Salute the Toff (13 page)

 

 

Had Draycott had his way they would have started for Gay Street immediately. The Toff decided against that, and reluctantly Draycott went with him upstairs. Jamie was in the lounge, while Bert followed Anthea, for whom he clearly had a keen admiration. He touched his forehead whenever she spoke.

Draycott was the first to speak.

“Rollison, if we know where Fay is, we're going there without losing a lot of time.”

“We'll lose only the time that's necessary,” said the Toff. “Rushing at it like a bull at a gate won't help us or Fay. I want to know when it happened and how,” said the Toff. “And in the second we need a bite to eat, and some tea or coffee. And in the third,” he added for Draycott's benefit, “we needn't worry a lot, since four of the men who have worked for Lorne are nicely tucked away, and the Kless brothers can't do much harm from the mortuary and the hospital respectively. We've got Lorne and Harvey to worry about”

“And Secretary Ramsey,” said Draycott. “He was in the know. So was the woman—Phyllis's Aunt Charlotte.”

“Aunt on whose side?” asked the Toff.

“Her father's. She's known about the change-over.”

“Could
we know what this is about?” demanded Anthea.

The Toff explained, while Anthea and Bert busied themselves in the kitchen, Bert apologising every time he managed to get in her way, and touching his forehead with surprising regularity.

Bert's two men had followed Fay from the office to Bays-water Road, and there had been no attempt to molest her. Soon after dark, however, the Mendoz brothers – on night duty – had been viciously attacked by two men, of whom Lorne undoubtedly was one. It had been characteristic that Tibby Mendoz, who recovered and was well enough to walk, had managed to get his brother into a taxi, and get back to Mile Comer, without advising the police. There he had told the story to Bert, who had hurried to Gresham Terrace.

Anthea had been with Fay in the drawing-room, and Fay had been tired, and dozing. Jamie had been out at his club. There had been a knock at the front door – opened by a maid – a scuffle, a cry, and then two men had burst into the drawing-room. Anthea had been thrust to one side, and silenced with a sack pulled over her head and shoulders and tied about her waist. She had not heard much struggling, although Fay had made a desperate effort to get to the window. That much Anthea had seen; but for the rest she could tell only of banging doors, a crying maid, another servant – a man – and then freedom from the sack, and realization that Fay had been kidnapped.

“Jamie wanted to go to the police, but I insisted on giving you until midnight,” said Anthea.

“A touching faith,” said the Toff slowly. He was eating sandwiches, and despite his impatience, Draycott was also eating and drinking. “I'm glad you did, Anthea. I don't think McNab or anyone else at the Yard realise what's at stake, and how desperately these people will act. Does anyone know,” he added, “how much Mortimer Harvey is” – he said ‘is' deliberately – “worth?”

“A million or more,” said Draycott.

“High stakes indeed,” said the Toff. “And don't ask me what the devil I'm going to do about it. Odd though it may seem, I've been thinking. Bert, attention!”

“Okay, Mr. Ar.” Bert took his eyes from Anthea's fair face with reluctance, but made a thorough job of it this time. The Toff talked for some three minutes, and when he had finished Anthea said abruptly:

“That doesn't leave anything for me to do.”

“It leaves you to be ready to welcome Fay when we get her back,” said the Toff.

“I'm coming to Gay Street,” said Jamie, as abruptly as his wife.

“I hope you won't insist,” said Rollison. “You're to stay here with Anthea. If anything should go wrong the other end I'll need someone here to take messages.”

 

In the small house, or more accurately hovel, which was 91 Gay Street, Mile End, a strangely assorted company was sitting in the larger of two upstairs rooms. Downstairs, in the passage and behind a door barricaded with boxes, chairs and a table, sat Ma Kless, a raddled old harridan with greasy hair, and lips which perpetually opened and closed as she sucked at the only three teeth that she retained. The only time she moved was to go into the filthy kitchen, the door of which was protected like the front door, and to empty from a filled pail a certain amount of water. This she replenished from a big kettle simmering on a low gas. The task finished, she would refill the kettle and put it back on the gas, and then carry the pail back to the hall, where the steam from the near-boiling water wafted in her face, so that it was beaded with moisture. She was wearing a grease-stained royal-blue dress; a thin, wiry, flat-fronted woman whose little eyes were filled with evil.

