John Creasey - The Toff on The Farm

“Friend ?” asked Rollison sharply.

“Yes, sir, at least he said he was a friend, and went straight up and he certainly hasn’t come down. It was half an hour ago, I should say, not much more for certain.”

“Friend,” echoed Rollison, and held Gillian’s arm. “We’ll go and see.”

They went up in the swift moving lift. No one was in the passage when they stepped out. They turned towards M.M.M.’s flat, the girl now a little hesitant. Rollison kept his right hand in his pocket, and pressed the bell with his left; it sounded quite clearly.

Then, M.M.M. opened the door.

In his right hand there was a large Service revolver, on his face a look which suggested that he would be quite prepared to use it.

Instead, his face lit up.

“Gillian, thank God you’ve come! Alan’s here, and he’s desperately anxious to talk to you.”

There was a moment’s breathless pause. Then :

“Alan!” cried Gillian, and thrust herself past M.M.M. and ran across the small hall. As she went, a man appeared at the living-room door, tall and spare, with his fair hair golden, and his small nose snub. Gillian flung herself into his arms. He held her tightly and did not at first look over her head at Rollison or M.M.M. When he did look up, Rollison saw that his eyes were bloodshot, that he needed a shave, and that he looked scared.

Rollison closed the door behind him, but M.M.M. barred his path.

“Roily,” said M.M.M. in a firm voice, “I know it was my fault for asking your help, but we really don’t need you anymore. Alan’s been released on condition that they sell the farm, and that’s the only possible thing to do. All the persuasion in the world won’t make them change their minds now. You might as well accept defeat for once. No-one even knows you’re working on the case, so it won’t do your prestige any harm.”

He looked plump, earnest and pleading, and although the big revolver was still in his hand, it was pointing towards the floor.

Gillian freed herself from her step-brother’s arms, and said :

“Are you all right? Have they hurt you? Tell me if they have, please tell me.”

Alan Selby said: “I had a bad time, but I’m not hurt. Gillian, we’ve just got to sell the farm, and forget it. They’ll persecute us until we do. If you’d heard some of the things they threatened to do to you, you’d understand why we must sell to them.”

“Of course we must,” Gillian said, “and we’re going to. It’s all right, Alan, you needn’t worry.”

Alan Selby was certainly much older than his sister. He had been father, mother, brother to her, and now she was mothering him, soothing him, obviously aware that he needed her reassurance. He had a scared look in his eyes, and no one could doubt that he was nervous and jumpy.

“Rollison,” said M.M.M., “don’t make me put it into words of one syllable.”

“Let’s hear it, anyhow,” Rollison encouraged. “I hate to say it, old chap, but you’re not wanted here.”

“Ah,” said Rollison. “You never said an un-truer word.” He went nearer the others, and Alan Selby looked at him with a kind of nervous defiance, a man in his late thirties who might be in the early fifties judged by his present looks. “Selby,” said Rollison, “how much are they going to pay for the farm?”

“Forget it. Roily,” M.M.M. said.

“Five thousand,” Selby answered, “and that’s a thousand more than it’s worth.”

“There’s an offer of fifteen thousand.”

“I don’t give a damn whether there’s an offer of fifteen or fifty thousand, I can’t stand this strain any longer,” Selby shouted. “They’ve been after me for weeks. I didn’t tell Gillian because I thought it would frighten her. They’ve telephoned, stopped me on the road, whispered to me at the local, they haven’t given me a minute’s peace for weeks. I tried to hold out, but I can’t do it any longer, I’m terrified of what they’ll do. I can’t help it if we lose money, I just can’t help it. Now get out, and stop trying to persuade us. We’ve got to sell that farm.”

The girl turned round and her expression told Rollison that the quicker he left, the better she would like it. Selby’s eyes said the same thing, less politely. M.M.M. stepped towards the door and began to open it.

Then he jumped and his gun rose sharply, for the door was thrust against him, and a tall, brown-clad man stepped in.

“Hallo, Roily,” this man said, ignoring the gun and the couple in the living-room doorway. “I thought I might find you here.”

“Hallo, Bill,” said Rollison, in just as equable a voice. “How are tricks at Scotland Yard?”

“Scotland Yard?” echoed M.M.M., and backed a pace. Then hastily he thrust the revolver under his coat.

“Meet Superintendent William Grice,” introduced Rollison brightly. “Do you want to see me or the rest of the party. Bill ? I’ll go, if you’d rather be alone.”

“I’d like a word with all of you,” said Grice. He was tall, broad and lean. His skin was sallow, his features were good, the nose rather large and hooked, with the skin stretched very tight at the bridge, making it look almost white. His brown hair was flecked with grey, and he held his hat in his hand.

He wasn’t smiling as he looked at M.M.M. and Gillian,

“You don’t want to talk to us,” cried M.M.M., and he pointed a quivering finger at Rollison. “You want to talk to him. You want to ask him why he’s sheltering a murderer in his flat, an American who killed those men today.”

Jealousy made him say that, of course, because Gillian so obviously liked Tex Brandt. But he also had reason on his side, as Grice would be quick to see.

