled up in a greatcoat, with a scarf tucked about his chin, a Homburg hat pulled low over his eyes, and with dark-lensed glasses which on their own would have been enough to make the Toff wonder whether he was precisely what he seemed.
He had no idea that it was ‘Mr. Brown’.
It was one of those things, as the Toff would have said, which were quite unavoidable. Had he attacked then, had he visited Charlie Wray and found ‘Brown’ there, the affair would have been over. As it was, he saw Jolly approaching and he sent Jolly – who was also mufflered and capped, and looked the part of an East End labourer to the life – to the Blue Dog, with instructions. After ten minutes Jolly came out, slouching towards the Toff.
“No such man there, sir. All the usual type at the moment.”
“Try to remember to drop your aitches,” said the Toff, “and keep the place under observation, Jolly. If the mufflered man comes out, follow him.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Those aitches!” insisted the Toff. “At the moment you sound like a gentleman’s gentleman and look like a bookmaker’s tout. Was Lady Anthea very insistent?”
“Very, sir, but not communicative.” Jolly conveyed the impression of being affronted, and the Toff smiled when he recalled Anthea’s virtual admission that she considered Jolly out of place as the Toff’s man-servant. But he had asked her to give Jolly any message of importance, and he was vaguely puzzled to find that she had not done so.
He decided on the spur of the moment to go to Gresham Terrace as Mr. Higgins, and to send the borrowed clothes back later.
There he had what he later considered his one lucky break. When he first reached his flat, however, he doubted whether it was lucky – he could think of nothing but Anthea.
For Anthea was lying half-in and half-out of the front door of his flat, face downwards, and quite still.
She looked as immobile as Minnie Sidey had been, and in that moment the Toff was terribly afraid.
Chapter Fourteen
Luck for the Toff
He acted quickly.
He bent down, lifted her bodily from the floor, and carried her to a settee, and then he returned to the door and closed it, marvelling that no one else had seen her as she lay there. Her body was warm, and he had seen the slight movement of her lips, proof that she was breathing. He could see nothing else to account for her prostration, but as he closed the door he saw two things.
Across it, on the inside, had been stretched a piece of cord, as on the outside a few nights ago, but now the cord was loose, obviously where Anthea had walked into it: that explained her fall. Near it was a knife.
Not a pleasant-looking knife, it was fastened to the door-jamb with a length of stout coiled spring wire, newly screwed in. He caught his breath as he saw it, for he knew what had happened, and he was appalled. As much because of Anthea’s narrow escape as for himself. He saw, as he examined it, that the spring was so fixed that as the door opened to its fullest extent the knife would swing back viciously; and it was at the height of his neck. Had he entered and fallen forward, as he must have done, the knife would have cut through his jugular if not his throat. The thing had missed Anthea, who was shorter. He saw, too, that she had cracked her head against a chair closer to the door than it should have been, and obviously used by the man who had fixed the knife.
Satisfied that she had only been knocked out, but that there was nothing seriously the matter with her, he went cautiously into each of the other rooms. They were empty, but the door leading from the kitchen to the fire-escape was open, and the lock showed evidence of having been forced. The rest was easy.
After Jolly had left someone had been in, fixed the murderous contraption, and escaped quickly. Someone who had known how to work fast, and who had been watching, to make sure that the flat was empty before he started operations. Kohn – on the attack. And Anthea perilously close to death. Had he returned later, after changing at Mrs. Higgins, anything might have happened, for he expected an early visit from Kohn’s men. They would want to get the flat door closed and thus postpone the discovery of the crime. He suspected, too, that he had been seen entering, and in all likelihood his man would be up soon.
He hesitated, and then looked through the front door which he opened only a few inches. No one was outside, but there were footsteps on the stairs. He put his hand to his pocket, and the gun which he always carried when he was busy – and as his fingers touched the cold steel he heard Anthea’s: “Rolly!”
The footsteps stopped, but only for a fraction of a second. Whoever was there turned, and ran down, and the Toff went out, moving as fast as any man could. But he was too late to see more than a man whom he imagined to be Benson climbing on to a motor-cycle parked outside.
Pursuit was quite useless.
A shot fired then would only cause trouble and more encounters with the police, and would do little good. The Toff said many things under his breath before he went back upstairs, to find Anthea on her feet, but holding onto a table. Her right foot was only just touching the carpet.
She looked dishevelled, with her fair hair unruly and her dress hitched up at the waist, while her lips were parted and there was a queer, strained expression in her eyes. It eased as she saw the Toff, although she looked puzzled. Nothing, he decided, would ever prevent Anthea from looking lovely.
“Well, my pet.” There was a touch of irony in his voice, for he wondered why she was here, even wished that she had not come. “You’ve disobeyed doctor’s orders – so what?”
“Please, Rolly, don’t be difficult. What—what are you dressed like that for?”
“I’ve been out to lunch. Latest wear for the man-about-town! And that reminds me, it’s tea-time. Or would you like something stronger?”