Upstairs, in a bedroom where there was a single iron bedstead and several kitchen chairs, were four people.

Fay was on the bed. She was lying full length, with a scarf tied about her mouth so tightly that her cheeks bulged above it. Her hands were also bound, but her legs were free. She had been lowered carelessly to the bed, and her skirt had rucked up so that it showed the tops of her stockings, and an inch or two of the white flesh above them. One shoe was off; the other made her foot and ankle look absurdly small. She was awake, and looking at the man nearest her. That was ‘Mortimer Harvey', tall and too big for the chair, dressed in dark grey, and with a second-hand overcoat about him but not buttoned up. He was twisting a peaked cap in his hands, and his normally florid face had lost most of its colour. The cigar he was smoking had a pleasant aroma, but he was chewing it too much to get the best out of it.

Next to him was Ramsey, the wasp-waisted secretary Rollison had seen at the night-club. His hair was unruffled, but he kept smoothing it down nervously. The smoke from his Turkish cigarette was less attractive than that from Harvey's cigar.

The fourth member of the party was a majestic-looking woman with frizzy grey hair. The Toff had seen her at the night-club, and also at the house in Fulham, although he had not recognised her there. The sister of the real Mortimer Harvey had played a full part in the impersonation which had so nearly succeeded, as had Ramsey and – more unwittingly – Phyllis Harvey.

Phyllis was not there; nor was Lorne. Both Harvey and Ramsey kept looking towards the door, and their ears were strained to catch any sound. After what seemed an interminable silence Harvey said harshly: “You're sure Lorne was all right, Ramsey?”

“I assure you, sir, that he was quite well and free. He was contacting with Harrison in Winchester.” Ramsey's manner was what it would have been with a genuine employer. “I'm sure that we shall be quite all right, sir.”

“I never did think it was wise to come here,” said Charlotte Harvey. “We'd be much better off at home.”

“Don't be a fool,” grunted Harvey. “We've got all the clothes we might want at the station, and the first place the police will visit if Rollison tells them anything is at St. John's Wood. No one would see us coming here, and we're quite safe.”

“Then what are you sweating for?”

“Don't talk to me like that! If—if the police do get to the house Phyllis will stall them. God, I wish they hadn't released her yet. I—”

There was a noise from below stairs, and then a further sound of the barricade being taken away. Harvey stepped to the narrow landing, and from the dim light below he could see Ma Kless opening the door, and with the pail of water in her left hand. But she put it down, spilling a little over the edges, and admitted Lucius Lorne.

He pushed past her and hurried up the stairs.

When he reached the bedroom, and its better light, it was possible to see the pallor of his face, and the sweat on his forehead and his upper lip.

“Rollison got away,” he gasped. “I saw him leaving Romsey in Harrison's Morris. He'll have been at his place for an hour now. When I get my hands on Harrison I'll strangle him!”

“Never mind about that,” said Harvey, with an effort. “Go to the nearest telephone, Lorne. Call Rollison, and tell him that if the police come here we'll shoot our way out. And tell him we won't leave the Gretton girl alive.”

Lorne said nervously: “I think we ought to get away while we can.”

“Get that message out!” ordered Harvey. “We might do a deal with Rollison.” He glanced across at Fay, as if reassuring himself that she was there, while Lorne went out.

A shadowy figure followed Lorne through the darkness.

The same shadowy figure watched him in the lighted telephone kiosk, but did not hear what he said to Rollison.

Lorne heard an easy voice, however, sweating profusely as he pressed the earpiece to his head.

“I've been expecting you,” said the Toff, while at his side Draycott looked as if he wanted to snatch the receiver. “Get this clear. I'm coming to see you and to talk to Harvey, and when I know that the girl is all right we might come to terms.”

Lorne said with an effort: “What—what kind of terms?”

