by John Creasey
Harvey said slowly, and with his eyes on the Toff: “I met Lorne some four years ago, in connection with a business transaction. Harrison introduced us.”
“Oh,” said the Toff very gently, and again: “Oh. You introduced Lorne, did you?” He glanced at Harrison, whose face was very pale. “I’d no idea that you had met before. You omitted to mention that at Manchester, didn’t you? And afterwards?”
“There wasn’t any need to. I’d discovered what a rogue he was, and I’ve had nothing to do with him for a year or more.”
It was possible that this was his best opportunity of telling Harrison about seeing him at Lorne’s flat; but he let it pass.
“There are things the police would like to know from you, I think. We’ll go to the Yard, Harrison.”
“I’m damned if I will!”
“You needn’t be damned yet,” said the Toff. “Excuse us, Mr. Harvey.”
There followed one of those remarkable things of which the Toff was capable. He stepped to Harrison’s side and gripped his forearm, and Harrison found that he had to move to escape the sharp pain that ran up his arm. Harvey was about to protest when the Toff reached the door, opened it, propelled Harrison quickly along the passage. Harrison was forced along at such a rate that he could not stop, while in the study Harvey was staring at the door.
The Toff took Harrison out of the front door and sat him with force into the Frazer-Nash. Harrison was rubbing at his arm and swearing under his breath, but made no attempt to get away. The Toff was pleased with that as he made for Westminster. In the St. John’s Wood house Harvey kept staring at the desk. At last he picked up the Toff’s card, and it was almost by accident that he turned it over. He saw the pencilled drawings of the top hat, the monocle and the swagger-cane, and he started; and then he stared at it fixedly, with the colour draining from his face.
The Toff pulled the Frazer-Nash up outside the Embankment gates of Scotland Yard and looked unpleasantly at Harrison.
“Well, are you going to tell your story?”
“I—I don’t give a damn what I tell I” snapped Harrison. “I didn’t have to tell you that I’d done business with Lorne, did I? You’re taking a lot too much on yourself, Rollison. I—”
And then he struck at the Toff.
The blow that slid off the Toff’s chin, for he was expecting it and he moved his head. But he pretended to be off his balance for a moment, and Harrison took his long legs over the side of the small car and ran for a taxi that was cruising past. He jumped in while it was moving, to the astonishment of several policemen and passers-by. And as the cab gathered speed the Toff smiled obscurely before turning into the Yard.
McNab was alone in the large office, and at the Toff’s appearance he smiled widely. He also spoke with warmth, and stood up to pull a chair forward for the Toff.
“Well, well, Rolleeson! I’m glad ye’ve come—I was on the ’phone to ye only half an hour ago.”
“Nice of you,” said the Toff. “The idea, of course, was to tell me about Miss Harvey’s arrest.”
“Well, to mention it,” said McNab, and beamed. “Ye’ve been slower than ye often are on this business, Rolleeson. Ye’ve been trying to put more than there was into it. Och, I’m not blaming ye—dinna think that for a moment. But from the first it was clear to me that Draycott had killed yon body at the flat and was in hiding. That’s what happened, ye ken.”
“So? You’ve got Draycott?”
“I will have when his lassie talks.”
“And you’re going to charge her as an accessory?”
“I think so,” said McNab. “Now, Rolleeson, dinna ye start getting fidgety, mon. I can see that ye’re going to ask me where the murder of Myra Harvey comes in, but I’ve all that worked out. I can tell ye the whole story, if ye’ll listen.”
“I’m listening,” said the Toff.
“Good! Well, now, it’s like this. Harvey was being blackmailed because of the association of his wife with the man Lorne, ye ken. Draycott knew of it, and brought the blackmailer to his flat and killed him there. That made Draycott run, but he told the lassie where he would be. That’s one part. The other is that Lorne was behind the blackmailing, Rolleeson. The blackmailer worked for him, and Harvey’s wife learned of it. When ye took her away Lorne was afraid she would talk, and he sent the prisoner to make sure she didna. The prisoner made a mistake in trying where he did; we owe his capture to ye, Rolleeson, and I’m grateful. But when we’ve got Lorne and Draycott we’ll have them all. It was complicated,” added McNab complacently, “but it works out. Can ye see anything the matter with the reasoning?”
“And you’re really going to build your case on that?” The Toff asked incredulously.
“Of course I am.” McNab spoke sharply.
“There are times when you positively frighten me,” said the Toff. “And the worst trouble is,” he added, in his eyes an almost haunted look, “I don’t see that I can prove you wrong just yet.”
Chapter Twenty
And Out Of Temper
As the Toff had spoken the smile had disappeared from the Chief Inspector’s face, and by the time the Toff had finished McNab was glowering.
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“You think so?” said the Toff, and stood up. “Mac, it’s a beautiful picture, a lovely story that holds together in parts, and might conceivably please your Assistant Commissioner. But if you act on it, if you get Draycott and Lorne and work on the basis of your theory, you’re going to make one of the mistakes of your life.”
“I think that I can be the judge of that,” said McNab coldly.
“You think you can,” agreed the Toff. “The trouble is you can be the judge, and there’s no one to stop you working on it your way. But you mustn’t do it, Mac.”
