John Creasey - The Toff and The Lady

“What is it now?” asked Rollison. “And why aren’t you in bed?”

“It was only a scratch,” she said. “My neck is stiff, that’s all. I don’t want to see you—I don’t want to see anyone.” Her voice was shrill with emotion.

“Have you been out this morning?” Rollison asked.

“No, I’ve been here all day.”

“Can you prove that?”

He stirred her to interest. She frowned, and then stretched out for a cigarette in a box by her side. Her fingers were stained brown with nicotine.

“If necessary, yes.”

“Has your mother been out?”

“No, she” She stood up quickly, wincing when she moved her head carelessly. “She had a heart attack this morning. I thought she was going to die. I think Andrew saved her life.” She looked a picture of despair as she stood there with the unlighted cigarette dangling from her lips, and her complexion rather muddy—never had Rollison seen Gwen Barrington-Ley looking so unattractive.

He said, quietly: “What brought the attack on?”

“I don’t know,” said Gwendoline, and then she flared up. “Why do you stand there asking questions? We asked you to help us, and all you did was to tell the police and let yourself be fooled by that damned woman! I thought you were a friend! ”

“You make it very difficult for your friends to help you,” said Rollison, gently. “That doesn’t mean that they don’t want to. Gwen, were you speaking the truth when you told me that you had seen the woman at your father’s office?”

“Yes!”

“Did you see them together?”

“No,” she said, “she was waiting for him.”

“So other members of the staff must have seen her.”

“I thought you were a detective,” she said, sneering; that was not like Gwen. “It was his private office—there is an entrance from the street, leading to a small waiting-room, and anyone with a key can get in— anyone with a key. She had that key, do you understand? She had a key which I have never been allowed to use, even mother had never had one. That whore”

“Steady, Gwen.”

She flared up. “Steady, steady, steady! I tell you she’s a high-class tart, there isn’t anything to be said in her favour; I wouldn’t be surprised if she is behind all this!”

“All what?” asked Rollison.

“This dreadful violence! David’s disappearance. The attack

on me, and the at” She broke off, putting a hand to her

lips, and then added in a quieter voice— “and everything.”

“And the attack on your mother,” murmured Rollison.

She tried to stare him out, and failed. She tried to speak, but the words would not come. She was afraid.

“So Hilda was attacked,” he said. “Were you sending for Renfrew just now?”

She did not speak.

“You’ll have to speak sooner or later,” said Rollison, “you can’t keep it secret for ever. Gwen, what has made you behave like this? What has made a man like Renfrew stake his reputation on concealing from the police an attempt on your mother’s life? That is what happened, isn’t it?”

She said: “Damn you, yes!”

Rollison turned away and looked out of the window, where the grass was fresh and bright and a rose walk was ablaze with colour. It was a pleasant, peaceful scene, and the hum of traffic from Park Lane seemed remote from this seclusion!

“Gwen,” said Rollison, “if this comes out, and it probably will, Renfrew will almost certainly have his name removed from the register. He may never be able to practise again. I’m told that he’s a brilliant doctor, and I’m also told that he’s in love with you.”

You shouldn’t believe all you hear,” Gwendoline said in a muffled voice. “Talking won’t help, you can’t help, you lost your chance. Please go away.”

“There is too much at stake,” said Rollison.

“All you can think about is that woman!”

“And you and your mother, David, and several other people dragged into the affair, into danger and perhaps to disaster, through no fault of their own,” said Rollison. “Renfrew is one of them.” He hammered at that.

“Don’t keep harping on Andrew!” Gwen cried.

Rollison said: “There has been an attempt on your life, now on your mother’s, your father is missing and may be dead, the matron of the Lawley Nursing Home has been murdered”

Gwendoline screamed: “No! No!”

“In cold blood, not very long ago,” said Rollison.

Gwen stood up slowly, as if her limbs were operated mechanically. She took out a lighter and lit her cigarette, staring at him all the time. The room was very quiet.

“Who was the matron?” Rollison asked, gently.

“Is there—is there no hope for her?” Gwendoline asked.

“None,” said Rollison.

Gwendoline stepped to the window and looked out. Her eyes were half-closed, and looked too hot for tears. The cigarette drooped from her lips and smoke curved upwards, making her close one eye completely.

She said: “That matron is—was—a lifelong friend of mother’s. Mother financed the nursing home. David knew about it.” Her voice was low-pitched and monotonous. “Then someone found out. Pomeroy. I don’t know what influence he has over father, but he persuaded father to let the nursing home be used for—for people who were not ill. People who were supposed to be “resting”. I don’t know a great deal about it, except that father was uneasy. Violet—the matron—frequently protested, but there was nothing we could do; father insisted. Once or twice we knew that men or women wanted by the police were there under assumed names. It seemed madness, but—father impressed it upon us that we must not tell the police or make difficulties. So we let it go on.”

