John Creasey - The Toff In Town

“That’s impossible!” exclaimed Grice.

“The poor, poor Aliens,” sighed Rollison.

“Pauline suggested he should broadcast, therefore Merino wants him to broadcast, he was promised relief by Saturday —and now he won’t get it. He’ll live for weeks and maybe months on the edge of a volcano, wondering when it’s going to erupt again, he’ll lead his wife a dog’s life—and all because Merino chose a noisy way of trying to do me in. Sad, isn’t it!”

“You needn’t expect me to take any notice of that kind of blather,” said Grice. “Even if I would—and I certainly wouldn’t —forget what you’ve told me, there’s the report about the explosion. It’ll have to be investigated. The story of Merino’s visit here—is that Merino?” he added, looking at the photograph which Rollison had indicated casually.

“Yes.”

“Well, the story will have to be told and he’ll be interviewed.”

“Oh no, he won’t,” said Rollison.

“Of course he will!”

“Mr. Merino will have left his flat and will be at some place unknown by now,” said Rollison. “He took his chance and lost it. I can’t really understand the fellow. I could understand him coming and threatening, but it was crazy to do this—or allow it to be done—knowing that even if I were hurt, Jolly wouldn’t be and the story would be told. But I’m pretty certain this will scare him out of town. You might get hold of his girl friend, but she wasn’t here, there’s nothing you can pin on to her. If you tackle the Aliens, all you’ll get is a re-hash of what I’ve told you. Allen’s scared of the police, but that’s not an indictable offence. You’ll spend a lot of time and public money chasing round in circles, whereas if things were allowed to go on as they are, we might get results by Saturday night.”

Grice made no comment.

“Bill,” said Rollison thoughtfully.

“Yes?”

“If I were to pull a few strings and get the Assistant Com-missioner’s hearing, will you support do-nothing tactics—on the strict understanding that I take no serious action without telling you? You’ll have to watch events, of course, you could put a man to watch the Aliens and another to keep an eye on Blane and a third to watch Pauline. But once you come out into the open, we’ve had it. The Aliens——”

“It’s not like you to talk about pulling strings,” said Grice.

“This isn’t an ordinary case. Two youngsters in hell,” Rollison said. “If you doubt it——”

The front door bell rang.

“See who it is, Jolly, will you?” asked Rollison.

Jolly went out, and Grice and Rollison sat in silence, looking towards the door. Rollison heard Jolly walk across the hall, but he was not thinking about the caller. He wondered if there were the slightest chance that Grice would see the thing his way. It wasn’t really feasible. He was giving way to wishful thinking, and——

He sat up abruptly, for a girl’s voice sounded outside.

“ Is Mr. Rollison in?”

It was Barbara Allen!

He had heard her voice often enough to recognise it, but had only once heard anything like the same note of despair— when she had uttered a single “Oh”, over the telephone.

Jolly said: “Yes, madam, he’s in.”

Rollison jumped to his feet

“Bill, sit tight for a few minutes.” He reached the door and called to Jolly, who was taking the girl to the dining-room.

She was very pale and her eyes were lack-lustre. She wore a wide-brimmed hat which covered most of her hair. Her clothes were crumpled and her shoes dusty, as if she had walked a long way. The tone of her voice reflected her expression—one of dreary helplessness. She looked at Rollison blankly. He took her arm and led her into the study.

“I’ve a friend with me,” he said. “He knows all about it. Mr. Grice—Mrs. Allen.”

Barbara nodded, but hardly glanced at Grice. She went to Rollison’s chair and sat down. With a weary gesture she took off her hat. There was a red ridge where it had pressed against her forehead. Some of the long hair fell out of place, and revealed the short tuft. She leaned back and closed her eyes wearily.

Grice had risen to his feet, and stood looking at her.

“What’s the trouble, Mrs. Allen?” asked Rollison quietly. “You needn’t be afraid to speak freely.”

“Needn’t be— afraid, ” she said. Her lips twisted, and she gave a bitter little laugh. “I’m so frightened that I don’t—I don’t know how to go on.” Then her voice quickened, she opened her eyes and looked into Rollison’s. “Can’t you do anything ? Isn’t there anything anyone can do? Must we go on like this?”

“Well get over it,” Rollison temporised.

“Yes, but where? ” A momentary fire died from her eyes. “Oh, I know you’re doing everything you can, but somehow I can’t seem to fight any more. It’s been such a long time, he’s worse than ever—you’ve seen him, haven’t you?” She hardly knew what she was saying, but Rollison was glad that Grice could see and hear her. “I’d rather anything happen than go on like this. I’d rather be dead.”

It wasn’t hysteria or anything approaching it; she was just despairing.

“You must tell me what has happened,” said Rollison. “I know you left home, because you thought you had a message from me. What happened then?”

“I was stopped in the High Street, and two men made me get into a car,” said Barbara. “I knew who they were and I dared not shout or attract any attention. I thought I might learn something and help Bob. They took me out into the country.”

“To a house?” Grice interpolated.

