The Toff at Camp

by John Creasey

He went in.

  A vast mass of people sat at the yellow, red, and blue tables; a thousand or more, with waitresses rushing from the big serving cupboards in the middle of the hall. At first it was overpowering; and hot beyond words. He heard people laughing; there was a background of talk; a satisfied kind of babble.

  He tried to imagine Jolly in this.

  Several other Redcoats were near the door, Uncle Pi was among them.

  ‘Hallo.’ Uncle Pi’s brown eyes were smiling and friendly. ‘Late tonight? Do yon know where you’re to sit?’

  ‘Row A, I think, somewhere near the door.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Peverill’s place.’ Uncle Pi pointed.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Rollison.

  He sat down in the place of a missing man. The place was at a table for four – with another table for four close to it. Seven Campers, three girls, three young fellows, and a man with a grey beard and a silly smile, all grunted or smiled; and the girls glanced sideways at him. A waitress came rushing up.

  ‘Hallo, dear, you’re late,’ she said to Rollison. ‘Soup?’

  ‘I’ll miss it.’

  ‘Ta, ducky.’ She hurried off, to return with a plate of fish and chips; he expected to find it cold and unpalatable, but found himself enjoying it. A youth asked him if he knew what the Square Dancing would be like that evening.

  ‘Championship stuff,’ Rollison said absently. He was looking about him, and caught sight of a head of fair, curly hair on a man sitting with his back to him; it might be Clark.

  The girl by the man’s side had hair that was red tinged.

  He watched; he was worried about that girl.

  The waitress gave him stewed fruit and custard. He was half-way through it when he saw the curly-haired man get up.

  It was Clark.

  He stood in the aisle by the side of his table and waited for the girl to get up, too.

  A youth said something to Rollison again.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Rollison said. He glanced at the youth, then back at Clark and the girl. She was walking with Clark towards the door, and she was Susan Dell, who had followed him – and who had seemed so frightened.

  She was frightened now. Her fear showed unmistakably when she looked at Rollison.

  Clark glanced at her, and his hand closed over hers. There was something threatening in the movement. Rollison didn’t like it at all.

  He got up.

  He reached the door as Clark and the girl reached the corner. He turned after them, and a man, coming from the other direction, banged into him. It might have been an accident, but it sent him reeling against the window.

  Clark and the girl disappeared.

  Chapter Six

  Missing Girl

  ‘Sorry, chum,’ said the big man who had cannoned into Rollison. ‘You okay?’ He moved forward, full of solicitude, and gripped Rollison’s arm. He was big, and brutish, bulky rather than fat, with a long nose which was pushed a little to one side, and big, rather prominent teeth. His grip was remarkably powerful. ‘Never saw you coming,’ he went on, and again hampered Rollison, who wanted to get to the corner. ‘Lemme brush you down, and—’

  ‘I’m all right, thanks.’

  ‘No offence meant,’ said the bulky man with the big teeth. ‘’Aven’t we met before?’ His hand was enormous; fingers spanned Rollison’s forearm.

  He hurt.

  This was the reprisal; or a form of one – Rollison was quite sure. Cy Beck didn’t know, but he would guess who had been in his chalet, and was probably desperate to know if Rollison had seen the dollars.

  This man was a powerful brute.

  Rollison flexed his arm and twisted his wrist – and caught hold of the other man’s. He twisted again. He saw the look of surprise and pain on the big face. He beamed.

  ‘None taken,’ he said, and hurried to the corner. The big man was behind him, gaping. Two or three others watched.

  Clark and the girl had vanished.

  She had wanted to see him; she had come to him for help; and now he felt sure that she was frightened. It might have nothing to do with the missing men; it might have a great deal. There was more; the bulky man had been there to impede him, deliberately; Clark certainly wasn’t by himself in this.

  Clark had seen and recognized him – and was worried about him.

  ‘Rolly,’ a girl called.

  Only Elizabeth Cherrell would call him Rolly here; only Elizabeth had a voice like that. He turned. Seeing his expression, her smile faded.

  It wasn’t surprising. Clark had seen the girl talking to him, Clark was a villainous type. Beck looked murderous. It was vital to find Susan – because he had left her to her own devices.

