by John Creasey
“There’s no need to worry and no need to say a word,” Miss Ellerby said; that was an order.
Rollison heard the ringing sound.
“And your mother and father have been very anxious about you; but they will soon know there is nothing to worry about,” Miss Ellerby was saying. “You have to put it behind you, as if it were a bad dream. A bad dream,” she repeated, as if to herself, and she nodded her big head.
“This is the hestablishment of the honour’ble Richard Rolleeson,” announced Percy Wrightson, in a tone which would have made Jolly break into a grin.
“Percy,” Rollison said, “is Mr Kane there?” He pressed the receiver close against his ear to make sure that none of Percy’s answers could seep out into the room. Percy said, with simple straightforwardness, that he, Mr Ar, had put the knockout drops in his, Mr Kane’s, glass so how the flipping hell did he expect Kane to be awake?
Rollison smiled into the telephone, and said: “Hallo, Kane! I’ve some good news for you.”
“Look, I just told you—” Percy began.
“Your daughter is quite safe, and back at her school,” Rollison said. “Yes, you can certainly come down to see her. I’m sure that Miss Ellerby won’t mind.”
“Aggie, his nibs ‘as gom crackers,” Percy said in a hoarse aside.
“That is, provided you come down straight away,” Rollison went on. “If you leave it until the morning it might be too late.” He saw Miss Ellerby raise her head sharply, and went on hurriedly: “Miss Ellerby thinks it would be unwise to talk to the child about it in the morning, that it would be better if Caroline were to think that it’s simply been a bad dream.”
“Absolutely stark raving mad,” Percy breathed.
“Keep it to yourself for the time being,” Rollison said. “If you don’t there’s bound to be a lot of unwanted publicity, and Bill Grice couldn’t stop it if it really got under way.”
“Now ‘e’s talking abaht some cove named Grice”, Percy groaned, as if he could not listen to this for another moment. “Mr Ar, would you kindly . . . What’s that?” Aggie’s voice sounded in the background, and there was another gentle sound, as if one or the other was breathing heavily. Then Wrightson came back on the line, his voice pitched high with excitement.
“You there, Mr Ar? The only Grice I know is the copper.”
“Yes, that’s right, Mr Kane. I should certainly come straight away,” Rollison said desperately. “Never mind Bill—”
“Do you really mean I’ve got to tell Superintendent Grice to send the police to the school? Is that what you’re driving at?” demanded Wrightson, shrilly.
Thank God for his sharp mind!
“Yes, just as fast as you can,” Rollison told him. “I’ll be waiting, don’t worry.” He put down the receiver and wiped his forehead. A young woman came hurrying in, obviously the matron; she turned to Caroline with her arms outstretched in a most unprofessional way, and then stood back, took her wrist, and looked into her eyes.
“I don’t think she needs the doctor,” she announced. “Higgs can carry her straight to the sick bay; she’ll be perfectly all right.”
That was the moment when Rollison saw the shadow on the wall; the shadow of a man who looked squat and broad-shouldered. He did not come any nearer, but obviously he was in the passage; as obviously it was Max or his brother.
Then Higgs came hurrying in, ready to carry the child away.
22
MAX GLOATS
Higgs glanced up at Rollison from beneath shaggy grey eyebrows, as Rollison eased the girl up for him to lift her more easily. The shadow remained at the doorway. Rollison stood back, looking at Caroline, seeing how sleepy and dazed she still was, wishing that he could keep her here, yet knowing that the next few minutes might be deadly, and that she must not realise that.
As Higgs took her towards the door, she said to Rollison: “Thank you very much for telephoning my father.”
“I’m glad I could,” Rollison said. “Don’t worry about anything now.”
“I won’t,” Caroline promised.
“Now stop this talking, Caroline, it’s past time you went to bed,” Miss Ellerby said, and bustled the child and Higgs out. The matron had already gone, and for a few seconds Rollison was alone in the room. He sat on the arm of a large armchair, watching the unmoving shadow in the doorway, and wondering how long it would be before Max revealed himself. Once the footsteps had died down, there was no sound at all. The scraping of a match as Rollison lit a cigarette seemed very loud.
