The Toff at Camp

by John Creasey

  Rollison said: ‘I found Middleton, nearly dead.’

  The brown eyes didn’t soften.

  ‘Strangled,’ Rollison said.

  ‘If you think—’

  ‘With her stocking.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Listen,’ Rollison said patiently, ‘get mad at me, get mad at the whole world if you must, but don’t lose your sense of proportion. I tell you that Middleton was nearly strangled with Liz’s stocking. If I’d been ten minutes later, he would probably have died. I thought she might know something about it. I tried to panic her into admitting it.’

  ‘You panicked her,’ Uncle Pi sneered. ‘You frightened the wits out of her. I could—’ He had his hands clenched by his side; he didn’t raise them. ‘You must be crazy,’ he went on, ‘to think that she would—’ He broke off.

  ‘It was her stocking,’ Rollison insisted.

  ‘She’s so much in love with him that—’ Uncle Pi began, only to break off again. He seemed to relax. He went to the dressing-chest and helped himself from a packet of cigarettes which Rollison hadn’t noticed; and to a match. He put both boxes down. ‘I hope you’re satisfied that she didn’t do it, now.’

  ‘I think so,’ Rollison said, ‘but there are other things I have to satisfy myself about. What’s worrying Middleton?’

  ‘I don’t know any more than you.’

  ‘Pi,’ Rollison said, and took a cigarette from the packet, lit it, and flicked the match out of the doorway, ‘a girl Camper disappeared tonight. That makes four disappearances. Something very crooked is going on here. Middleton could be in it. I think Liz is frightened in case he is—perhaps because she knows he is. If he’s a crook—’

  Uncle Pi gave a twisted smile. His eyes had lost their cold hostility, but hadn’t their true glow.

  ‘You can talk! If Dick Middleton’s a crook, he’s not the man for Liz. But I’m supposed to buy that one, and praise you for trying to prove that he’s a crook by terrifying her. I can’t and won’t. When I saw you running after her, I could have—’ He broke off.

  ‘Killed,’ Rollison murmured.

  ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones,’ quoth Uncle Pi, with a smile which made him seem nearer his normal self, ‘but names will never hurt me! If I’d split your skull I couldn’t have cared less. Still, perhaps it’s as well I didn’t.’

  Rollison grinned.

  ‘Thanks! Been to Middleton’s chalet tonight?’

  Uncle Pi could deny that he had. If he did, then it would suggest a guilty conscience; at least, an urgent need for secrecy. Instead, he gave his slow, amused smile.

  ‘Suspecting me?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Say an hour ago—or less,’ Rollison was very casual.

  Uncle Pi said slowly: ‘Yes. I went to Middleton’s chalet. I didn’t go in. I didn’t hear a sound.’ His eyes seemed to glow with gentle defiance. ‘Do I hear one across the way?’ he asked.

  They looked across at Lasses, and the plump girl was standing and beckoning them and making little cooing noises, to try to attract their attention without disturbing anyone else.

  The two men’s concern for Elizabeth brought the conversation to an end. She was sitting on a stool, away from the door. She was fully awake, and no longer trembling. The girls had fetched her dressing-gown and put it on her, and she wore slippers.

  ‘I can walk,’ she said.

  ‘Walk to me,’ said Rollison.

  He lifted her with little effort, and carried her across the lawn at the double. Soon he put her on the bed. The tall girl and the plump one began to shoo him out.

  ‘Just a minute,’ Rollison protested.

  ‘Rollison—’ began Uncle Pi.

  ‘I said, out,’ said the lean girl, firmly.

  Rollison grinned at her, slid his arm round her waist and squeezed; and she gasped. He held the plump girl, too, and stood by the door, an arm round each. Elizabeth lay on the bed, cheeks flushed, eyes very bright – as if she were amused in spite of herself.

  ‘Liz,’ Rollison said, ‘what’s it all about? What makes you think they’ll kill Dick Middleton?’

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘Now this really is enough,’ said the lean girl, and pulled herself free. ‘Get out, or I’ll send for the Security boys,’

  She pushed Rollison and Uncle Pi towards the door.