“No, A copse. Near Uxbridge. They just told me to keep quiet. They didn’t do anything. It was—terrifying. The way they looked and talked. They talked about Bob. They didn’t tell me what he’d done, they just said that if he didn’t do what he was told to on Saturday, I wouldn’t—know him—afterwards. And they didn’t tell me what they wanted him to do, they said he’d know. They said they’d drive him mad if he refused, but—he is mad! He doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying. They’ve warped and twisted his mind and now——”

She broke off, covered her face with her hands and began to cry.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

GRICE PROMISES

GRICE and Rollison took Barbara back to Byngham Court Mansions. As they left Grice’s car, they saw a furtive figure slip into a nearby doorway, and Rollison recognised Dann, who was back on duty. No doubt Grice also knew that the East Ender was there, but he said nothing. He had been greatly affected by the incident at Rollison’s flat. Barbara sat in the back of the car with her eyes closed.

She walked listlessly upstairs, and fumbled for her key in her bag. Rollison took it from her, and opened the door. The flat was in darkness.

“Isn’t Mr. Allen in?” asked Grice.

“He—he ought to be,” Barbara said. “But I never know what he’s going to do. One day he’ll go out and not come back, I know he will.”

Rollison switched on the hall light.

“I shouldn’t worry,” he said, and when she protested against the platitude with a helpless gesture, went on: “Until Saturday, there’s a good chance that you’ll be all right, and there’s also a chance that it’ll be all over.”

“I know they said so,” said Barbara, “but I’ve kept hoping that——” She broke off, and pushed her fingers through her hair. “I feel so ungrateful, she told him. “Thank you—thank you so much for what you’re doing. I know someone’s watching the flat all the time, I’m not so frightened now.”

“You’ll be looked after,” promised Rollison.

There was no point in staying, so they left her alone in the flat and walked downstairs. In the hall, Grice stopped and asked abruptly:

“Didn’t I see one of Ebbutt’s men along there?”

“Yes,” said Rollison. “He might know something about Allen’s movements,” said Grice. “I’d like to see Allen—as a friend of yours, for a start, not as a policeman,” he added gruffly.

“Stay in the car and I’ll find out what Dann knows,” promised Rollison.

He went along to the doorway where Ebbutt’s man had taken cover. Dann came out of his hiding-place as Rollison called his name, but did not advance into the street.

“Grice is around, isn’t he?” he demanded.

“He’s turning his blind eye,” said Rollison. “When did Allen leave—and how did Mrs. Allen get away, Bert?”

“Allen walked out on ‘is own two legs, ‘alf an ‘our ago,” said Bert “Had a dame wiv him. Some dame! Talk about a blonde, she was a blonde beauty all right!”

“Oh,” said Rollison slowly, for a picture of Pauline Dexter appeared in his mind’s eye. “Was Allen followed?”

“Sure—Sam went after ‘em,” said Dann. “Same as old Sniffer Lee went after Mrs. Allen s’arternoon. She was picked up by a coupla men who bundled ‘er into a cab an’ then neely ran Sniffer down,” Dann went on. “Sniffer told Bill—didn’t yer know?”

“I knew something about it,” said Rollison. “So they’re getting rough, are they?”

“I’ll give ‘em rough,” growled Dann. “Trouble was, Sniffer ‘ad ‘ad a couple.”

“Don’t be hard on him,” said Rollison. “All right, Bert I should wait on the landing outside the flat until morning, but don’t let Allen see you if he comes back. Telephone Jolly when he arrives, will you?”

“Okay,” said Bert, and withdrew into the shadows.

Rollison walked back to Grice’s car and climbed in. Grice crashed his gears as he turned out of the carriage-way of Byngham Court Mansions, and was still in a silent, reflective mood. Rollison was not sorry. The stories which he had been told showed him with what care, cunning and ruthlessness Merino and his men were acting.

“Well?” asked Grice at last.

Rollison told him the East Ender’s story.

Grice lapsed into further silence which was not broken until they were in Piccadilly. Then, squeezing between two buses, and with a taxi in front and another behind, he chose to re-open the conversation.

“I’ll do what I can, Roily. At least I agree with you that the girl will crack under the strain if it lasts any longer. I shouldn’t do too much in the way of pulling strings, if I were you—it might upset the Old Man’s apple-cart.”

“What can you do on your own?” asked Rollison.

Grice manoeuvred the car out of the traffic and speeded along Piccadilly—a sure indication of his frame of mind.

“Whatever official action we take, we’ll have to move slowly,” he said. “We’ll put out a general call for Blane, but there’s only your description to go on and, unless he’s got a record, it won’t be easy to get news of him. I wouldn’t advise tackling Merino and this Dexter woman yet, in any case—I’d just watch them. I shall have them watched,” he added, “but my men won’t interfere unless their hands are forced. I’d like to see Allen— still as a friend of yours!—but if you can’t make him talk, I’m pretty sure I can’t. I’ll put all this to the Old Man, and I think he’ll see reason.”

“You’re a friend, Bill! You’ll let me know what he decides,” asked Rollison.

“Yes,” said Grice. “Now go carefully, Roily.”

“I will,” promised Rollison.

He watched Grice drive off, then hurried upstairs, and Jolly opened the door as he reached the landing.

“Here we are,” said Rollison, stepping in and tossing his hat to a peg. “Grice is giving us breathing space,” he announced with satisfaction.