“To suit some fool idea that ye’ve got?” said McNab. “I won’t do it. I’ve the warrant for Draycott’s arrest these past three days, and the call for Lorne went out last night. When I’ve got them both I’ve got everything.”
“I’ll go, Mac. I’ll go a long way away, and if it weren’t for the fact that you’re proposing to try to hang two innocent people I’d go for good. But whatever you do, remember I’ve warned you. You might give the right men the time they need to get away with their job.”
“I’ve nothing more to say,” said McNab.
The Toff, who was rarely so out of temper, left the office knowing that he could have smoothed McNab down.
He went at once to the offices of Draycott and Company. Fay was given his name, and she was standing up, eager-faced, when he entered her office.
“Any luck, Rolly?”
“I’m sorry, Fay,” he said. “I have just come from the police, and we are mutually unpopular. They’ve arrested Phyllis Harvey.”
“My goodness!” said Fay, and sat down abruptly.
As she sat she knocked against the vase of roses on her desk. The water spread over the carpet, and the roses spilled in all directions. The Toff went down on his knees to pick up the flowers, while Fay took a duster from her desk and mopped up the water. It took several minutes, and the Toff regained much of his equanimity. He was smiling when the flowers were back on the desk.
In bending down Fay’s hair had become untidy, and as she brushed it back from her forehead, dark waves that were smooth and glossy in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, the Toff acknowledged that there was a breathless loveliness about Fay which was not beauty, but something even greater.
“You’ve heard nothing more, I suppose?”
“I was hoping there would be a call or a letter from Jimmy, but there’s nothing at all.”
“I see,” said the Toff. “There are things we may be able to do. Can you get me a list of the partners of Murray and Firth, and another of the directors of the Mid-Provincial Building Society?
”
“Yes, but it will take some time.”
“This evening will do,” said the Toff. “If you do get word from Draycott, tell him to stay in hiding, but not to return to Allen Cottage.”
Fay nodded.
“One way and the other,” said the Toff, “I almost wish there was no Jimmy.”
Her cheeks lost colour, and he had further evidence of what she felt for Jimmy Draycott. But she cheered up considerably before he left the office, and promised to get the information quickly.
Rollison telephoned the agents in Romsey who had given Jolly the option on Allen Cottage. There was no telephone installed, although the wiring had been done and it would only be a day or two before the instrument could be fitted. The Toff arranged for them to take a message to Jolly, and was at some pains to concoct one that gave nothing away. He was satisfied that Jolly would get the message before the police reached the cottage. That Phyllis Harvey would, under slight pressure, divulge the address which Draycott had given her was as nearly certain as the fact that the sun shone in the heavens.
Next, the Toff made his way to Mile Corner.
He had seen Bat Mendoz, Tibby’s brother, outside the office of Draycott and Company, and he felt sure that Fay was being carefully watched. He was thoughtful as he drove through the thick East End traffic towards Aldgate, and then along the Mile End Road. The public house was open, as was the gymnasium at the back. When the Toff went to the latter he saw Bert, in shirt-sleeves and smoking a shining new pipe, leaning on one post of a ring, while two lightweights danced and frolicked about on the canvas. Bert was deep in his self-appointed task.
“Keep that left movin’, can’t yer—don’t dance like a chorus gel, Skiff, this ain’t a ballroom, it’s a boxing-ring. Now hit him —hit him! That’s—Why, Mr. Ar!’
The pounding of feet on the sawdust-covered canvas and the occasional slap of a large glove on a face or a glistening chest punctuated the conversation for the next five minutes. Bert had no positive information about the man named Kless, but was expecting word within the next half-hour. If Mr. Ar would wait, maybe it would arrive. Rollison said that he would.
“That’s ri’,” said Bert. “No use givin’ you arf a story, I always think that. No more trouble, I ’ope?”
“Lashings of trouble,” said the Toff.
“Oh, dear,” said Bert surprisingly. “You look a bit orf, if you ask me. Things goin’ wrong, are they?” Bert made a clicking noise of sympathy. “They’re always doin’ that, Mr. Ar. Take these boys o’ mine. You get them up to a point where you reckon they’ll take anything that comes, an’ the first time you put ’em in a prize-ring—bah!” exclaimed Bert. “They loses their nerve, an’ they flops.”
“‘Flops’ is expressive,” said the Toff.
For once he obtained no pleasure from watching the youngsters in the ring, nor from Bert’s colourful conversation. As it happened, there was not long to wait, for there was a sudden flurry at the entrance to the gymnasium, and a short man with powerful shoulders, one and a half cauliflower ears, a broken nose, square lips that had been sadly battered at frequent intervals, and a pair of the merriest blue eyes that ever shone from an Irishman, approached Bert and the Toff. “Back, then, Pat?” said Bert.
“Why, shure Oi’m back,” said Patrick Mullen, one-time lightweight champion of Great Britain, “and it’s glad Oi am to see Mr. Ar, as iver was.” He shook hands warmly, and told what he had learned graphically.