His heart was thumping with the shock of his discoveries and the belief that he knew the whole explanation now; and the fear that Max, realising that, would make sure that he did not live to tell others.
He heard a car turn into the drive. The shadow moved. He wondered how long the police would be. First, Percy had to telephone the Yard, then the Yard had to contact the local police, and there was no certainty that the unimaginative Dawson would move really quickly; but he might. Rollison felt as if he were suffocating as he heard the car pull up close to the front door; the clearness of the sounds told him that the door was open.
Max’s shadow moved.
A car door slammed and there were footsteps on the gravel; then a man called out: “Is it okay, Max?”
“Yes, it’s okay,” Max called. “It couldn’t be better.”
The newcomer came briskly along the passage and, at the same time, the shadow of the other man moved. Then the Leoni brothers appeared in the doorway at the same moment, almost as if they were putting on a cabaret act. They looked a little theatrical, too, with the matching coats and wide shoulders, narrow trousers, with knife edge creases, the general immaculateness. Together, there was a likeness, but they could not be mistaken for each other; a mistake could only arise if one followed their descriptions, because words would make them sound almost identical. In fact, Felix was a little larger, and when he took off his stiff-brimmed trilby hat, grey hairs showed at his temples.
Rollison was on his feet, his right hand at his pocket, his expression suggesting that he was appalled as well as astounded to see them. Max had never had a brighter, broader grin, and he held an automatic.
“I shouldn’t try to get your gun,” he advised. “It was borrowed not long ago. You aren’t very good, Toff, are you?” He glanced at Felix. “He even does our job for us, Felix. Thank you for telephoning Ralph Kane. We’ll be very glad to see him.”
Rollison said, hoarsely: “How did you get here? What are you doing—”
“Isn’t he good?” jeered Max. “Would you believe a man could win the kind of reputation he has with that kind of a mind?”
“He hasn’t had the right people to sharpen his wits on,” Felix said. “Shall we tell him everything?” asked Max, and then added as an afterthought: “Do you think he would die any happier if we did?”
“I wouldn’t waste time,” Felix said, and his tone and his expression told Rollison that he meant it; they had come to kill. They wanted to kill because of what he could tell the police; it was the only way they could make reasonably sure that they would be safe. Talk of the letter to the bank hadn’t been enough to hold them back. He was quite certain that they did not intend to let him get away from here – as certain that they had no idea of the fact that he had sent that message to the Yard.
He needed ten minutes; or even fifteen. If he could stall them long enough, he might yet save himself; and Max’s manner and sneers gave him the cue he wanted. He moistened his lips, backed away a pace, and he saw a glint in Max’s eyes; but there was none in Felix’s. Felix was the more coldblooded of the two.
“You—you don’t need to kill me,” he said, hoarsely. “You—you’ve got the diamonds. I left them there.”
“That’s right,” Max said. “We collected them.”
“Then I kept my part
of the bargain!”
“That’s right,” said Max again, and looked marvellingly at his brother. “You hear that, Felix? He kept his share of the bargain.” Again he mimicked, this time Rollison’s voice, and it was surprisingly good. “The poor Toff thinks that because he plays to rule, everyone else does. You would think he was twenty-one, not forty-one or whatever he is.”
“What are you saying?” Rollison demanded, and put a trembling hand to his lips, as if anxious to hide the fact that his lips were trembling, too. “There’s no need to kill me, there was no need to come here. You-you’ve got forty thousand pounds and I-I’ve got the girl!”
Max laughed, explosively: and, for the first time, Felix smiled.
“So you’ve got the girl,” Max mimicked again. “How wrong can a man be? Jessie!” He raised his voice and glanced at the door as he called out. “Jessie! Come and give Mr Rollison one of the shocks of his life.”