  The rain beat down on them, and another gust smashed upon the chalets, rattling windows and doors, sending a metal chair crashing over with noise enough to waken the whole chalet line. Wet through, they hurried to Uncle Pi’s chalet.

  ‘I won’t come in,’ Rollison said.

  ‘Stand in the rain, then, but you’ll listen to me. What makes you think that Liz believes that someone might want to murder Dick?’

  ‘It’s one of the things I had to find out,’ Rollison said quietly. ‘Is she terrified for him? I think yes. She believes, she knows that he’s in danger. I wish I could be sure that she isn’t.’

  ‘Where’s the danger?’

  ‘Jealous rival, perhaps,’ Rollison said lightly.

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘Like you.’

  ‘Evidence?’ murmured Uncle Pi.

  ‘Very vague.’

  ‘Let’s know if it gets any clearer,’ said Uncle Pi. ‘I didn’t go into Dick’s chalet. I—’ He broke off. ‘Why the devil should I tell you what I was doing, anyway?’

  ‘Please yourself,’ Rollison said, abruptly.

  He turned and walked off.

  He half-expected Uncle Pi to follow him, but the hunchback didn’t; as far as Rollison could tell, he did not watch, just let him walk off without showing any further sign of curiosity.

  He had been watching Elizabeth’s chalet; or at least, alert for trouble. He might have been expecting it.

  Someone had nearly murdered Middleton, using Liz’s stocking.

  Did the two men hate each other because of Liz? Was that why Liz behaved so oddly? Judging from the frenzy, she was in love with Middleton, so Uncle Pi had the greater cause for jealousy. Gentle, soothing, well-loved Uncle Pi – who could hit very hard.

  There was Middleton, whose wife had walked out on him according to general belief; in love; and with Liz in love with him; and with two $100.00 notes in his wallet.

  The wife might have cause to hate, too. It was time to find her.

  Jolly was still patiently on duty. Middleton was sitting up on the pillows, with two coats round him, smoking. He looked much better, the greyness had gone. Uncle Pi, who ought to have been worried about him, obviously wasn’t.

  ‘Rollison,’ he said at once, ‘what’s all this about?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘How the hell should I?’ demanded Middleton. His voice was hoarse and seemed to hurt him. ‘I was coming to see you. I was going—going to say that I was sorry. I blew my top this evening. You weren’t the drunk. Then someone threw a sack or a cloth over my head, and I felt that damned thing tightening round my neck.’ He shuddered. ‘I shan’t forget it in a hurry,’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Elevenish, I suppose.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Just outside here.’

  ‘And then—black out?’

  ‘Yes.’ Middleton took the cigarette from his lips. ‘What was Liz doing here, why did she behave like that?’

  ‘She thought you were dead,’ Rollison said grimly. ‘You ought to have been, with that stocking tied round your neck for so long.’ He didn’t tell Middleton that it was Liz’s stocking. ‘Feel all right now?’

  ‘I don’t exactly want to get up and push a bus over, but I’m all right.’

  He could be badly shaken now. Mention of $100.00 bills might do it, but that would betray too much. Accusing Liz might, too; but wasn’t likely. But Middleton had to be shaken into talking.

  ‘Of course we’ll have to tell the police,’ Rollison said..

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’
snapped Middleton. The idea frightened him, exactly as Rollison hoped it would. Then he collected his wits. ‘If you fetch the police here and the story gets round that there’s been an attempted murder, there’ll be panic in the place. You ask Aird, and see what he says.’ He leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Besides, I’m told you’re the man to find out what’s happening around here.’

  That was almost a sneer.

  Rollison put his head on one side, as he studied the man.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘I met Llewellyn. If I hadn’t, I’d have come to tell you I was prepared to apologize.’

  That sounded characteristic.

  ‘Forget it,’ Rollison said, and went on in the same voice: ‘Is your wife on the Camp, Middleton?’

  Middleton coloured furiously, taken completely by surprise.

  ‘Good—good lord, no!’

  ‘Does she hate you?’

  ‘Hate—’ began Middleton, and then grinned; and the grin became a laugh. It wasn’t normal, but had the metallic note of hysteria.

  Rollison watched him, stonily. He recovered, but his eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed. Shock?

