Here Comes the Toff

by John Creasey

  It was a threat, but there were no histrionics. The words came so calmly that their frightening effect was multiplied a hundred times.

  “I didn’t!” Benson half screamed.

  “Keep your voice low,” snapped the Toff, and his voice was harsh as he poked a gun in Benson’s ribs. Then it dropped to a note that could almost be called a caress, and was the more frightening. “You killed Sidey, Benson, and/saw you. Yes, in spite of the fog. And I took your boots as a souvenir. The police would like them, Benson.”

  Benson was now shivering as with cold. He felt more afraid than he had ever been in his life, and he seemed to see death yawning in front of him. He seemed to see the face of Kohn, whom he knew as ‘Mr. Brown’, Irma Cardew, Ritzy, and, above all, Minnie and Alf Sidey. Sidey …”

  He groaned.

  “I’ve heard men moan like that when they’ve been walking to the long drop,” said the Toff. “But your way out won’t be so quick, Benson. Before you go, you’re going to talk. Why did you kill Sidey?”

  Benson’s mouth was working and his eyes were feverish.

  “I didn’t! I swear …”

  The Toff struck him. It was a powerful blow, and it took him on the side of the jaw and sent him staggering. He hit the cobbles, but the Toff pulled him up by his coat collar, and then hit him again.

  “A taste,” he said evenly, “of what will happen to you if you don’t come across. I saw you kill Sidey, and I want to know why.”

  “I—I had to,” gasped Benson.

  He could not see the gleam that came into the Toff’s eyes after that part-admission. The Toff knew that the man was scared for his life, and was going to come across well. The question was – how much did he know?

  “The Cardew woman’s in this?” Rollison’s tone made the words into a question.

  Benson’s mouth stayed open for a fraction of a second, and then he muttered:

  “Y—yes.”

  “It’s as well you admitted it. Now listen, Benson. You’ve half a chance, a bare half-chance, of saving your neck, if you answer questions. Where do you get your orders from?”

  “The Blue Dog.” Benson was trembling.

  “Where else?”

  “There ain’t nowheres else, I swear …”

  “Keep to the point. You get orders from Charlie Wray, and others I don’t know. Who are the others?”

  “There ain’t …” began Benson.

  “You know,” said the Toff in his gentlest voice, “I’m sorry to have to do this, Benson, but you’ve asked for it.”

  He struck the man again. It gave him no satisfaction, for Benson was incapable of putting up a fight; it was simply the need for forcing information, and it had to be done without thinking of niceties. In three minutes Benson was a helpless hulk of a man, and the Toff was holding him to his feet by his coat lapels.

  “Who else?”

  “There’s—Ritzy,” gasped Benson.

  “And who’s Ritzy?”

  “I—I don’t know. For Gawd’s sake, believe me, mister. I don’t know his uvver name! ’E lives at ’Ighgate …”

  “What part of Highgate?” asked the Toff, and his grip eased a Utile.

  “Abbot Road, Number 28. I—I sees the Boss there.”

  “You do, do you?” said the Toff, satisfied that he would have no more trouble from Benson now. “Who is the Boss?”

  “’E calls hisself Brown. I don’t know …”

  “I should call you,” said the Toff almost amiably, “the most unobservant man of my acquaintance, Benson, but you can stop talking now. We’re going for a little journey—no, not to the station yet, but I’m not promising anything. Get going.”

  While in his mind was thought of ‘Brown’ and 28, Abbot Road.

  The Toff took Benson to the small house nearby, where he knew the man would be safe until he was wanted again. Benson was silent most of the way, although he came across with the information that ‘Mr. Brown’ wore smoked glasses and was usually well muffled up.

  This was the evidence to connect Kohn with the murder of Sidey, the evidence which the Toff had been wanting so badly.

  Jolly consulted him after Benson was safely lodged.

  “We’re doing well,” said the Toff, “and certainly as well as can be expected. I wasn’t followed?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No sign of anyone else at the Blue Dog?”