There were footsteps; and then Miss Ellerby came in, looking as forthright and as massive as ever. She had a squarish mouth, and she was smiling rather tautly.
“Meet one of us,” Max said.
“Good God!” gasped Rollison; but from the moment he had realised that the Leonis had let him find Caroline because they were so sure they could get her back, he had known the truth about this woman.
“No one will ever be able to say that you went out in a blaze of glory,” Max sneered in his jubilation. “Our Jessie has been invaluable for years, haven’t you, Jessie? Whenever we’ve wanted to hide one of our guests we’ve sent them along here to the sick room – and the resident doctor has turned a blind eye. It’s surprising how quickly a woman will turn a blind eye if she makes enough out of it. You would be surprised how useful it has been to have such an innocuous cover for our nefarious activities,” Max went on.
Rollison drew his hand across his forehead.
“I—I can’t believe it.”
“Hear that, Elly? You fooled him completely,” Max said gloatingly, “and you’ll go on fooling people for a long time. But not Rollison.” He held the gun casually, but now Rollison was asking himself whether the man would kill him by shooting; it could be messy, and there would be the problem of disposing of the body. Then he realised that these men believed that they had all night to work in; they would probably take the body away and dump it – possibly at the cottage.
The obvious place was the cottage.
“Get it over,” Felix said, as if he were bored. But Max wasn’t bored; he was gloating over Rollison, and thoroughly enjoying seeing him so frightened; watching as he backed away, not realising that Rollison was edging himself into a position from which he could leap behind the couch, and so give himself some cover if shooting should start the moment the police cars arrived.
Surely the police wouldn’t be long?
Outside, there was only the silence of the night.
“I wonder if he knows where Ralph Kane comes in,” said Max, raising both of his eyebrows. “Do you think that would interest him, Felix?”
The older brother said: “You’ve had your fun, Maxie. We haven’t all that time to spare. We want to get him back to the cottage, and we want to get the kid away from here again, before Kane arrives. We still need to keep a tight hold on Kane. Don’t forget that.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Max said, “but I like to see the Toff squirm. Where would you like it, Toff? Forehead? Heart? Belly?”
Rollison said chokily: “For God’s sake don’t shoot me! I—I’ve done everything I could. I’ve carried out my share of the bargain, I tell you. I—I’ll back right out of the case, I won’t look for the girl again. I’ve—I’ve done everything anyone could expect of me.” He licked his lips, and his hands were raised a little in front of his face; for, if Max fired at his head, he might be able to take the bullet with his hand and deflect it. He spluttered as he pleaded, and the broadness of Max’s grin, the taut smile on Felix’s face, and the glint as of enjoyment on Miss Ellerby’s told him how convincing this act was. “I’ll forget everything I ever knew about you, I swear I will!”
“Just go down on your knees,” Max ordered, “and plead with me that way.”
“No! I—”
“Down on your knees, I said.”
Then Rollison heard the engine of a car. It seemed a long way off. He listened for a split second, and thought that there was the sound of another car, and that both engines were moving fast. He went down on one knee. He saw Miss Ellerby turn away, as if in disgust; she muttered something that sounded like: “. . . wouldn’t have thought he was spineless.”
Rollison was on his right knee – and the settee was on his right. There was a gap of three feet or more between it and the wall. If he could get in there with one diving movement, he could gain those few seconds that might be vital. Yet he dared not glance towards the settee, to measure the distance.
The cars were drawing nearer, and there was no doubt now that the drivers were in a hurry. Would these men realise why? Max was too delighted with his cat and mouse game, and even Felix seemed fascinated by the sight of Rollison on his knee, looking as if he were going to go down on both knees and place his hands together and plead – pray – for life. Rollison heard a car change gear, and knew that it was at the bend of the road.
Felix glanced at the window.