“No, thanks, but a cup of tea sounds divine. I … Rolly, what on earth happened? I came in, and tripped over something, and” – she lifted her hands in bewilderment – “I remember falling, but after that it’s blank.”
“You were knocked out,” said Rollison easily. He stepped to her side, lifted her unprotestingly, and sat her on the settee where she could keep her legs up. “You were also very lucky. How did you open the door?”
“It was ajar.”
“Hmm. Careless work on someone’s part.”
“Who—who was it?” She seemed intent on an answer, but before he spoke she went on a little breathlessly: “I feel an awful fool, Rolly. Before I was knocked out I—I thought I was going to die. I heard a whanging sound. I thought it was a bullet. It’s not—not a nice feeling.”
“You’re right in one,” said Rollison, stepping through to the kitchen after locking and bolting the front door. “It’s a long way from nice, but it wasn’t a bullet, our friends can think up something far more original than that. What time did you get here?” This from the kitchen, where he had put a kettle on and was looking for a tea-pot.
“Just about a quarter to three, I suppose.”
“And Jolly reached me at twenty past two,” said the Toff thoughtfully. “This job was arranged soon after he left, and my Mr. Kohn goes up even further in my estimation. A cleverer man than I thought, Anthea, and a very worthy partner for Irma.”
Anthea brushed back her hair. She was sitting upright, and the Toff could see the strained expression in her blue eyes.
“Rolly, why don’t you tell the police everything? It’s far too dangerous as it is. Anything might happen to you, and to others. Is—is it fair to them?” Anthea finished sharply. She was looking very intense, very serious.
Rollison put three teaspoonsful of tea into the pot, while the electric kettle began t
o sing.
“No,” he said, “and yes, Anthea. It’s a queer business as you’ve seen before, and I’m a queer fellow, as you’ve said before. Rightly or wrongly, I’ve a system, or more correctly a theory, and that theory depends on keeping my machinations from the police until the last moment, unless I’m convinced that any other course would be fatal. At the moment I’m not convinced of that, and so I’m keeping certain things to myself. Someone else may die,” he said very slowly, lifting the kettle and brewing the tea, yet concentrating on what he was saying, “but it can’t be helped, Anthea. If—I say if—the police get on to Irma and her boyfriend, the most likely result is a triple-murder of people who might give conclusive evidence against them.”
“But surely the police can arrest this woman and the man?”
“On what grounds?” The Toff loaded a tray and carried it into the drawing-room, setting it on a chair while he brought the coffee table to her side.
“Well, on the evidence you can give.”
“The legal understanding of the word ‘evidence’ and mine don’t concur,” said Rollison, and she knew that he was being wholly serious, even sensed that she was hearing something of his deeper motives, the real reason for his interest in crime particularly in that sprawling part of the Metropolis called the East End. “Anthea, if I tell McNab about Irma and the boyfriend, they will be interviewed – but there just isn’t enough legal evidence to detain them. The lesser fry of the outfit, yes. But the lesser fry will be under cover all the time, and Irma and her friend will get to them before the police. It’s not nice, my dear. It’s never pleasant to think that if you had acted differently you might have saved lives. But better for those lives to go, the lives of the people who have died in this affair, than that Kohn and Irma should remain free. What they’re doing now they’ve done a dozen times before, and will again. Not necessarily here, but there are other places in the world than London, where fools can be mulcted of their money, and the Irma type can live in a luxury taken from the dead.” He paused, and his eyes were smiling a little, but sombrely he looked at her as he started to pour out tea. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Ye-es. I—mind that tea, idiot!” A cup was brimful, and her warning stopped it running over. Rollison chuckled, and it was hard to believe that he had been talking so seriously a few seconds before.
Anthea laughed, a little helplessly, for there was so much about the Toff which was likeable, and so much incomprehensible. The tea was medium strong, and good. She sipped it as she eyed him, while he followed her example, breaking off only to light a cigarette. The knife and the tension spring might never have been in the room.
“And now, my sweet,” said the Toff lightly, “what brought you here?”
Anthea started – and in starting her cup tipped over. Rollison shot a hand out and averted a major catastrophe, but several drops had fallen on her skirt. She ignored it, brushing away Rollison’s proffered handkerchief.
“I’d forgotten! Rolly, I’m an awful fool. I had to see you, to talk to you, and I didn’t think I could make Jolly understand.”
“We’ll omit that angle. What is it?”
“It’s about Wrightson’s fiancée—Phyllis Bailey.”
The Toff’s eyes narrowed.
“What about her?”
“One of the people I phoned yesterday was a friend of hers. You – you know she’s supposed to have eloped?”
“Supposed?” said the Toff, and his voice sharpened. “She has eloped—I hope,” he added very softly.
“This friend was talking to her only a couple of days ago, and Phyllis—it’s easier to call her Phyllis—seemed worried. She was quite definite on one point—that she would not allow a break between Wrightson and his uncle.”
“Wouldn’t she, indeed?”