  “No one of interest, sir. Wray is behind the bar.”

  “Stay and watch the place,” said Rollison, “and follow Wray or Martin, or better still our muffled man if he comes along.”

  “Very good, sir.” Jolly did not raise objections, and the Toff thought over his own handling of Benson. Not nice, and certainly not the type of persuasion that McNab would have approved. But then, McNab would never have obtained that vital information. Benson was scared of the law, but he would have kept a tight mouth, relying on ‘Mr. Brown’ to pay for his defence and provide him with an alibi. And Brown would have done so, of course, for his own sake.

  The Toff was smiling.

  He had the Frazer-Nash near Aldgate Pump, and very soon he hoped to be interviewing Ritzy at Highgate. Ritzy would have a bigger shock than Benson, but it was possible that he would also have a greater power of resistance. The Toff did not mind that. There were many degrees in his methods of persuasion, and he had by no means reached the limit of them.

  After reaching the Frazer-Nash he found a telephone kiosk and spoke to a lesser official at Scotland Yard, leaving a message for McNab. That would serve two purposes and please the Scotsman.

  He located Abbott Road without trouble.

  He made no attempt to hide himself, but rang the bell with complete assurance, after parking his car a hundred yards along the street. His summons was answered promptly, for some twenty seconds later, after the ringing had echoed through the house, he found himself looking into the absurdly handsome face of the man called Ritzy.

  Ritzy was smiling; he was always smiling, and just then his voice was more pleasant than ever, for he did not recognise the Toff.

  “Good evening, sir. What can I do for you?”

  The Toff hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then he smiled genially enough to compete with Ritzy. He first put his foot against the door, and then said: “I’ve come for the salt, Mr. Martin.”

  He had never seen such a transformation in his life.

  One moment Ritzy’s face was set in that wide smile; the next it was twisted in an expression of positive alarm. His face turned pale as he stared at the Toff.

  “Tongue-tied?” murmured Rollison. “A little chat will help you and I, Ritzy. Step back.”

  Ritzy obeyed, still dumbstruck, persuaded by the gun in the Toff’s hand, as the door closed gently behind him.

  “You seem off colour,” he said gently. “Lead me to the parlour, son, where we can talk.”

  Not until then did Ritzy speak. He made a big effort, and even found a vestige of his smile.

  “I—I don’t quite know …”

  “So few do,” said the Toff, who did not propose to allow his initial advantage to slip away. “I can give you your victim’s name, Ritzy, I can tell you where you met her, where you took her, and how you killed her. The game’s up, you see. But” – the Toff dropped his voice, and spoke almost as if he was afraid that someone would be listening – “I’m not a policeman. Does that suggest anything to you?”

  Obviously, it did.

  Ritzy’s colour did not return, but he forced a sickly grin and turned towards a room leading from the left of the passage and pushed the door open. The Toff made no comment as the man took a decanter from the sideboard and poured himself out a stiff whisky. He did not even reproach him for forgetting his visitor.

  “I—I don’t kno
w what to say,” said Ritzy, and the Toff told himself that this fellow was not going to be much of a handful, that he would be as easy as Benson.

  “You can say just enough to answer my questions,” said the Toff. “Benson’s squealed. Did you know that?”

  “Benson! The ruddy …”

  “No hard names,” implored the Toff. “He’s squealed, and you’re going to do the same. Don’t forget, Martin, what a word from me to the police could do.”

  He did not need to finish. Ritzy’s capitulation proved to be as complete as Benson’s, and the Toff gave an inward sigh of relief.

  “Go—go on,” muttered Ritzy.

  “First,” said the Toff, “Irma Cardew and Leo Kohn are backing this thing. Renway’s in it, as the mug. But just what’s the game, Ritzy?”

  “I—I don’t know …”

  “The same old parrot cry,” murmured the Toff. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, but …”

  “I don’t know.” Ritzy almost squealed. “I worked for Renway, and I’ve given Kohn information, but I don’t know why!”