She paused, but Rollison did not interrupt.

“It has been happening for over a year now,” said Gwendoline, drearily. “It has been a constant source of anxiety, but the real worry has been David. Why did he let this man tell him what to do? If it were known that a man in his position was doing such things, it would ruin him. We were constantly afraid, and although he pretended that there was nothing to worry about, we knew that he was desperately worried. We tried to find out why, but couldn’t. It started from the time that Pomeroy came to see him. Many queer things happened from that time onwards. He transferred some of his business to Pomeroy, Ward & Pomeroy. He used them as the accountants and solicitors for the various charities which mother—mother tries to help. It didn’t seem to matter what Pomeroy wanted, he let them have their own way. I think they know where he is now.”

Into a pause, Rollison said:

“Pomeroy made you keep away from me, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you obey him?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We were afraid for father—we did not know what harm Pomeroy could do. And now Vi is dead, there will be an inquiry, everything will come out.”

“Are you sure that you don’t know what?” demanded Rollison.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m not lying now. There is no point in lying. The police will find out what happened at the nursing home, they will learn that mother financed it, they will ask questions—questions—questions! I’ve hated the sight of a policeman since this happened, I’ve hated the sight and mention of them!”

“The police will do nothing that isn’t necessary and won’t rake up muck for the sake of it. If a thing is done under coercion, the police don’t take such a serious view. That is, for crimes short of murder. Have there been any mysterious deaths at the nursing home?”

“No,” Gwen said, and then added almost inaudibly: You know what violence there has been.”

“You mean the attempt to kill the mystery lady?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know about it beforehand?” he asked, gently.

“I haven’t sunk as low as that,” she said. “No, but I knew afterwards that Pomeroy was aware of it. I heard Pomeroy talking to someone on the telephone. He had arranged that a new nurse, Armitage, should be engaged—that was done through father’s influence. I didn’t hear all the conversation, but I gathered that she was to be blamed for it. He had some particular reason for that, I don’t know what it was.” She turned and looked at him steadily. “If she had been arrested I would have told you, if not the police. Mother and I were quite determined, but when she was not affected, we did nothing. It seemed as if the police discovered the man who did it—did they?”

“Yes,” said Rollison. “His name was Shayle, Marcus Shayle.” When Gwen showed no interest, he went on: “A man of about twenty-seven or eight, pleasant-looking, with a round face and fair, curly hair. Does that sound familiar?”

“No,” said Gwen.

“You’ve never seen such a man with Pomeroy?”

“No.”

“All you know about that, then, is that Pomeroy wanted the woman dead, and also arranged, or tried to arrange, that someone else should be found guilty of her murder,” said Rollison. “You didn’t get any indication of the reason why he wanted that done?”

“No.”

“Gwen,” said Rollison, after a pause, “you have shown that you hate this woman, and you knew that someone wanted to murder her. If this story comes out, and it may well do so, it might be thought that you condoned it. You haven’t yet told me why you hate her so much. You must.”

“And then you will go and tell the police.”

“I shall tell them nothing unless I know it will save life,” said

Rollison.

She looked at him very steadily, before she said.

“Pomeroy always talked of her as the Countess. I hate Pomeroy more than I thought it possible to hate anyone! I heard him planning to have the Countess arrive here, pretend to be suffering from loss of memory, and be taken into the Nursing Home.”

“And then you heard him rejoice in the attempt to murder her.”

She said: “ Are you a fool? It wasn’t really an attempt, I thought it was at first, but it wasn’t. She was made ill. but that was only so that she should win our sympathy. Don’t you understand? The whole elaborate plot was staged so that she could worm her way into our confidence and into father’s. She had already seen him in secret. I don’t know what they are planning. I do know that she was taking some important part in it. The very fact that there was an attempt to murder her is proof enough that she was to win our sympathy, and”

“Steady,” said Rollison. “You’re going too fast and getting illogical.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” demanded Gwen.

“It’s far too complicated. I think they wanted to kill her, and I think they were somehow prevented from doing so. And that is not only because I like the lady,” he added lightly, and he gave her the impression that he was much happier, “but I think I’m beginning to see the light. Tell me, did your mother ever see the so-called countess?”

“Once,” said Gwen. “We were out together, and I pointed her out.”

“Was she alone?”

“No, she was with Pomeroy.”

“Did he see you?”

“I think so. We ignored him. We have never acknowledged him when it was avoidable.” She stubbed out the cigarette and lit another.

Rollison said: “You and your mother saw her at the office or in the street, and apparently because you had seen her, probably because you pointed her out when she was with

Pomeroy, Pomeroy and his friends want you dead. You are still in some danger, Gwen.”

“It—it doesn’t make sense!”