Accuse the Toff (7 page)

 

The thick-set assailant wasted no time in looking at the Toff but bent down and unceremoniously dragged him back into the flat, feet first. He returned to the passage and pulled the door to, waiting and listening. No doors opened below and there was no indication that the tenants of the other flats had been disturbed. The man went down the first flight of stairs to a landing window and glanced out. He raised his thumb and was seen by a man walking on the far side of the street. In a few seconds the second man had joined the first and in a space of three minutes two others also arrived.

Then the flat door was closed and locked.

Amongst the company was a small, plump man, dressed neatly in light grey. His cheeks were rosy and shining, his blue eyes smiled and he gave the impression of being in the best of good tempers. Removing a velour hat he ran a pink palm over dark hair lined with grey and said in a soft, persuasive voice: ‘Now boys, let's get along with it; we haven't a lot of time. Ibby's on the job, remember, and we mustn't fall down on it. What didn't we do?'

The thick-set man said: ‘We were going to start on the arms of the chairs.'

‘That's right, so we were.' There was the faintest of lisps in Ibbetson's voice. ‘Charley, you and Mike go into the dining-room; Fred and me will do the lounge.' He sent the other couple into the farther room, large men, although neither of them would have been noticed in a crowd, and glanced down at Rollison. ‘We'd better take him with us, Fred.'

The thick-set man grunted and together they lifted the Toff and carried him to the settee where June Lancing had rested not long before. His head lolled backwards unnaturally and his lips were slightly open.

‘What a cinch,' said Ibbetson, with a gentle chuckle. ‘I thought he was going to cause trouble but you never can tell. Now let's get on with it, Fred.'

‘I'm waiting for you,' declared the Toff's assailant gruffly.

Using knives which ripped through the tapestry covering of the armchairs, they stripped the arms down to the springs and searched inside. Neither of them talked while they were working and there was no sound from the other room. The chairs finished, Ibbetson's plump face and red lips set in vexation but, beyond uttering a mild expletive, he made no comment. Together they shifted the furniture to one end of the room and rolled back a colourful Mirzapore carpet; the floor boards revealed no hiding-place, even when they moved the furniture again and tried the other end.

Ibbetson bit his lips and went to join the others. They shook their heads at his soft-voiced question.

‘It must be somewhere.' said Ibbetson. ‘He wouldn't have kept it in his pocket, would he?' He hurried to Rollison and searched him thoroughly but found nothing of interest except his revolver, which was removed. That finished, he went to each room, surveyed it carefully and nodded after a few seconds, as if deciding that nothing had been overlooked. Something under an hour after they had arrived the quartet gathered in the lounge and Ibbetson sat on an upturned chair.

‘We'll have to make him talk,' he declared roundly.

‘What, here?' demanded Fred.

‘Yes, of course; we can't take him through the streets of London like that, Fred. Where's your common sense?' The mild reproof administered, Ibbetson leaned forward and looked at the Toff whose head rested more naturally on the end of the settee, close to a spring which jutted though the covering and the webbing and canvas beneath. ‘He looks bad, Fred; you didn't hit him
too
hard, did you? I wouldn't like to think he wouldn't come round.'

‘He'll come round,' growled the thick-set man. ‘Fetch a jug o' water, one of you.'

Lying quite comfortably and with nothing the matter with him beyond an ache at either temple, the Toff heard the injunction, as he had heard everything which Ibbetson and the others had said since the gathering in the lounge; he had regained consciousness while the settee had been shifted for a second time and without opening his eyes had guessed what the others were doing. That the men had stayed within easy distance in order to finish their job did not surprise him; what angered him was that he had not thought of the possibility. The man who had started to follow Jolly and June Lancing had been a bait, just as the telephone call had been; and it had proved equally effective.

The prospect of being doused with a jug of water did not appeal to him; on the other hand, the cold water would be refreshing and by then the room was uncomfortably warm; the searchers had not switched off the electric fire. He stayed there without moving while soft footsteps sounded in the flat and then, abruptly and without warning, icy water splashed over his face.