  The Toff’s eyes were hard.

  “You worked for Kohn as a spy, did you? And what information have you given him?”

  He made a mental note as he spoke of the fact that Ritzy knew Kohn’s real name – or what passed at the Marble Arch flats for his real name – and saw yet another link in the chain of evidence.

  “Figures and—and cheques,” Martin muttered.

  Ritzy’s face was working, as though he realised that if Kohn discovered he had talked his life was worth nothing, but the Toff continued to pound him with relentless questions.

  “Cheques. Renway’s account books. Recent ones?”

  “Ye-es. I …”

  “You what?”

  “I—I worked for Renway until a couple of months ago, clearing up his accounts. He was retiring …”

  “I know,” said the Toff. “Now answer promptly.”

  It was so easy that it seemed too easy. Martin did not show any kind of serious fight, and it was hard to believe that he was one of Kohn’s henchmen.

  A few questions elicited the fact that Martin had been double-crossing his employer for several months, and that Kohn’s interest in Renway had started in the July of that year. In that time Ritzy had slipped seven new cheques from Renway’s current books, and later they had been forged and passed through safely. The total amount to date was about seven thousand pounds, with no individual cheque big enough to raise the bank’s queries in an account of Renway’s importance.

  Interesting, though not vital, but it offered a theory.

  Kohn was swindling the millionaire, without taking too much at a time, and meanwhile Irma was twisting the man round her little finger. The time would come when Kohn would make a really big haul, and Irma would persuade Renway to keep quiet.

  But there was also the new business venture, which puzzled the Toff.

  If Kohn was reckoning to cash in in a big way on the new venture, he was being a fool to take small amounts and risk the millionaire’s reaction if it was discovered. The motives remained very vague, and the Toff had much to learn yet. But he was convinced that he had learned all he could from Ritzy.

  He was deliberating on what to do with the man when he heard a car draw up outside.

  The Toff, although he did not know it then, had made yet another error of judgment. And Ritzy, who knew this, had made a smaller one. He had shown the Toff into a room at the front of the house, where it was possible to hear the arrival of the car. On such small things depended the fortunes of the day.

  For a split second the Toff saw the expression in Ritzy’s eyes and he knew he had been tricked, or very close to it, knew why the man had raised so little protest. He did not let Ritzy see what he suspected, as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Visitors?”

  “I didn’t expect them,” said Ritzy quickly.

  “Now they’re here,” said the Toff, “you’d better let them in.”

  “Sure, I …” Ritzy jumped up.

  “No, not so fast! I’m coming with you.”

  The man’s face paled as the Toff put his hand to his pocket, where a gun bulged.

  “I’m coming as far as this door,” he said, “and I’ll have you under my eye all the time. You get the idea? A false move from Ritzy and he earns a beautiful coffin. Get going.”

  Ritzy obeyed, but although the Toff knew he was on edge he was not sure that the man was really as scared as he made out.

  The front door opened, and the Toff had a surprise.

  Irma – and Kohn!

  Irma was snuggled in furs which made her look even lovelier than ever, while Kohn was wearing a heavy coat with an astrakhan collar of immense proportions.

  They could not see him, and the door closed on them.

  Ritzy was one problem, Irma and Kohn together were quite another. It was a bad moment. The Toff was glad to remember that he had telephoned the Yard.

  The thought was hardly in his mind, Irma and Kohn had not reached the door, nor seen him, when the cry came from upstairs. A woman’s voice, high-pitched.

  “Jim! Jim!”

  The Toff went very still.

  Kohn swore, Ritzy’s face paled, although the Toff did not see it, and Irma’s lips twisted.

  “Keep that girl quiet, Martin!”

  And then Irma saw the Toff, who had stepped out from his cover and whose automatic was now showing. He was smiling, and yet he looked a long way from being amused. For he had attacked, and thus precipitated a crisis, perhaps the crisis.