“Did you hear—”
Rollison dived towards the back of the settee, in a sideways movement. It seemed age-long as he scrambled between it and the wall, twisted round on his back, and then stretched up and pulled at the top of the settee; if he could bring it down on him, it would give him the seconds he needed. He heard the menacing report of a shot; he heard a twanging sound, as a bullet struck one of the springs. He saw Max appear over the top of the settee, gun in his hand, eyes burning as if gloating had turned in a moment to hatred. Max’s weight was making it impossible to pull the settee down. Rollison buried his head in his hands and screwed himself up, heard the report of another bullet, felt a thud of pain in his right shoulder, and clenched his teeth as he waited for a third shot. It did not come.
Men were running towards the house from the drive.
He heard a third shot, a long way off, but knew there was no more danger for himself. He straightened out, and began to edge towards the end of the settee. His shoulder was already throbbing with pain, but he knew that it would not be long before he saw a doctor. He heard struggling, shouting, fighting. He got clear, gripped the arm of the settee with his free hand, and pulled himself to a standing position. He was wet with sweat, yet his mouth was parched.
Miss Ellerby was standing in a corner, terrified. Two plainclothes men were entering the room, and Max was reefing against the passage wall. There was no sign of Felix.
Then Superintendent Dawson came stalking in.
“Get to the sick bay,” Rollison cried. “Make sure that no one hurts Caroline.”
It was a needless fear.
The police found Caroline already sleeping in the sick room, the ‘sanctuary’ for so many helpless victims. Felix was caught in the grounds. The Higgses and the resident doctor were held within twenty minutes of the police arriving. Dawson, giving a little preliminary cough, asked earnestly: “Is there any other information you can give us, Mr Rollison, on which to prepare charges? The only information I have is that you asked Scotland Yard for urgent assistance. These people assaulted some of my men, of course. I can hold them all, but if there are other charges . . .”
Rollison heard him out, and then said through the giddiness of pain: “Dozens. Kidnapping, for instance. Holding a child to ransom. Demanding money with menaces. Attempted murder.” He put a hand to his forehead, and for the first time Dawson saw that there was blood on it, and, also for the first time, Dawson actually sprang into action.
“You’re hurt,” he exclaimed. “You need a doctor. Sergeant! Telep
hone at once for Dr Millard. Mr Rollison, there is no need for you to exert yourself further, no need at all. I can take your statement later.”
23
PARTING
It was half-past three the following afternoon when Rollison stepped out of the Rolls-Bentley, which had been driven by one of the Hapley police force, and went to his own front door. He was feeling rested and fairly fresh, although his right shoulder felt twice its usual size, and he had been told that it would be several weeks before he could use it properly; the shoulder blade had been chipped. He reached his own flat and Percy Wrightson gave him a beaming welcome, stood back, jerked his head towards the big room, and said in a gargantuan whisper: “They’re in there.”
“Thanks, Percy,” Rollison said.
Percy thrust open the big door, and Rollison went in. Kane was standing by the window, looking at him. Eve was moving towards the door from a chair near the Trophy Wall, hands outstretched. She gripped his left hand, and he saw the tears in her eyes; he also saw that she had a better colour, and that the drugged sleep had really helped herThat – and the news.
“How is Caroline?” Rollison asked, and Eve said quietly: “She’s with my mother, Rolly. You were having that bullet taken out when I reached the school and they wouldn’t let me see you.”
“They were quite right,” said Rollison, and glanced at Kane. Kane looked more rested, too, and more in control of himself – nothing like the man who would have shot and killed him. “Hallo, Kane.”
Kane said: “I’ll never be able to thank you, Rollison.”
“Oh, forget it!”
“We won’t forget it,” Eve said, with a catch in her voice.
“Well, at least make sure that Caroline does,” Rollison said. There was a pause, and then the rattle of crockery outside, and the door opened to admit Aggie Wrightson, carrying the best silver tray with the best silver teapot, the best china; everything which Jolly reserved for the really special occasions. And there were wafer-thin sandwiches, and a fruit cake; Mrs Wrightson meant to make sure that everything was done as it should be.