He started and even opened his eyes; the impact came with such a surprise that he could not help himself. He recovered quickly, grunted and then settled his head down again. Through narrowed eyes he saw a man in light grey peering down at him; the next moment his head was pushed to one side as the man slapped him sharply across the face; there was no playfulness in the slap.

The Toff's eyes widened.

‘That's better, that's better,' said Ibbetson. His soft, lisping voice and plump face were at variance with the viciousness of the blow while in his voice there crept a note of harshness which alone told the Toff that it would be unwise to judge from appearances where the plump man was concerned. ‘Keep them open, Rollison, or you'll get—another!'

A second slap, on the other cheek, pushed Rollison's head to the opposite side.

‘That's just a little warning,' said Ibbetson softly. ‘Don't sing out or make a noise or you'll get a lot worse. And we won't leave you here alive; we don't like leaving men who can talk. Pull him up, Fred.'

Fred revealed surprising strength; he gripped Rollison's lapels with one hand and pulled him to a sitting position. With his other hand he swept Rollison's legs from the settee so that the victim was sitting normally, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little bloodshot but otherwise looking quite normal.

‘We don't want any misunderstanding,' said Ibbetson in the same deceptively mild tones. ‘We want the box, that's all. Just tell us where the box is and you'll be all right. We don't mean any harm to you personally, unless you get in our way. Now, that's clear enough, and don't—
argue!'

He shot out his right hand for a third slap.

The Toff moved his head back so smartly that he felt a crick in the neck; but he had the satisfaction of seeing Ibbetson stagger forward when his blow missed and fall on to him. The Toff felt no qualms about raising his right knee and catching the man in the pit of the stomach. A gasp of sheer anguish followed Ibbetson's exclamation of surprise at missing his blow. He sprawled downwards over Rollison who put both hands against the man's chest and thrust him backwards. Ibbetson staggered until Fred stopped his retreat; he would have slumped to the floor had the thick-set man failed to support him.

The other two stared at Rollison, momentarily so startled that they were inactive. The blow and counter-blow had happened so quickly that Ibbetson's hand might still have been moving through the air.

Rollison knew that what chance he had of escaping without injury depended on his speed of action then but was not sure that he could trust his legs. He put them to the test, getting up in one movement. His right knee bent beneath him. He regained his balance and flung himself towards the kitchen door. The man named Charley shot out a hand to stop him but clutched only the sleeve of his coat. Rollison pulled it away. Only Mike stood between the Toff and the door; if he reached it he would surely get through. He swung his left arm, hoping to catch the man and send him off his balance; but Mike evaded it as easily as Rollison had evaded Ibbetson's slap and pushed out his right foot.

The Toff fell over it.

The thud of the crash shook the pictures which remained on the walls, set glasses and vases quivering and the bared springs humming and twanging. It knocked the breath out of Rollison's body and at the same moment a knee forced itself into the small of his back, stout fingers clutched his right wrist and twisted his arm in a hammer lock so excruciating that he bit his lips to prevent himself from crying out in pain. Mike muttered harsh obscenities into his ear and increased the pressure until sweat gathered in globules on his forehead and a vein rose out in his neck, the blood beating fast through it. He did not think that he could stand more of it without fainting and there was a red mist in front of his eyes, a loud drumming in his ears.

Through the drumming words forced themselves but he did not hear Ibbetson say harshly: ‘Go easy, Mike, we want the —d alive,'

The pain and pressure alike relaxed. Rollison went down on his face, turning his cheek to the carpet and gasped for breath. He felt the blood rushing to his head and was incapable of thinking, even of feeling afraid. Not until he was hauled to his feet and pushed into an easy chair did his head clear a little; even then he could not see the four men clearly; their figures swayed and danced in front of his eyes.

‘Give him some water to drink,' said Ibbetson.

