John Creasey - The Toff on The Farm

The knock came again.

Gillian said, in a strained voice : “What on earth was he talking about? Why should Alan get hurt?” She neared the door as the caller knocked again, and suddenly she exploded: “All right, I’m coming!” She had completely forgotten Monty and the promised visitor, and could not get the threat out of her mind.

Then she opened the door.

The young man with coppery hair was smiling at her, as charming a smile as she had ever seen. The important looking man was not smiling, he was staring haughtily, and he managed to get his word in first.

“Are you the owner of Selby Farm ?”

She didn’t want to talk about the farm, she didn’t want to think about anything but Alan. She looked at the young man blankly, knowing that she was behaving oddly, and heard the other add :

“Are you Miss Selby?”

“Yes.”

“In that case “

“I’d like to buy your farm,” declared the coppery-headed young man, in a voice unexpected in its deep American drawl. “I’m sure you’ll agree that first come should be first served.”

“Miss Selby, my name is Lodwin,” said the other man. “I am authorised on behalf of my principals to offer you the sum of ten thousand pounds for that property and ménage known as Selby Farm, subject to immediate contract, surveyor’s approval, freehold purchase and vacant possession.”

“I want to buy it for myself,” drawled the young man, smiling, “but I couldn’t find ten thousand. Not cash, anyhow. I’d gladly fix a mortgage.”

“My principal would make settlement against exchange of contract,” declared the dark, self-important man. He was pink of face and grey of hair, he had a small mouth and was a little too fat. His suit was dark grey, and he wore a bowler.

“You’re going to have to make quite a decision,” said the young man. “Miss Selby, my name is “

“I’m sorry,” Gillian interrupted, “but the farm isn’t for sale at the moment.” As soon as she said it, she reahsed how foolish ‘at the moment’ sounded, but that didn’t matter; all she wanted to do was to get these men away from here, and give herself time to think.

Because Alan might get hurt.

“But there was an advertisement in the Westchester Times only two weeks ago, and Messrs. Dalton, Smeed and Dalton informed me only this morning that the farm was open to offer,” Lodwin protested.

“We forgot to tell them we’d withdrawn it,” Gillian said, and then realised that she had a headache, and that she did not quite know what she was doing or saying. Another phrase was beginning to jostle with the one which had hit so hard. “. . . . the sum of ten thousand pounds” That was at least twice as much as she and Alan had hoped to get, and the significance of that was only now beginning to dawn on her. “How——” she began.

“You can’t possibly have a house for sale one moment and not for sale the next,” the man said sharply. “Will you kindly “

“Pardon me, sir,” interrupted the coppery-haired young man with a beaming smile : his accent sounded rather overdone. “Didn’t you hear what the young lady said? The farm is not for sale, not even for ten thousand pounds cash against the exchange of contracts.”

“I don’t believe it,” snapped the man in grey.

“. . . he might get hurt . . . the sum of ten thousand pounds . . . he might . . . ten thousand.” It was ludicrous, but Gillian’s head was swimming, and her knees felt weak. She knew that she was losing colour, and stretched out a hand for support which wasn’t there. The young man seized her wrist and then moved forward and put an arm round her waist.

“Say, what’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” Gillian answered with unexpected clarity, and knew that she would probably have fallen but for his support. “I’ve a bad headache, I think.”

“You’ve certainly got a bad something,” he declared, and moved his other arm suddenly. Before she realised what was happening, he had lifted her clear off her feet and was carrying her into the front room, to the large couch which stood with its back to the window. He seemed to find her no weight at all, and when he lowered her to the couch he did so with great gentleness. “You stay right there,” he ordered, “I’ll get some water.” He seemed to ignore the self-important man, who was gaping from the doorway, and strode straight to the kitchen door and thrust it open. She saw him through a kind of mist. His coppery hair seemed as if it was reflecting shining rays to every comer of the room, picking out the brasses, the copper utensils of an earlier age, the old china, everything. She closed her eyes, heard a rustle of movement, and suddenly felt something cold and clammy on her arm, which made her start and gasp.

By her side, touching her, was the man in the grey suit, and his fingers were as cold as the fins of a fish just out of Arctic water.

“In confidence, I am prepared to raise the offer to twelve thousand pounds,” he hissed into her ear.

The young man was splashing water in the kitchen sink. Gillian could hear but not see him. The other was bending over her, and she could feel his breath warm upon her cheek. He whispered again. The sum of ten thousand pounds, the sum of twelve thousand pounds, or he might get hurt. It was a kind of nightmare. The cold fingers were stabbing at her, and seemed to threaten death, the hot breath was moist upon her, and the words razor sharp in her mind. ‘‘Twelve thousand, twelve thousand, twelve thousand pounds”

It was a fortune.

Then she heard footsteps, looked round, and saw the coppery-haired young American striding towards her, carrying a cup of water. As he drew close, glaring at the smaller man, he kicked against the edge of the carpet. She would never know whether that was by accident or design. Whatever the truth of that, water shot from the cup into the self-important man’s face, and cascaded down his chin.