  But he fought back his fears.

  ‘Hallo,’ he said to Elizabeth. ‘Gainsborough would have doted on you.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I was looking for a girl who’s disappeared. Where do people go at this hour of the evening?’

  ‘Almost—anywhere,’ she said. ‘One of the theatres, the games room, the quiet lounges, the coffee bars or the other bars. Anywhere.’

  ‘Where will I find Llewellyn or Aird?’

  ‘They’re in their living-quarters, I expect—I’ll take you there.’

  ‘Let’s hurry,’ said Rollison. He took her arm; life had its compensations. ‘Can we go by car?’

  ‘Part of the way.’

  He hustled her towards his car. People were thronging out of the dining-hall and towards the Princes Theatre and the licensed bars. He had never seen so many people about at the same time. Some were diving and swimming again.

  He got into the old Austin, Elizabeth beside him.

  As he drove off, Middleton appeared from a chalet. He stood staring.

  ‘Redcoats aren’t supposed to drive,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Rollison. ‘Just direct me, will you?’

  She told him where to stop – at the end of a road which had led past more big buildings and more chalet lines. Then they walked. Rollison outpacing the girl; she had to trot. At last they reached the living-quarters of Aird and the senior officers at the Camp.

  Aird was in his room.

  ‘Hallo,’ he said, ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I—what’s the trouble?’

  ‘I’m just jittery. Any news of Clark?’

  ‘You certainly got a move on,’ Aird said. ‘He’s stayed at the Camp three times, twice for long week-ends, this time for two weeks. Each time, it’s coincided with the disappearance of a Redcoat. He’s come with a girl now, a red-head named Susan Dell. They’ve single chalets, not far from you.’

  ‘I’m worried about Susan Dell,’ Rollison said. ‘Will you tell the Security people to pick her up.’

  ‘Can we give any reason for—’

  ‘We’ll find a reason if we get her,’ Rollison said briskly. ‘She asked me for help, and I wasn’t any.’ Eyes with green flecks drove him by a fear which infected the others. ‘Liz and I are also going to look.’

  ‘All right.’ Aird reached for a telephone.

  ‘Rolly,’ Liz said, as they reached the car. ‘What is worrying you?’

  ‘A pair of golden eyes with green in them,’ said Rollison. ‘Nearly as beautiful as yours. We’ll have a drive round, and keep our eyes open for the pair. Can you drive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took the wheel. She had nice hands, pink nail varnish, and was a natural driver.

  He had studied the plan of the Camp, but it hadn’t given him any real idea of the size. They seemed to drive for miles along well-made roads, now past chalets, tennis courts, playing-fields, over a railway bridge, past a boating-pool, within sight of the roller-skating rink; playgrounds; gardens. There were three chalet Camps, each with its own roads, its own main buildings.

  They covered every road.

  Now and again Rollison saw a girl with red hair; once, a man who might have been Clark; it wasn’t.

  ‘Let’s tr
y the rock garden,’ Rollison said. ‘It’s a place for canoodling and keeping out of sight. Then—’ He broke off.

  ‘There’s the beach,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Yes. Afterwards.’

  They pulled up by the entrance to the big rock garden which ran alongside the railway and the Camp station. Dozens of couples were sitting remote or indifferent on the benches or in alcoves; but not Susan Dell or Clark.

  ‘How near the beach can we take the car?’ The driving urge still forced Rollison.

  ‘Not very near.’

  ‘How far is it to walk?’

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  ‘Come on,’ he said.

  When they got out of the car, the loudspeaker was on, and a girl’s voice was coming towards them, but Rollison couldn’t catch the words. They walked over uneven grassland towards the sea. An aeroplane droned overhead. Soon, they were climbing over a rocky headland. From the top they could see the small beach, the boats drawn up, a few people bathing, dozens of couples sitting against the rocks.

  Clark and Susan Dell weren’t there, either.

  ‘You’re scaring me,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘I’m scaring myself.’ Rollison squeezed her arm. ‘Sorry. Let’s go back.’

  They were near the Montgomery Theatre, in the South Camp, when Llewellyn pulled up just in front of them in his car, forcing them to stop. He got out. They met, between the two cars.