  In the very house where Phyllis Bailey was a prisoner.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fifty-Fifty

  It was as bad a moment in its way for the Toff as it was for Irma and Kohn. He had come to see Ritzy, to forge the chain of evidence against Kohn, to build a case on which the police could act swiftly and without any doubt of a successful issue. He had enough to connect Kohn with Sidey’s murder, for he believed he could force both Martin and Benson to testify once Kohn was under lock and key.

  Kohn’s arrival, with Irma’s, had presented fresh difficulties, but none which were insuperable, however, so long as he had only himself to worry about.

  It was very different now that he knew Wrightson’s girl was upstairs, and in all probability Wrightson with her.

  But he had the initial advantage, for both Irma and Kohn were startled by the sight of him, by the gun which he held so nonchalantly in his hand, and the smile which covered his true feelings.

  The Toff broke the silence.

  “Hallo,” he said. “You’ve come just at the right moment, Leo, keep your hand away from your pocket. Irma, you can talk nicely now and tell me everything little Ritzy has forgotten. But first—why desert dear Paul today?”

  Irma smiled.

  The Toff gave her credit for having a nerve as cool as his own, although he saw the glitter in her eyes.

  “How you do talk,” she said. “Put that gun away, Rollison, and be sensible.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the Toff. “Congenital inability prevents me. Ritzy, don’t slink behind Leo—this really is a gun.”

  He was talking quickly, and he seemed absolutely in control of the situation, but all the time he was wondering how he was going to squeeze out of it and yet learn all there was to learn.

  And how to get upstairs, free the girl, and get away. The big trouble was that there might be others in the house besides the three in front of him.

  And then Ritzy gave him an opportunity he had not expected.

  Ritzy’s face was very pale, and Kohn’s expression as he looked at the man was malevolent beyond words.

  “So you’ve been talking.”

  “I haven’t!” cried Ritzy. “I lied
to him!”

  On the ‘him’ he jumped forward. Perhaps because he wanted to prove to Kohn that he was no squealer; perhaps because his nerves let him down. In any case, he jumped, but before he had covered three feet the Toff’s gun spoke. Ritzy uttered a cry as a bullet bit through his calf, and he dropped to the ground.

  “Any more for the buggy ride?” asked the Toff.

  Kohn raised his right foot and kicked Ritzy savagely on the side of the head. The crack echoed along the passage, and Ritzy uttered a single cry, and then went very still.

  The expression in the Toff’s eyes was hard.

  “What a nice man you are, Leo. Get upstairs, both of you.”

  Neither moved.

  The Toff forced an issue the best way he knew.

  He fired again, and the bullet nicked Kohn’s left leg. Kohn flinched, and his eyes blazed, but he stepped towards the stairs. Irma followed him, walking backwards so that her eyes were matching the Toff’s all the time.

  “Up,” murmured the Toff, “or, if you prefer it, excelsior. So you invented the elopement as well as the new company, did you? Almost clever.”

  “Rollison …”

  “Let him talk,” Kohn snapped. “He won’t be able to for long.”

  “I’ve finished taking orders,” snapped Irma, and the hostility between her and Kohn seemed about to flare up. “I’ve a proposition, Rollison.”

  “Propose as you climb, my pet.”

  “You’re smart, but when you’ve got the girl and Wrightson you’ll have them to look after as well as yourself. You’ll have a handful, and you won’t be able to get away.”

  “So the state of their health is as bad as that, is it?”

  “They’re temporarily out of action, and there are more of our men upstairs. But I’ll give you a fifty-fifty chance.”

  They had reached the top of the stairs now and were standing on a small landing from which led two passages. The only light was from a dim yellow lamp, and there was no sound. One man might be there, or half a dozen – or none at all. The Toff was in no two minds about the possible danger, and he did not like the look of the situation which might develop. Kohn’s manner was not that of a man afraid for his life.