15

M.M.M. SQUEAKS

Grice’s expression did not change, and nor did Rollison’s. The brother and sister backed into the living-room, while M.M.M.’s finger gradually stopped quivering, and finally his arm dropped to his side. Grice had been looking at him all the time.

“How long have you known about this, Mr. Mome?” Grice asked at last.

“Since I got to London. Brandt—that’s the Yank—left us to telephone, and Miss Selby told me what had happened. It’s the truth, he had a chance to kill both men. Why, Rollison actually told her that the American had done it!”

Gillian was coming forward. It was difficult to guess what was in her mind, but she looked more pale than any time since she had left the cottage.

“That isn’t quite true,” she said. “I told him that Mr. Rollison regarded Mr. Brandt as a suspect.”

“It amounts to the same thing.”

“Not quite,” said Grice, surprisingly mildly. “Mr. Rollison will be coming across to Scotland Yard soon, to answer a few questions, I can deal with that matter then. What time did you hear about it, Mr. Mome ?”

“It must have been about six o’clock.”

“You’ve taken a long time to report it to the police.”

“It’s the first chance I had, it “

“You made a statement about an assault which took place in this building early this evening, and could have made this accusation then,” said Grice coldly. “I hope you will realise that withholding material information is an extremely grave matter and can lead to most unpleasant consequences.”

M.M.M.’s finger quivered again.

“What about him.”

“Would you mind telling us what you want quickly?” asked Gillian quietly. “My brother needs a good rest.”

Grice looked at Selby, and could come only to the same conclusion as Rollison: that here was a man who looked jumpy and on edge, unshaven, with bloodshot eyes: a frightened man. In a different way, M.M.M. was frightened, too. The girl was much more composed than either of them, and it seemed to Rollison that her whole mood was governed by the fact that she had found her brother. She was no longer frightened, but was resigned to whatever was to come.

“I understand that you were taken away from your home against your will,” Grice said to Selby. “Is that true, Mr. Selby?”

“Yes, it’s true,” answered Selby, “and nothing you can do or say will alter my mind. I had to meet a man who called himself Charlie at one o’clock this morning, outside the cottage. He forced me to go away with him. He said that I’d be released once my sister had agreed to sell Selby Farm to him. I—I was kept without food or drink, and they beat me with a rubber truncheon.” His voice quivered. “And they threatened my sister.”

“Who are ‘they’ ?”

“Until today, there were the three of them, Lodwin, this Charlie, and a kind of man-of-all-the-dirty-work : I don’t know his name. There was also an American. I didn’t see him, but I couldn’t mistake an American voice. It must be this Brandt.”

“How did you escape?” asked Grice.

“I didn’t escape, I was allowed to go. Two men brought me in a car to the next street, and told me exactly what they’d do if I didn’t persuade my sister to sell the farm to their representative.”

“Who is their representative now ?”

“They’re going to tell me, I don’t know yet,” said Selby. “But it’s my sister’s farm, you can’t stop her from doing what she likes with it. It’s no crime to sell what you possess.”

“It’s a crime to conspire with criminals to break the law, Mr. Selby.”

“They won’t be breaking the law by buying the farm ! It’s hers to sell. They broke the law by kidnapping me, but that’s nothing to do with me.”

“They broke the law with two little matters of murder.”

“You can’t prove it. That was probably this American, Brandt,” Selby said angrily. “Why don’t you go and deal with him?”

“Mr. Selby,” said Grice, in a sharper voice, “you seem to have peculiar ideas about the proper way to behave. I have two officers outside. They are going to ask you, your sister and Mr. Mome for detailed statements. When I have studied those statements I can decide whether I should take any action. You yourself may not be involved in this, but both Mr. Mome and your sister appear to have been in a position to murder or to abet one or both of the murders—of Charles Habden and Reginald Lodwin. The statements must be extremely detailed.”

He turned towards the door,

“You’ve no right “ M.M.M. began.

“I know exactly what rights I have and I shall assert them,” Grice said aggressively. He took a paper out of his pocket, “Here is a search warrant for this apartment, consequent upon your statement about the assault this afternoon, and doubts cast upon it by other witnesses.”

He opened the door, and two plain clothes men from the Criminal Investigation Department came in, while a third stayed outside, obviously to be on guard.

Grice turned to look at the trio.

“Your statements will be taken separately, and will be closely scrutinised for inaccuracies and errors of any kind. I don’t need to tell you how serious this matter is.”

Selby said in a quivering voice: “How—how long will it take?”

“I don’t know.” Grice was sharp. “Why?”

“I—I’m supposed to be “ Selby broke off.

“You’re supposed to give yourself up at a certain time, no doubt,” said Grice. “We shan’t stop you, Mr. Selby. In fact we shall help you. We’re very anxious indeed to meet your abductors.”

He went out.

Rollison followed him, and had at least one cause for satisfaction. Grice had affected all three so much that none of them looked at him, Rollison, only at the man from Scotland Yard.

Outside in the passage, Rollison said mildly: “Very impressive, Bill. That’s the first time for years that I really enjoyed playing second fiddle.”