One man held his head back, the other forced a little water between his lips. He choked on it but swallowed enough to refresh him. With that came the knowledge that he was being given a rough-and-ready first-aid that he might be a better subject for questioning. Now that it was over he realised what a fool he had been to make the attempt; before he might have bluffed his way out, now they would wreak vengeance for its own sake. As his vision steadied he saw the plump face of Ibbetson, livid with rage; Ibbetson was still crouching forward a little to ease his discomfort.

‘You've asked for it,' he said softly. ‘You're going to get it. But, before that, where's the box?'

Facts began to register on Rollison's mind, obvious ones, although they had been vague and half-formed until that moment. Primarily, they wanted the box about which June Lancing had told him; above everything else they wanted it and they put its possession above the simple matter of revenge for his violence. They were convinced that he had it or knew where it was; unless that were so, they would not have made the exhaustive search of the flat.

There
must
be a way to force them to wait and hold their hand.

‘The box,'
said Ibbetson. He pushed his face close to Rollison's, keeping it not six inches away. His eyes were smaller, his sandy lashes sparse and coarse. ‘
Where's the box?
' he whispered and as the question was repeated someone Rollison could not see gripped his wrist and began to force it back. ‘
The box,'
repeated Ibbetson hoarsely. ‘We're going to get it.'

Rollison said with an effort: ‘You won't get it this way.'

‘Oh, we won't, won't we? Back a bit farther, Mike; we'll teach the runt.' Mike obeyed and the pressure at Rollison's wrist increased, grew as excruciating as the hammer-lock. Perspiration gathered again and he felt the pulse beating in his neck but forced his voice to keep steady.

‘I can get it—in person,' he said. He had to fight to keep his eyes wide open: Ibbetson's pupils seemed to get larger every moment.

‘Ease off a minute, Mike,' said Ibbetson, after a pause. ‘
What's
that you said? No tricks now, no tricks.'

The easing of the pressure caused a pain so great that Rollison gasped; then relief flowed through the wrist and he contrived to answer.

‘I said that I can get it in person.'

‘And what about sending a messenger,' demanded Ibbetson, in the same soft menacing tone. ‘What about signing a little note saying I can get it for you? Where is it?' he snapped.

‘If anyone gets it, I will,' said Rollison.

They stared at each other for what seemed an age; Rollison's eyes matched Ibbetson's, who was trying to out-stare him and wear down his resistance; with the pain at his wrist again, Rollison knew that he might falter and confess that he was lying, begin the trail of denials that would get him nowhere. But suddenly Ibbetson blinked and stood back a foot; the movement eased the strain at Rollison's eyes and he lowered them without completely closing them.

‘You'll get it, all right, because I want it,' said Ibbetson. ‘Come on, where is it?'

‘I've said all I'm going to until your ape releases my wrist and I've had a rest,' said Rollison thickly. ‘You damned fool, do you think I'd put that where anyone can walk in and get it? If I don't collect it myself, it won't be collected.'

‘So that's your angle,' said Ibbetson softly. ‘Let his wrist go, Mike, we don't want to hurt the poor fellow.' Rollison felt all pressure go from his wrist and hitched himself more comfortably in the chair. The few moments of respite were precious but, having gained them, he could see no way of turning them to full advantage. If he knew what was in the box, if he could talk on terms with the men, he might make progress. As it was he assumed the contents were of immense value and talked as if he knew that and also just why it was wanted.

Ibbetson backed farther away.

‘Listen to me, Rollison.' His voice grew stronger. ‘Maybe you don't think I'm serious but there's no kidding. There's four of us here and we can kill you a lot of different ways. We don't want to but we can, see—show him your gun, Fred.' The stocky man took an automatic from his pocket and kept it in his hand. ‘Show him your knife, Charley.' One of the others slid a clasp-knife from his belt, opened a blade and whetted his thumb on it; it looked razor sharp. That's just two ways,' said Ibbetson. ‘No one knows we're here and no one will know who croaked you, Rollison. If you don't show me the way I'm going to get that case, we've got to use some way or other of finishing you, see? The case is important but maybe you're working that angle too much. It's not so important as us getting away and we aren't staying more than another five minutes. Now, open up and no kidding.'