3

READY TO KILL

The spout of water smothering Lodwin’s face did Gillian as much good as if she had swallowed it. She started up on the couch, forgetting weakness, dizziness and confusion. She saw the coppery-haired man pull himself to a standstill as the water dripped off his victim’s chin.

Then, the dark-clad man seem to explode.

He hurled himself at the American, fists clenched and striking out. As suddenly the younger man lowered his hands, as if to protect himself, then began to back away, apparently bewildered by the rain of blows. He was a head taller and looked much more powerful than Lodwin, but in the first few seconds of that hurricane attack it looked as if he was going to be battered to his knees. There was a strained look on his face and in his eyes, too, and Gillian could sense his desperation.

“Stop!” she cried, and scrambled off the couch. “Stop it! stop it!” She swayed on her feet, but managed to stagger forward. By then Lodwin had the coppery-haired young man with his back against the wall. ‘‘Stop it!’’ she screamed.

The coppery-haired young man dodged to one side, out of immediate danger. To get at him, Lodwin swung round, oblivious of Gillian’s nearness, and he bumped into her. She staggered to one side, while Lodwin leaped to attack again; but now it was not so easy. The younger man fended him off with a blow on the nose, then seemed to twist his body and writhe closer to his assailant. In a moment they were tangling again, but now she had no doubt who would win.

“If you don’t stop it,” she cried, “I’ll send for the police !”

They ignored her.

She swung round and rushed to the telephone, but as she lifted it, and while she looked over her shoulder, she saw Lodwin’ rock back on his heels and fall heavily. He lay on his back for a moment, eyelids fluttering, making no attempt to get up. The tall young man was breathing quickly as he looked first at his victim and then at Gillian.

“I’m real sorry about that,” he said, and then realised that she was holding the telephone. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m calling the police.”

The victor looked flabbergasted, but moved swiftly, reached her side, gently but firmly wrested the telephone from her, and put it down as she heard the operator answer. He kept a hand on her wrist as he looked upon her, shaking his head emphatically. ^^

“We don’t want to call the cops for a little private fight, he declared,

“I thought he was going to kill you!”

“Sure, and for a minute I did, too,” said the other, “but he thought better of it, and that gave me time to try to kill him.” He let her go, and smiled down at her; he had eyes which crinkled at the comers, and made him look perhaps nearer thirty-five than twenty-five, and his smile was most attractive. “But the fight’s finished now. I’m sorry you saw it.”

“Why did you spill the water over him ?”

“Now, ma’am, don’t blame me for that,” the tall American protested; “accidents will happen, even to a Texan in England. What was his final offer for the farm?”

Gillian didn’t answer.

“Did I hear him say twelve thousand ?”

“If you knew, why trouble to ask me?” Gillian felt annoyed, exasperated, and even foolish because she had been so near absolute collapse. Her legs felt weak again, and she longed to sit down. She thought of Alan for the first time since that whirlwind fight; Alan was still absent, and the voice of the man on the telephone seemed very close to her ears again. “. . . or he might get hurt.” She remembered everything more vividly, including the warning that she must tell no one that Alan was missing.

“If he offered twelve thousand pounds, or close on thirty-five thousand dollars, he must want that farm building mighty bad,” observed the man who claimed to come from Texas.

Gillian backed to a chair and sat down.

“Apparently he isn’t the only one.”

“No, ma’am, there are the two of us,” the coppery-haired young man agreed, and gave his most winning smile. “Well, you’re a business woman, and you won’t listen to a lower offer, I guess. I’ll go to twelve thousand five hundred pounds, but you’ll have to wait some weeks for your money, I could give you one thousand pounds as a down payment, and the balance “

“In a hundred years’ time,” barked the man on the floor.

He was getting up slowly and watching the Texan warily. His right side of his chin was slightly swollen, and one of his eyes looked puffy, too, but that was the only outward sign of the fight.

“Did I hear you say something?” inquired the Texan, mildly.

“I said you would pay the balance in a hundred years, which as far as Miss Selby is concerned means never. I repeat my offer. Miss Selby, and there is no reason why the contract should not be drawn up over night, in fact this very afternoon. I would pay cash, in full, against your signature. I hope you will be sensible enough to take it.”

Twelve thousand pounds in cash ?

Gillian didn’t speak, but there was the conflict of whispers again.

Twelve thousand pounds . . . or he might get hurt.

“You want to know something,” said the Texan. “You fascinate me, Mr. Lodwin. You have the oddest way of making a young lady want to oblige you. You ought to take a correspondence course in how to impress a customer. If I read Miss Selby aright, she wouldn’t sell to you even if you piled the twelve thousand pounds up on that table in front of her eyes. Would you, Miss Selby?”

“I should have to consult my brother before making any decision,” Gillian said almost desperately.

“That makes sense,” the Texan approved.