“Harvey, so-called, is a very rich man,” said the Toff very softly. “Remind him of that, Lorne, and remind yourself how unpleasant it would be on the gallows.”

 

 

As the Toff replaced the receiver Draycott stared at him with acute disapproval.

“Rollison, you're not going to make terms with those swine while I can stop it.”

The Toff looked almost as if he had forgotten that he was there.

“You can believe me or not,” he said, “but I am going to force terms on the whole crowd. If it's possible I'm going to make sure that no one is hurt. Including Fay Gretton. There is little honour among thieves, and there is no honour in me for Harvey and Lorne: I've simply made sure that they stay put until I reach them.” Draycott drew a sharp breath.

“I didn't realise the way you looked at it. But aren't you going to tell the police?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Toff, “I'm going to tell the police, and for McNab I'll dot the ‘i's' and cross the ‘t's'. But not until after it's over. And please,” said the Toff, moving towards the door and smiling at Anthea, “don't suggest that I ought to have the Yard with me when I go to Gay Street. If a rumour reaches them there that the police are on the way it's all up. They're quite desperate: from the start they've been ruthless.”

“But need they know if the police are warned?”

“The whole of that part of Mile End might hate Ma Kless and whoever is with her, but if they've any quarrel with them they'll settle it their own way. Once there's a murmur of a concerted police attack on Ninety-one, word will reach the house. There's a kind of telepathy in the East End. The one quite vital thing, seeing that Fay's there, is to avoid the authorities. If Harvey and the mob were on their own it would be a different matter, and McNab could handle it with all the pleasure in the world. But we should be on the way.”

Before he left he put on a waistcoat. They went first to Mile Corner, and saw Bert. Bert, still in his shirt-sleeves, looked forlorn, and a worried man. He was no longer smoking his pipe, but a bedraggled-looking home-made cigarette. He brightened a little when he saw the Toff.

“It's all ready, Mr. Ar—all the way you said.”

“And the Mendoz brothers are safely away?”

“Like you said,” said Bert, and it was clear that the Mendoz brothers were the reason for his gloom. “I never would 'ave berlieved it of them, Mr. Ar.
I'll
see they get what they need, don't
you
worry.”

“Right,” said the Toff. “Don't blame yourself, Bert. I'll be seeing you.”

They walked towards Gay Street. Draycott would have been lost in the narrow streets, which ran like a rabbit warren in that strange quarter of London, but despite the darkness, illuminated only occasionally by flickering gas-lamps, the Toff went as surely as if he were walking along Regent Street.

“What's that about the Mendoz fellows?” asked Draycott. “Didn't you tell me they were working for you?”

“They were,” said the Toff. “But they let Fay go twice, and they're first-class fighters. Clearly they didn't try to help her, and as clearly Harrison or Lorne got at them. But they won't have a chance to throw a spanner in the works this time.”

“That's one good thing,” said Draycott. “Rollison, what do you think are the chances of getting Fay out alive?”

“If you want the truth,” said the Toff very grimly – “and I think you'd rather have it—there's a fifty-fifty chance.”

They hurried silently through the darkness.

 

Ma Kless poured another kettle of steaming water into the pail, and took up her seat again behind the barricade of the door. Upstairs, the room where the main party was waiting showed a light that shone on the old harridan's greasy hair. The passage itself was unlighted, and the only sound was of the woman sucking her three teeth.

A footstep echoed outside.

Ma picked up the pail as the footsteps drew closer, and then there was a sharp tap on the door. Lorne came hurrying down, and reached her before she had finished clearing away the barricade.

“Get that water away!” snapped Lorne angrily. “I told you we were expecting someone, didn't I?”

“Yer never said 'oo, did yer?” The old crone's voice was harsh and ill-tempered.

“You do as your told.” Lorne kicked away a plank of wood and then opened the door. As it opened the Toff came through, and on his heels was Draycott. He took in the scene in one swift glance, and as he did so Ma Kless screeched: “Yer bloody fool, that's Rollison!”

She lugged the pail up.