  ‘Think he needs a doctor?’ Rollison asked the silent Jolly.

  ‘I don’t want anyone fussing over me,’ growled Middleton. ‘I’m all right.’

  Rollison shrugged, and went out.

  Jolly followed him, and closed the door.

  ‘We could wait and see what happens next,’ Rollison said, ‘and whether there’ll be another attack on him. We could also go and do some thinking.’

  He began to walk towards his own chalet line, with Jolly almost trotting beside him; and they trod on soaking wet grass, here and there in a pool of water, while the rain beat down on them. He told Jolly all that had happened, briefly. Jolly kept his own counsel, probably because his feet were wet and he felt miserable.

  ‘What are your major impressions, Jolly?’

  ‘Middleton’s peculiar laughter.’ Jolly proved that he had been thinking. ‘And—’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps the fact that he didn’t die.’

  ‘You’ve got something there,’ Rollison agreed. ‘Add the shock— almost hysterical amusement—at the idea that his wife might be here and vengeful. Have we his home address?’

  ‘No, sir, but I can get it first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Good. Do. And we need help that we know we can rely on—say Bill Ebbutt and two or three of his boys. For once in your life you’ll have to be glad to see our prize-fighter.’

  ‘I took the precaution, sir, of telephoning Mr. Ebbutt earlier in the evening and telling him that I thought it likely that you would try to find something for him to do here,’ Jolly said suavely. ‘He assured me that he would be very happy to come.’

  Rollison eyed him up and down. He was wet and bedraggled; his sparse hair was plastered down; it would not be long before he began to shiver. He was just – Jolly.

  ‘So you did, and he did,’ Rollison said. ‘I ought to dissolve partnership.’ And felt suddenly light-hearted. ‘Go and get a hot shower and turn in.’

  ‘After you, sir,’ Jolly said meekly.

  ‘We’ll go together,’ Rollison decided. ‘Let’s get our raincoats.’

  He moved.

  He was the first to see the drawing on the dressing-chest. It was on a sheet of note-paper, with lines on it – just a crude crayon drawing, such as a child might scrawl. But no child had drawn this. There were three men, one lying down, the others sitting. Each wore a red coat. At the throat of each was a red gash.

  He could almost hear that flat voice: ‘I could cut their throats.’ He could almost see Susan Dell. He had seen her in the flesh only twice, yet she was as vivid to him as Elizabeth.

  He could almost see the tall, shadowy figure of the man who had squirted ammonia gas at him.

  ‘You were wrong, Jolly,’ he said, slowly. ‘You shouldn’t have telephoned to warn Bill, you should have told him to come at once. I wonder how many tall, thin men there are at the Camp.’

  ‘Why, sir?’

  ‘Each one’s suspect,’ Rollison said. ‘Say fifty. A hundred?’ He looked at the drawing again. ‘Jolly, we’ve a lot to do, and not much time to do it in. At least we’ve a lead, with Cy Beck.’

  Some time earlier, Beck had left a coffee bar and walked slowly through the rain towards his own chalet. A woman – his wife – lay on the bed in the far corner, with the bedclothes up to her shoulders. She snatched one hand out and covered her eyes as Beck switched on the light.

  He closed the door.

  ‘You might warn me,’ the woman said. ‘It’s getting cold, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s getting warm,’ Cy said. ‘That damned Rollison’s come just at the wrong time.’ He lit a cigarette, and stood staring down at his wife as he unwound the scarf, tossed the hat to a chair, and took a little pistol, which looked like a toy, from his pocket. ‘We want another three days.’

  ‘That’s what you said last night!’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Cy. He looked painfully thin, his cheeks were sunken, his eyes were dark and glowed almost with a feverish light. ‘I still want three. We had to lose Clark, didn’t we? Not that it would have mattered, as things turned out. I’ve told Rollison to leave the Camp. He’d better go.’

  His wife sat up. She was easy to look at; a handsome blonde, ‘Cy, you’re crazy, Rollison can’t be frightened off.’