  ‘Neither Clark nor the girl has been seen anywhere,’ Llewellyn said. ‘They haven’t been seen to leave the Camp, but—’

  ‘Easy enough to slip out if they want to, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, of course—but they weren’t noticed.’

  ‘We’ll keep looking,’ Rollison said.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘They might be in one of the theatres,’ Elizabeth suggested. ‘The ballrooms aren’t very full yet.’

  They hurried across to the theatre and went in; the Redcoat in charge put on the lights between two stage turns. Every chair was occupied, and hundreds of Campers stood against the walls. Rollison walked down one side and up the other; he would have picked out the couple, if they had been there.

  Outside, Elizabeth said: ‘Shall we try the ballrooms?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They tried the ballroom here, then the huge one, in the West Camp. They tried the Princes Theatre, all the bars, everywhere.

  They didn’t find the man or the girl.

  Rollison felt bad; very bad. He was with Aird, Llewellyn, Elizabeth, and Jolly, in Aird’s office. It was nine o’clock. There was still no news.

  ‘Of course someone is going to say that they might turn up,’ he growled, ‘but who really believes it?’

  Aird said: ‘They’ve packed their cases and gone. It’s just like the others—they’ve vanished into thin air.’ He pulled at a pipe. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘First, drop all pretence within the camp staff, I think. Let the Redcoats, Security chaps, and anyone else who can help know who I am and what I’m doing—ask Middleton to co-operate, too.’ His voice was cold, he looked bleak. ‘Please yourself whether you tell the Campers.’

  ‘We won’t yet.’ Aird didn’t like this.

  ‘What is there to tell them?’ Llewellyn demanded. ‘Two Campers have packed up and gone off. It’s happened before.’ He didn’t put his thought into words, but obviously doubted whether Rollison was justified in making a fuss.

  ‘We’ve got to find Clark and that girl,’ Rollison said. ‘We’ve got to find all Clark’s friends at the Camp, too.’ He wanted to deal with Cy Beck himself, for the time being; for more reasons than one. ‘Hell of a job, but—check at the snack-bars, other bars, dining-rooms, his chalet—find out if he or Susan Dell made any particular friends, and then run a ruler over them.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘Please.’

  ‘Look here—’ Llewellyn began.

  ‘They will pay me a fat fee,’ Rollison observed. ‘Let me earn it.’ He smiled, bleakly. ‘Come on, Liz.’ He took Elizabeth’s arm and hurried out of the room, went back to the car, but didn’t drive off at once, just sat smoking beneath a star-filled sky and within the sound of dance music.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Clark’s chalet,’ Rollison said. ‘We can get the key from Reception, can’t we?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Clark’s was a small, single chalet. It hadn’t been tidied up, and the bed hadn’t been made. There were several empty cartons, a box of matches, silver paper from chocolates, and other oddments – including two hair-grips, obviously meant for red hair. There was a dusting of powder over the chest of drawers which also served as a dressing-table.

  ‘Susan made up here, in a hurry,’ Rollison said. ‘Liz, they were ready to leave—or Clark was—before they came in to dinner. She must have left me, and then gone back to her chalet and packed. She was frightened out of her wits.’ He led the way out of the chalet; no one was about. ‘When in doubt, have a drink. Which is the nearest bar?’

  ‘The Viennese.’

  ‘Come on, then.’

  He had a drink; he had another drink; then he had a drink. Elizabeth made one last for the duration. Now and again Rollison reminded himself that she was as beautiful as her picture, that she had a mind, that it would be easy to grow very fond of her. More often, he was thinking of Susan.

  The bar got noisier, the smoke grew thicker, then crowds came out of a theatre.

  ‘Let’s get some air,’ Rollison said.

  He led the way. A middle-aged woman, with greying hair and a glass of beer in her hand, stood up from a table as he passed her. He jogged her arm, slightly. The glass fell, beer splashed.

  ‘Oi, you clumsy brute,’ she spat, and spun round on him. She was flushed, she had a big, loose, wet mouth. ‘See what you did, knocked it aht of me ’and, you—’

  ‘I know ’ow to deal wiv that kinda mugger,’ a man said.

  His voice was familiar. He was big, with large and rather prominent teeth. He and Rollison had met outside the dining-hall. He swung his right, and if the punch had landed, it would have sent Rollison flying.

