Accuse the Toff (17 page)

 

‘I daren't … if it's forced it will explode and kill anyone within a dozen yards.'

 

‘Getting any nearer?' asked Grice quietly.

‘It
can't
take much longer,' declared MacAdam. ‘I think I'm pretty well there now, sir.'

There was a tap on the door and a uniformed sergeant put his head round.

‘Is Mr. Grice there … oh, good evening, sir. We've just brought in Charley Day, picked him up at Willesden. He's waiting downstairs, sir. Shall I take him into your office?'

Grice frowned.

‘No, I—what's he like?'

‘I don't think he'll take much to crack, sir. He's heard that one of his pals has been croaked and he's pretty well ready to talk.' The sergeant paused and then dared to offer advice: ‘He might close up if he's left too long, sir; he's the kind that does. Of course, I don't mean to suggest that—'

‘All right, I'll come,' said Grice irritably.

Mac Adam turned his cherubic face towards the Superintendent, a picture so forlorn that Grice could not resist a smile. In MacAdam's right hand there was a small tool, in the other he held the little black case.

‘May I just finish
this
try, sir?'

‘Oh, get the confounded thing open but don't touch the contents until I'm back,' said Grice. ‘Ring me when you've had some luck.'

‘Right-ho, sir, thanks!' exclaimed MacAdam gratefully and began again before the door closed.

Grice went downstairs to his office and waited for Charley Day. He had in front of him the photographs of Ibbetson and Charley, Fred and the other man, whom he did not know was called Mike, when the door opened and Charley was led in.

It was an ordeal for a man with a guilty conscience to come face to face with Superintendent Grice. On such occasions, Grice's face was cold and aloof; his taut skin seemed to shine and his eyes appeared to probe beneath the surface of his victim's mind, making it seem that there was no chance of getting away with a lie or even a half-truth. And Charley Day was in bad shape. His hands and lips were trembling and his clothes were dishevelled for he had tried to evade arrest before being handcuffed by the Willesden Police.

It was no fault of the Willesden authorities that they did not know that Day had been on the way to The Bargee, near the canal.

‘I want to talk to you, Day,' began Grice coldly. ‘And I mean to have the truth from you. This is a murder case and there'll be no fooling.'

‘Murder,' muttered Charley, white to the lips. ‘I never did it, I never—'

He stopped abruptly and Grice and the sergeant with him stared towards the door which rattled against the blast from an explosion not far away. The boom echoed about that wing of the Yard, the sound of breaking glass and falling debris followed and immediately upon it there were hurrying footsteps.

‘That—that was a bomb!' gasped Charley. ‘Where's the shelter, where's the shelter? They've come again!'

Grice turned back to the man.

‘If there's any danger we'll go to a shelter but not before.'

But he was not allowed to go on for the door burst open and two men entered, one an Inspector, the other a uniformed constable. The Inspector spoke first, staring at Grice and looking both excited and disturbed.

‘Did you hear that?'

‘It was a bomb—' began Charley.

‘Bomb my foot!' exclaimed the Inspector. ‘That came from upstairs. I've just tried to get on to the next floor. The staircase is choked up with debris and there's a fire starting. You can't see anything of Mac's workshop. What's he been up to, do you know?'

Grice said nothing but stared for a moment before abruptly pushing his chair back.

 

 

‘Hallo,' said Rollison urgently. ‘Hallo, operator, are you there?' He spoke thus, not because of Yateman scowling a little way along the passage but because he found the waiting intolerable. If Grice were at the Yard he should have reached the phone a long while before but since the operator had promised to ring every line for him there had been no response.

‘Hallo!' exclaimed Rollison again. ‘Are you—?'

‘Are you there, sir?' asked the Yard operator quietly. ‘Mr. Grice is coming, he won't be a moment.'

‘He—oh, thanks,' said Rollison. He wiped his hand across his damp forehead. ‘He's all right?'

‘
He's
all right, sir,' the man assured him and Rollison missed the emphasis on the pronoun in relief at the knowledge that Grice was unhurt. He waited for at least another minute, then heard the Superintendent's crisp voice: ‘Well, Rollison, what have you been up to?'

‘Never mind that,' snapped Rollison. ‘Did you get my message? Did the operator tell you to leave the case alone at all costs?'

‘I had the message just now,' Grice said soberly. ‘It was too late.'

‘Too late?' echoed Rollison and drew a deep breath. Nothing in Grice's tone suggested that there was disaster to relate and he saw a picture of June Lancing, sitting up in bed with the voluminous flannel nightdress about her, telling him that if the case were forced, anyone within a dozen yards would be killed. ‘D'you mean you've managed to get it open?'

‘I don't know,' said Grice.

He told the Toff just what had happened; and he named MacAdam, whom the Toff had known well and had liked. The news was a shock despite the fact that, since Grice was safe, it came as something of an anticlimax. Rollison felt subdued, relieved that the girl had at least told the truth but deploring the fact that she had delayed it for so long. He did not find the heart to blame her for that: he should have told her the moment he had seen her that the police were going to open the case.