“She was absolutely positive,” said Anthea quietly. “Or so I was told. And this friend suggests that the last thing Phyllis would do would be to elope. They share a study together, or something like that, and she seems quite sure Phyllis would have said something about it.”
“Elopements,” said the Toff very slowly, “are funny things. Wrightson certainly looked in the mood to do anything on impulse. Is that all?”
“Nearly all. According to the papers, Rolly, they eloped some time in the early evening. Phyllis was playing bridge with some friends at Hampstead until past ten. She left to go to her home in Chelsea, and if she did elope she must have met Wrightson on the way, because she didn’t go home, or stay with her friend that night.”
The Toff was looking very bleak, and his right fore-finger was rubbing along the side of his nose, a sure sign that he was worried.
“I—see. Anthea, I have been all kinds of a damned fool in the past, but never so badly as this time. I took that story for gospel, but it could as easily be a fake. What made you worry about it?”
“Well, you told me enough for me to gather that there might be a connection with this Irma woman.”
“Ye-es.” Rollison stood up, his tea forgotten. “I’m going to change, Anthea. You can reach the telephone—call a friend to come to collect you. I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Renway’s house, and other places.”
He washed and changed quickly, while Anthea used the new telephone that had been fitted only that morning, and arranged for a friend to come by car to take her away. She urged the friend to hurry, and the Toff had been ready only two minutes when the car arrived. Before entering the drawing-room again, he had fitted a small knife to the calf of his leg, using a leather sheath which clipped through his suspender, and he carried a gun in a shoulder holster as well as one in his pocket.
He said little as he helped Anthea downstairs.
She sensed that he was feeling as grim as he looked; there was something about his manner which was almost frightening. She wondered whether she had done good or harm by coming, and then forgot that when she realized how nearly she had died.
She wondered, later, whether the Toff was cursing her for interfering.
Nothing could have been further from the truth, for the Toff was blessing her and cursing himself. The elopement could have been a fake, and he, like a purblind idiot, had taken it at its face value.
Renway was out, but with a little encouragement, the footman proved talkative. Yes, Mr. Wrightson had been in the whole of the morning and afternoon, before he had gone off. It was a surprising thing, for he had seemed quite normal -except that he seemed worried: but then, it was well known that he was not on the best terms with his uncle. What time did he leave? About six-thirty, not long before dinner.
The Toff thanked him, and tipped him again, and then went into the question of Phyllis Bailey’s bridge-party. Not until then did he discover for sure that she had left on the day before Wrightson – and the ‘elopement’ positively shouted suspicion.
The Toff decided that another interview with Leopold Kohn was essential.
The Toff liked to think that one of his most effective weapons was that of surprise, but he was beginning to wonder whether surprise would be effective against Kohn. He was more apprehensive about that gentleman than he had been about anyone for a long time. The assumption that Wrightson and his fiancée had been kidnapped seemed, now, to be the obvious one.
If it was a fact, the question was – why?
Could young Wrightson be needed for the completion of Kohn’s campaign?
The mystery of it, and the utter lack of direct evidence to indicate what was the motive of the crimes, also presented its worrying aspect. All in all, the Toff was prepared to admit that he was coming off worse than he had in any previous case. He went straight up to the flat in Arch Mansions, and examined the lock of the front door. It was a cursory inspection, for he knew that it was a Yale, while he had seen before that it had been reinforced
to make a burglarious entry difficult if not impossible. There was a fire-escape, and he could have got through that way – but not, he decided, if Kohn was on the premises.
He rang the bell.
There was no answer, and he rang again. Satisfied that Kohn was out, he tried the next-door flat; there was no response from Irma, and into the Toff’s eyes there sprang a gleam more of adventure than of hope.
The fire-escape at Arch Mansions was in full view of anyone who happened to be in the courtyard below, and of the tenants of nearby flats. By night that would not have been important, but Rollison could not wait until after dark. He had to take a chance, and the key to the effort was speed. The longer he waited outside, trying to force a lock or window, the more risk of being seen.
He kept on his glove when he reached Kohn’s flat and, without ado, cracked his fist through a pane of glass in the door. The sharp tinkling noise seemed louder to him than it really was, but he did not wait to find whether anyone’s attention had been aroused. He slipped his arm through the hole, found the catch, and slid it back. Not until the door was open, and he had gone through, did he look out – and he saw no one, heard nothing which suggested that he had raised an alarm.
He closed the door, and slipped into the main rooms.
The flat was empty, and Rollison wasted no time admiring the furniture. He did not know whether he had five minutes or fifty in which to work, and the more he did in the first five the better his chances would be. But even as he started turning out the drawers of the desk in the study, he felt that there was little likelihood of a discovery of importance. There had been no burglar alarm at the back door, which suggested that Kohn kept nothing here that mattered; obviously Irma would have warned him of a likely visit from the Toff, and if there had been papers of importance here they would have been secured under lock and key, and the flat protected by an alarm.
As far as he could find, there were no papers.