The Toff saw what was coming, and grabbed at Lorne and pushed the man towards the woman. The pail upset over Lorne's neck and shoulders, and he screamed with agony. A few splashes of the water fell on the Toff and Draycott, but did no damage, and the Toff reached Ma Kless. She was swearing viciously and kicking and hitting out, but he stopped her struggles with a grip at the back of her neck, then he gripped the seat of her skirt and carried her upstairs.

Harvey was at the door.

“Rollison, what are you doing?”

“Trying to stop this lady from being a nuisance,” said the Toff. “She upset some hot water on Lorne. Draycott, watch Lorne,” he called.

Then the Toff threw Ma Kless at Mr. ‘Mortimer' Harvey, and as the big man dodged to one side, but failed to avoid her, the Toff went into the small room. He saw Fay on the bed, Charlotte Harvey standing over her with a gun, and Ramsey standing wild eyed by the wall.

The Toff went in, quite casually, reached Charlotte Harvey, who turned the gun towards him, and said sharply: “What kind of a deal is this? I thought we were coming to terms.”

Harvey, breathing hard, and with a scratch on his cheek from Ma Kless's filthy nails, was just behind him.

“If you're trying to double cross me, Rollison, I'll see that girl's throat cut. If you're on the level, I'll give you ten thousand, and the girl, for a day's grace from the police. Come on, make up your mind.”

As he spoke he took a knife from his pocket, and Ramsey showed a gun. The woman held her gun close to Rollison, while Ramsey stepped very softly towards Fay. Bound and gagged, she could only stare at the knife, which was no more than six inches from her eyes.

“When I talk about terms I mean terms, and not chicken feed,” said the Toff. “If you say fifty thousand we might do a deal.”

Harvey snapped: “Fifty thousand nothing! Why, you idiot, we can kill everyone of you. If you told the police where to find us we'd have heard by now, so you can't pull a bluff. Ten thousand,
and
the girl. That's my final offer. Have a look at
that,”
he added, and he looked towards Ramsey and Fay.

The Toff glanced quickly.

He had known from the first that the cold-bloodedness of those he was working against knew no bounds, and he knew also that Ramsey would use that knife if he were told. The older woman held the gun very steadily, a foot away from him.

Downstairs Lorne was moaning, and Draycott's footsteps sounded on the stairs. Outside the door Ma Kless was crouching, more like a beast than a woman, and she gibbered as Draycott came into sight.

“Make up your mind I” shouted Harvey.

Then, quite suddenly, a motor-horn sounded from outside. There was a long blast and a short one, and then silence. Harvey and the others started, but the Toff was unperturbed. Draycott entered by the door. At sight of the girl, and the man with the knife, his face drained of colour. He took a halfstep forward, but the Toff intervened.

“We've reached an agreement,” he said. “Don't spoil it.”

Then he moved towards the bed.

As he went Charlotte Harvey fired at point-blank range. The bullet struck him on the chest, high on the left side. He grunted, but it did not stop him; and the bullet fell to the floor! He struck at the woman, and kicked out at Ramsey. Ramsey lost his balance and fell across Fay, the knife striking against the wall and ripping paper and plaster from it. The Toff still went on, putting an arm about Ramsey and literally heaving him from Fay, while Jimmy Draycott hit the man who called himself Mortimer Harvey so hard that Harvey went sailing against the wall.

Ma Kless began to scream.

That screaming was nothing to the noise that suddenly began downstairs. Windows crashed and there was thunderous banging on the doors, back and front. While the Toff covered Fay, and twisted Charlotte Harvey's wrist so that she could not move, men stumbled into 91 Gay Street – Bert's men, led by Bert himself, men about whom no one would warn Harvey or the others. Ramsey picked himself up and made a rush for the door, but he fell into the arms of Bert, who simply shoved him back into the room.

“I got you, I saw it get you!” Charlotte screamed at Rollison.

“You forgot that I might be wearing a chain waistcoat,” said the Toff. “I don't by habit, but at times it's wise. All right, Bert, we've got the lot.”

“Nice work, Mr. Ar,” said Bert.

The Toff untied the cords at Fay Gretton's wrists, and Jimmy Draycott unfastened the scarf about her face.