  It missed.

  Something in the man’s manner told the truth; he was here to beat Rollison up; and he had a brute’s strength.

  ‘Rolly!’ cried Elizabeth.

  The woman with the loose mouth pushed her out of the way, as the bulky man smashed another blow at Rollison.

  Chapter Seven

  Drunk?

  The second blow missed.

  Someone shouted: ‘Pack it up.’ He was wasting his breath. The bulky man pushed a table aside, so as to get at Rollison. His eyes were quite clear, he wasn’t drunk, but he bellowed as if he were, and hiccoughed as he made a lunge at Rollison.

  He was good, too.

  He got through Rollison’s guard with a heavy blow over the heart. He swung the next low. Then he brought his knee up, but Rollison dodged in time. Men were shouting, women screaming, Redcoats came rushing.

  Rollison closed with the bulky man.

  He thought he distinguished Elizabeth’s voice: ‘Be careful!’

  He had met giants like this before. He jolted the man with a right to the chin; they grappled; then he gripped the other man’s right wrist. He hurt.

  He seemed to make no great effort, but the man went flying, and fell against two Redcoats who were almost in the fray. It was quite a moment, undoubtedly a sight worth seeing. Three tables, nine glasses, and five ash-trays crashed, with Redcoats and the bulky man on top of them, and a dozen others rushing to get out of the way.

  Rollison dusted his hands.

  That made a youth laugh. Others laughed with him, glad of relief from tension. Rollison grinned about him. Men and women, scared the moment before, or at least anxious to avoid trouble, were chuckling. Only some bruised and damaged Redcoats, Elizabeth, the bulky man, and the loose-mouthed woman weren’t smiling. The woman was glaring at Rollison in a way which could only be called unpleasant.

&n
bsp; She went to her champion.

  ‘Nice work, Ryall,’ said Uncle Pi. He came from one side. ‘I haven’t seen—’

  ‘Nice work be damned!’ That was Middleton, from behind Rollison. He clutched Rollison’s shoulder and spun him round. His face was livid, he looked as if he were glaring at a man he hated. ‘Take that coat off, Ryall,’ he growled. ‘You’re suspended until this has been reported.’

  ‘Dick—’ began Uncle Pi.

  ‘You shut up!’

  Rollison glanced round. There were a dozen Redcoats within sight, and more were coming in; they appeared with the remarkable instinct of London policemen at a street accident. Those who were nearer showed no liking for Middleton. Middleton himself looked as if he expected to be defied.

  Rollison said: ‘All right, Middleton.’ He took his coat off, emptied the pockets, and turned away.

  Two Redcoats were helping the bulky man to his feet. His lips were bleeding.

  ‘You know, Dick, it wasn’t the Redcoat’s fault,’ said an elderly Camper, obviously anxious to pacify. ‘It was the other chap, he was drunk. I saw—’

  ‘Any Redcoat ought to be able to keep clear of drunken brawls,’ Middleton said savagely. ‘The moment I looked at you, Ryall, I thought the kids were more your mark. Understand, you’re suspended, until—’

  ‘Dick—’ began Elizabeth.

  ‘Oh, you’ll try to whitewash him,’ Middleton sneered. ‘He didn’t take long to put you in his pocket.’

  Campers looked troubled. Elizabeth flushed, and turned away. Rollison didn’t follow. Uncle Pi went up to Middleton, and whispered something which made him move towards the doors. Other Redcoats were tidying the place up, with help from waitresses and willing Campers. Someone at the far end of the bar began to sing.

  Rollison went out.

  He was hot; and the night air stung his forehead, face, and body. Some way off, Middleton and Uncle Pi were talking beneath a light, but Elizabeth wasn’t in sight. Rollison walked briskly towards his own chalet line; he needed a coat.

  Middleton had been theatrical in his rage, and true rage wasn’t often theatrical.

  Had the man been acting a part?

  Did he hate?

  If he already suspected what Rollison was doing, and if he were working with the men who had made three Redcoats disappear, hatred would be understandable. He was sour, bitter, difficult to get on with. The reason seemed good enough; but supposing he were under some other kind of pressure.