  ‘Can’t he?’ Cy rubbed the side of his neck. ‘Well, he can be fooled. Perhaps you’re the one to fool him. We’ve got to get him looking in the wrong place, until we’ve finished. Rather than lose, I’d—’

  He looked vicious; savage.

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ his wife said, ‘you make me shiver. I don’t care what you say, it’s getting cold.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Top O’ The Morning

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Jolly. ‘And a beautiful morning it is.’

  Rollison opened one eye.

  This showed him Jolly in a light-grey suit and a beaming smile, even a light in his eyes. It showed him the window with sunlight shining through. Apart from that, it revealed the chalet as it had been when he had returned from the hot bath; and also the crude drawing which had been left for his edification.

  He struggled up.

  Jolly was pouring tea from a thermos flask.

  ‘I’m sorry that it isn’t possible to obtain a pot of tea,’ he said, almost gaily, ‘but the Mirror Bar supplies these vacuum flasks for those who like a little extra comfort. I hope it is to your liking, sir.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rollison took a cup cautiously.

  ‘The newspapers, sir,’ said Jolly, pulling these from his coat pocket and handing them to Rollison with a flourish. ‘I am happy to say that there is nothing particularly dismal or depressing in them.’

  ‘Jolly,’ said Rollison, ‘what’s happened to you?’

  ‘To me, sir? In what way?’

  ‘We’re at Butlin’s, remember. You were going to hate every minute of it.’

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ murmured Jolly. ‘I imagine that it must be the holiday atmosphere of the establishment, I can’t think of anything else. Is there any more you require, sir, or shall I run your bath?’

  ‘I’ll run my own bath,’ Rollison said. ‘I can’t stand you in this mood.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Oh, I took the liberty of telephoning Mr. Ebbutt, knowing that he is always up and about at six o’clock. He was already having a work-out in the gymnasium. I explained a little more precisely, and with three of his friends he will start out at nine o’clock this morning. He estimates that the journey will take eight or nine hours, so by this evening we shall have reinforcements.’

  He rubbed his hands, as if gleefully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Rollison. ‘Thanks. Nothing else?’

  ‘Nothing of any significance,’ Jolly told him blandly. ‘On the way to fetch the tea I saw Uncle Pi, by himself except for several small children. Mr. Middleton app
ears to have slept well.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘So he informs me, sir, I called on him at eight-fifteen. A few minutes afterwards, Miss Cherrell was still asleep. Everything else in the Camp seems quite normal, sir, I—’

  He stopped; he winced – slightly.

  ‘Good morning, Campers,’ came the voice over the Camp radio, ‘and what a beautiful morning it is! The bad weather blew itself out during the night, and now we’re ready for another perfect day’s fun and games, and we mean fun and games. Breakfast will be served from nine o’clock, that is in exactly half an hour. Here are some of the morning’s events—choose whichever you like, and remember that they are timed so that you can take part in as many as possible. From ten until ten-thirty there will be games on the playing-field, then for cyclists there is the Mystery Bike Hike, and again on the playing-field, the model aeroplane competitions. For dancing enthusiasts, lessons …’

  Rollison sipped his tea.

  Jolly waited, resignedly.

  Words floated into Rollison’s consciousness; words like Tombola, Square Dancing, Auditions, cricket, children. Weather conditions, the Camp was assured, were perfect for flying; Campers were exhorted to see the Camp from the air; and also to see the Welsh Coast.

  He grinned.

  ‘Putting first things first,’ he said. ‘All right, Jolly, off you go.’

  ‘I’ve Middleton’s home address here, sir.’ Jolly handed Rollison a slip of paper. ‘And I hope to get the information about any others who were at the Camp when Clark was here before,’ Jolly said. ‘I will produce it just as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Yes. Oh, wait a minute. As Bill Ebbutt’s coming down with three others, we shall want them to behave as Campers. How can we get them into the Camp? It’s full up.’

  Jolly was seraphic.

  ‘As a matter of fact, sir, yesterday I was fortunate enough to discover that a party due to take several chalets for a long week-end has cancelled the booking, and consequently I was able to put a word in for some—ah—friends of mine. I don’t think the matter of accommodation will be very difficult.’

  Rollison looked at him almost in consternation.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Jolly, and positively frisked out.