‘Are you there?' asked Grice, after a pause.

‘Yes,' said the Toff. ‘Yes, I'm terribly sorry. How long ago?'

‘Not more than half an hour,' said Grice. ‘How did you know what would happen?'

‘I'll tell you later,' said the Toff slowly. ‘You've heard about the other bother here, I suppose? And you're looking for Ibbetson now?'

‘Thanks for permitting it,' said Grice sardonically.

‘No, don't be clever,' implored the Toff. ‘Neither of us have much to boast about in the show yet. But I've cleared up some odds and ends and I'll pass them on as soon as I can. What about Peveril?'

‘He's at Cannon Row.'

‘You haven't charged him with the murder?'

‘Not yet,' said Grice. ‘He's been violent and we've charged him with the usual hocus pocus. We'll look after Peveril, don't worry. But it's time you and I really came to an understanding,' continued Grice. ‘Can you come here at once?'

Rollison answered slowly: ‘Not quite at once but I'll be there as soon as I can. There are bits and pieces I can look after here, first. I won't be a minute longer than I can help.'

He replaced the receiver, wiped his forehead again then turned towards the door, his only thought the need for returning to June and telling her what had happened for she had to know. The shock of the news would probably be enough to loosen her tongue and make her talk freely.

‘
Here!
'
ejaculated Yateman loudly. ‘What do you think
you're
doing?'

He grabbed Rollison's elbow and pushed an open palm forward; Rollison stared at him, at a loss, then realised that the man was asking for the coppers for the call. He drew a deep breath, sought in the pockets of the borrowed suit and found them empty. He nearly lost his patience with the little man, who insisted on accompanying him to Mrs. Mee's, where he borrowed precisely tuppence and dropped the two coppers into Yateman's outstretched hand.

‘And thank you very much for your courtesy,' he said ironically as Yateman turned and left the hall of his neighbour.

‘How would you like to have to live in the same street as '
im
?' breathed Mrs. Mee. She glowered at the door, showing what she thought of Yateman and then lowered her voice and raised her eyebrows, contriving also to point upwards towards the landing. ‘The policeman's there; is it okay?'

‘Yes,' said Rollison. ‘I wanted to make sure that the young lady was all right. She's been attacked once this evening, you know.'

‘Attacked!' breathed Mrs. Mee. ‘Attacked! What for?'

The question startled the Toff who had to admit that he did not know the answer. He went upstairs, followed by Mrs. Mee's avaricious, but wondering, eyes. He nodded to the constable who had so faithfully obeyed him, tapped on the door and entered the girl's room.

He thought at first glimpse that she was asleep.

Then she opened her eyes and stared at him. She was lying down in the bed and her hair was a dark flurry about the pillows; it reminded him of the way it had looked when it had floated on the surface of the canal. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes lack-lustre. As he reached the end of the bed she struggled up to a sitting position.

‘Well?'

‘What do you expect?' asked Rollison, finding it hard to speak normally and seeing a picture of MacAdam's frizzy hair in his mind's eye. It merged with the girl's and became a part of it, a disturbing thing.

‘Did—did your friends try to open it?' she asked.

Rollison sat at the foot of the bed and said deliberately: ‘My friends were the police. They did try to open it. At least one was killed, others may have been. If the truth had been known about that case earlier, this could have been prevented.'

He needed to shape no words of accusation, the implication was sufficient. June kept quite still, colour gradually suffusing her face and in her eyes appeared a reflection of horror which made Rollison wonder whether the cruelty of his abruptness had been necessary.

‘You shouldn't have given it to them.'

‘We won't have exercises in passing the buck,' said the Toff thinly. ‘We'll just face up to the position as it is. If you're right, any evidence existing against Brett and against your Gerald has been destroyed.'

‘Is—is
everything
gone?' she whispered.

‘From all accounts, yes.'

He would not have been surprised had she shown some degree of relief because of what it meant to Gerry but her expression did not grow easier; he imagined that she was thinking of the man who had been killed; but it was not altogether that, for she said after a long pause: ‘So Brett will get away with it?'

‘Has he done anything to get away with?' demanded the Toff, ‘or have you pitched another fine story?'

‘Oh, you fool!' stormed the girl. ‘Oh, you poor fool! Of course he's guilty of a hundred crimes: he ought to be hanged, he ought to spend the rest of his life in prison. And now no one will be able to bring it home to him, no one. And—Gerry,' she added, and her voice was a sigh. ‘Poor Gerry.'

‘I think it's time I knew a little more about Gerry,' said Rollison and then went on in a kindlier tone: ‘June, we must face up to the position, we can't hedge. The police will want to know everything you can tell them and you'll have to explain your interest in the case. The only effective way will be by naming Gerry.'

‘I can't do that.'

‘You must,' insisted Rollison.

‘I can't, I won't! I—but you'll tell them.' She broke off. ‘You'll tell them. Oh, what a fool I was to say anything to you. Why couldn't I keep my silly mouth closed? I won't say anything more,' she added desperately. ‘It's no use trying to make me!'

‘If you don't, the police will detain you.'

‘I don't care about that.'