 

The police had a number of prisoners that night, and McNab heard a story which at first he was inclined to disbelieve; but finally he accepted it, chiefly because Charlotte Harvey broke down and confessed. The man who had called himself Mortimer Harvey
was
a brother, a renegade brother who had worked up the scheme a year before, and put it into operation when his brother had gone to the South of France to convalesce. Mortimer Harvey had died of natural causes, and his brother had taken his place.

Charlotte, Ramsey and Phyllis had had to know. Mortimer's son, Gerald, had been abroad and was not then a danger.

The first two had been willing partners, the sister because there was nothing for her in Mortimer's will, Ramsey because he received a good settlement. Phyllis also had acquiesced, but developed a conscience: and her relatives had complied with Lorne's suggestion that she should be drugged with cocaine.

But even that had not avoided trouble.

Draycott had found the truth, and Gerald Harvey had returned home. At first it was intended to murder Draycott and to make it look like suicide: then Gerald had complicated things, and he had been killed at Draycott's flat, so that Draycott should be accused of murder,
if
no way was found of killing him and presenting a suicide theory to the police.

Draycott, after two attempts on his life, had run for cover. Harrison had not worried, since he had known where to find him: but Harrison had kept that to himself, and not told Lorne or Harvey, chiefly – thought the Toff – because he wanted to do a little extra blackmail. To the Toff an astonishing thing was that Harrison had sent Fay to see him, yet it was explained simply enough: Harrison had been afraid that Fay would go to the police, and had thought it safe enough to send her to Rollison, whom he considered much overrated.

There was one other thing: Gerald Harvey had been murdered by Grab Kless, which explained that man's desperation in his attempt to get away from the train.

Altogether McNab was well satisfied, although he said that the Toff should have seen him about the raid. But he was grateful that he had been helped to avoid a major mistake, and the Toff left the Yard with McNab's blessing on him. He went to Gresham Terrace, where Fay and Anthea, and Jamie and Draycott were waiting. By then the police were on the way to Jolly and his prisoners.

But the Toff was not happy.

Nor, quite clearly, was Draycott.

There was a strange quiet in the lounge of the flat, and nothing to suggest a danger gone, and a triumph worthy of celebrating also past them. The Toff said slowly: “Well, Draycott?”

Draycott drew a deep breath.

“What can I do, Rollison? Phyllis has been drugged, she couldn't help herself. I've got to see her through this. I—I know I can rely on you not to tell Fay some—some of the things I said.”

The Toff shrugged.

“If you want it that way, I'll keep quiet. But—”

He stopped, for unexpectedly the telephone rang; he lifted the receiver, and he heard Jolly's voice. He was at a Winchester hotel, and with Mr. Rollison's permission proposed to stay there for the night. But there was one thing which he felt he should report. From Harrison's pocket he had taken an interesting document. A marriage certificate, nearly a year old. The price of Harrison's part in the scheme – and he had been in it from the beginning – had been the hand of Phyllis Harvey.

The Toff said in a voice that positively echoed: “You mean she's married to
Harrison?”

“Precisely, sir,” said Jolly. “And I understand that the marriage was at first kept secret because it was feared that Mr. Draycott would learn of the deception, and that his devotion to Miss—er—Mrs. Harrison would ensure his compliance. I understand also, sir,” said Jolly sonorously, “that the marriage was of her own free will, and some time before it was considered necessary to use drugs. Is that all you require tonight, sir?”

“It's more than all,” said the Toff. “It's a miracle.”

At first Draycott could not believe it, but soon Phyllis Harvey admitted it. She was very sorry for Jimmy. She had agreed to keep silent because she had not wanted to hurt him. She hoped he would forgive her, but she was very tired, too, and she wanted to sleep.

She would undergo a long course of treatment, and with luck she would recover. Long before that Lorne, Harrison, the renegade Harvey and Ramsey would be condemned, and Charlotte would be serving a life sentence, after a reprieve. And the thugs who had been with Harrison near Hurley would receive similar sentences.

While Mortimer Harvey's money was held in trust for Phyllis, which was as it should be.