What with the police watching 91 Gay Street, Bethnal Green, and an old shrew of a woman he had learned to be Kless’s mother, it had not been easy. But that had not deterred Patrick Mullen, who had slipped over the back-garden wall – garden meant a small concrete-covered yard – under the very eyes of the police, and put the fear of death into Old Mother Kless. She had, it seemed, two sons; they kept her in gin and other things, but they had been missing for a day or more. One was Grab, who, the police said, had thrown himself out of a railway train, which she did not believe; and the other was Benny. “Benny!” exclaimed the Toff. Pat Mullen beamed.
“Och, Benny she said, an’ she wouldn’t lie to me, Mr. Ar, Oi’ll assure ye of that. And then there were her lodgers.” The Toff said sharply: “Go on.”
“A big man, fair as a Scotsman,” said Mullen, “and another nasty little wop, the one ye told Tibby to watch for, Oi would not mind swearing if I swore at all, which I niver did an’ niver will, the saints forgive me. They’ve been living there at odd times for a year, Mr. Ar, sometimes only staying for a night or two and sometimes a week, but always paying her. Which they havin’t done for a month, she says, and she gets no pleasure from it.”
“Have the police been at her?” asked the Toff. “At her! Oi’ll say she’s raving good and mighty at thim, but she’ll niver say a word,” said Patrick. “She’s loyal in her way, and she hates the police, and Oi for one don’t blame her. It cost me a pound as ever was and all the oaths I know that I wouldn’t let on, Mr. Ar.”
“That’s fine.” The Toff repaid the pound but not a penny more, for that would have given offence. “Bert, I want Ma Kless and her house watched closely. Will you make sure of that?”
“Why, sure,” said Bert.
“And I’ll try to have a look at her tonight,” went on the Toff. “I want the big blond man or the little wop put away somewhere so that I can talk to them if they show up, but they won’t while the police are watching.”
“You only ’ave to say the word, Mr. Ar. The dicks won’t know we’re watching, neither.”
“Keep at it, Bert,” Rollison said. “You’re the best.”
He went off a few minutes afterwards, while Bert arranged for Ma Kless to be kept under close surveillance. Bert, and others like him in the East End, explained the power and the legend which had spread about the Toff, and the reason why he could so often do more than the police. There was little chance of the police getting information, for the ranks of the East End closed against them, and only a copper’s nark stood any chance of giving them news; but the life of a nark was no sinecure, and his story was often only half true and usually late.
The Toff could and did get vital information, and frequently acted on it.
Back at Gresham Street he was thinking with satisfaction of the fact that Lorne and the little man he had followed to Fulham were lodgers at the house of Grab and Benny Kless. Grab was the man who had killed himself, and Benny the murderer of Myra Harvey: so much was certain.
And it was likely that they would return once the police lost interest in the house.
For the first time he felt that he was moving in the right direction but it did not cheer him much, for he was still worried by the possibility of the police finding Draycott formulating a charge which might ruin Draycott. He was still thinking that when he entered the flat, to hear the telephone ringing. He picked it up, and he heard Jolly’s voice.
“I am glad you have returned, sir,” said Jolly. “I have been trying to get you for some time. Mr. Draycott is here. I thought you would like to know.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Draycott In The Flesh
Even from a master of understatement that made the Toff gulp; but he was not affected for long, and he said sharply: “At the cottage, Jolly?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is he all right?”
“He is somewhat out of temper but otherwise I do not think that he can complain.”
“All right. I’ll come down at once, but you’re to leave the cottage immediately. You’ve had my message?”
“Yes, sir. And I have made arrangements. There is another small place, a bungalow, sir” – Jolly appeared to sniff – “some half a mile from here. It is empty, but I have persuaded Mr. Draycott for the time being that it will be wise to stay there. Is that in order?”
“Give me the address and directions for rea
ching the bungalow,” said the Toff, “and do nothing that might make either of you conspicuous. I expect McNab down there at any time.”
“I shall have the situation well in hand, sir.”
“Right,” said the Toff, and he rang off.
He did not lose much time in going from the flat and taking the Frazer-Nash from the garage. He watched the road behind him, but did not think he was followed. That did not prevent him from being watchful, but it was not until he was on the other side of Winchester that he had any reward.
A small car pulled out of a side-road and turned after him. The Toff could see the face of the driver in his mirror; and he knew that it was the little man who had led him to Fulham, and afterwards escaped with Lorne and the grey-haired woman. He was cheered by the discovery, and yet puzzled. The man had certainly not followed him from London, but must have been stationed in the by-road after receiving a report that he was on the way.
Suddenly the Toff said aloud: “My only aunt, am I sane? They’ve been watching Jolly. Of course they’ve been watching Jolly!”
He did not try to shake his man off, but went to Allen Cottage. The place was shut up, and the ‘To Let, Furnished’ notice was still fastened to the gate. He looked under a door-mat in the porch, and found the key; Jolly had left it in case he called there.
He went inside, and lost no time going upstairs. From the front bedroom window he saw his follower. The man had drawn his car up a hundred yards along a narrow lane, where the cottage and a bungalow were situated – some half a mile apart. The turning was off the main Romsey-Southampton Road.
The driver walked slowly and silently up the narrow garden path.