‘You'll come to care,' the Toff assured her quietly. ‘June, have you realised what this means to you? And do you really think that there's the slightest chance of keeping anything from the police for long? They'll ferret it all out and, when the truth is known and they realise that you could have helped them and saved a great deal of trouble, they'll believe there's a much more involved and discreditable explanation than the one you'll give. The police are materialistic and hard-hearted. They don't believe in gallantry and quixoticism for the sake of it. Crime is sordid in their experience and they'll work on the assumption that this case is, too. You'll do your Gerry more harm than good by keeping silent and you'll do yourself untold harm. Be sensible, and tell everything.'

‘No!'

Rollison shrugged his shoulders, stood up and took a cigarette from the borrowed packet. He lit it and flicked the match to the little surround of the gas fire.

‘Well, please yourself. It isn't the first time I've found a girl throwing herself away on a useless wastrel but I don't enjoy the experience any more each time it happens.'

Her eyes flashed. ‘What do you mean?'

‘If there's any kind of manhood in Gerry he won't let it happen,' said the Toff evenly. ‘It isn't a habit that a decent man develops, you know. It's called hiding behind a woman's skirts and it's frowned upon.'

‘Oh, you fool,' she flung at him. ‘He doesn't know.'

‘So you'll defend him at all costs,' said Rollison with a contemptuous gesture.

‘He doesn't know, I tell you! He's in the RAF up in Yorkshire and he hasn't been down here for months. If only you knew what he's been through! I know that he often wishes he would get shot down when he goes out on raids, he's always taking chances, he—he's even got two bars to the DFC. For years Brett has been torturing him, blackmailing him, it's cost him tens of thousands. Now he's nearly a pauper, he hasn't much more than his RAF pay to live on. If he knew what was happening he'd get down here somehow but I was praying that I'd be able to get the case and take his papers out before—before he knew anything about it. He mustn't know what I've been doing!' she repeated wildly. ‘You can't tell him, you wouldn't be such a brute!'

She had a queerly effective way of touching him, Rollison thought only half-dispassionately; she put such emotion into her words and, while he could not be sure that she was telling the truth, he contrasted her manner now with that of the morning when she had been indifferent, aloof, completely self-reliant. If there were such a man as Gerry, he was in at least one way a lucky man. If only he, the Toff, could be sure of the truth of what she told him, it would help.

‘Now listen, June,' he said paternally. ‘I can imagine how you feel but getting excited won't help you. You aren't being sensible, you know, and—'

‘Sensible!'

‘It always pays,' the Toff assured her. ‘Ibbetson is being sought all over the country, as well as his men, one of whom has been murdered. That means that the police won't let anything rest; when it's a case of murder they go all out and there isn't a chance of standing out against them. Peveril has been arrested on suspicion of the murder and he isn't a man who will keep silent for long. One or the other of them knows about your Gerry and if you don't talk, they will. Get in on the ground floor and show some faith both in Gerry and in getting a fair deal from the authorities.

‘But he killed a man,' she exclaimed.

‘Who had been blackmailing him or helping to.'

‘What difference does that make?'

‘Extreme provocation is a strong plea in court,' Rollison assured her. ‘You tell me that Gerry has been and is being blackmailed by Brett and that he hasn't a penny to bless himself with, that he's flying without any real heart and hopes that he'll be brought down. What kind of a life is that? If he did commit murder in the face of extreme provocation, and proof against Brett and his late secretary will be reasonable proof of the provocation, it isn't likely that he'll be found guilty of murder. I don't know the circumstances but I've known murder charges reduced to manslaughter because the police see the strength of the provocation and know that no jury will bring in a verdict of guilty on a murder charge. I've known lawyers get the accused off scot free with a defence of justifiable homicide. And I've also known the lives of men and women ruined completely by a refusal to come into the open.

‘Don't keep this to yourself any longer,' Rollison went on. ‘Bring it out and fight all you know. If you've told me the truth now and Gerry can prove that he was more sinned against than sinning, I'll help you all I can and I'll brief the best men in the country for you. Money needn't be an obstacle. The only obstacle is obstinacy and a belief that there'll be disaster if you tell the truth. There won't. The only chance you've got of getting out of this with any degree of happiness for either of you is to tell everything to the police. I'm not persuading you for the sake of a cheap success,' Rollison added quietly, i mean all I'm saying and if you do the wise thing I know you'll feel a hundred times happier in the morning than you do now.'

He paused and waited, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. He did not seriously doubt that she felt for Gerry as deeply as she declared: he believed that she had come to the end of prevarication and smoothly-told plausible stories. Quietly he went on: ‘If you tell me everything else now, I'll pass it on to the police so that you're not worried tonight or until you feel better. And don't think that, because the black case has been destroyed, all the evidence has gone completely. Your evidence and Gerry's will be strong enough to enable the police to start working against Brett and, once they start, they'll uncover the rest. You've told me that Brett has hundreds of victims. You might be the source of saving them all from further torment and further suffering,
If
you're right, if Brett is the rogue you've made out, then the right thing to do is to fight to prove it.'