Accuse the Toff Read online

  A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  Still glowing under the promise of compensation the angular Mrs. Mee, who had powdered her face and dabbed a lipstick on her lips, brought in a tray on which were two large steaming cups of coffee. She was dressed in a black satin frock which rustled and crinkled, beamed upon them and put the tray on the dressing-table within easy reach of the bed.

  ‘I thought you might change your mind, sir,’ she said. ‘You can’t get too hot after what you’ve been through. And don’t spare the sugar, don’t be afraid of it.’ Her beam widened, she was austerity unbending. ‘What a lucky girl you are,’ she added archly and shook a finger at Patrushka. ‘If this brave gentleman hadn’t jumped in after you, I wouldn’t like to think what would have happened. Why, it’s a wonder you wasn’t froze to death as soon as you got in. Is there anything else you want, sir?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Rollison, who had borrowed cigarettes and matches from George on the strict understanding that he would replace them.

  The girl lay back more easily on her pillows and there was a different expression in her eyes, thoughtful, considering and surprised. Rollison was about to speak again when Mrs. Mee tapped again and entered quickly, her face set in lines of apology.

  ‘I’m awfully sorry, sir, but a taxi-man downstairs says shall he wait, or shall he make a day of it? If you ask me, he’s a bit worried about his fare, some people are the limit.’ She sniffed righteously.

  ‘Yes, aren’t they,’ said Rollison. ‘Tell him to wait, please, and that it will be worth a fiver.’ He turned back to Patrushka without waiting to see the avaricious glint in Mrs. Mee’s eyes and heard the door close gently, accompanied by the exuding of a long, slow breath.

  Patrushka completely ignored the interruption.

  ‘I was the only one around,’ said Rollison apologetically. ‘And I wanted to talk with you, so there was nothing else to do.’ His eyes were smiling but there was an underlying note of seriousness in his voice. ‘What happened to you before you—er—fell in?’

  ‘I didn’t fall,’ she said, and then abruptly: ‘But you know that as well as I do. I—I went to see the Jamesons but they were out.’ She paused before going on: ‘I have a key to the cottage and I went in. Some men were waiting for me—I think Ibbetson was among them.’

  ‘He was,’ confirmed the Toff.

  ‘The brute,’ she said and shuddered a little; it was not affectation. ‘I don’t know much more, except that they hit me over the head and I—I fainted. Before that I thought they seemed in a hurry to get me away. One of them said that there wasn’t time to ask questions.’ She stopped and leaned forward for her coffee. She wore a voluminous flannel nightdress, chastely drawn high at the neck and with half-length sleeves from which her rounded forearm poked modestly. ‘Thanks,’ she added as Rollison handed her the cup and she took a spoonful of sugar. ‘That’s all I do remember about it.’

  ‘I hope it is,’ said Rollison.

  ‘I’m telling you it is,’ said Patrushka. ‘I—I was in two minds whether to tell you all I can before that old bag of bones came in but now—well, I didn’t realise that I owed you my life.’

  ‘I suppose it is a point,’ admitted Rollison.

  ‘Well, my name is June Lancing, I am as English as you are and I lied to you this morning because I didn’t want you to know what was happening. I thought you would be—be unable to get any further and that you’d just forget the affair. 1 knew you worked at the War Office, you see, and I thought you’d be too busy to give a lot of time to this.’

  ‘I am busy,’ Rollison assured her. ‘This is a spare-time hobby.’

  ‘It hasn’t been today!’ There was a hint of a smile on her lips and, in spite of the questions and the crisis which he had forced, the brilliance of her eyes and the flush of her cheeks seemed less pronounced. ‘Oh, don’t let’s play on words, I’m tired of pretending. I’ve been pretending for so long. What do you want to know?’

  ‘How did you know that I was involved?’ asked the Toff promptly, and her answer was as quick.

  ‘The Jamesons told me.’

  ‘How did you come to know the Jamesons?’

  ‘They worked for my father for a long time. That was before the war,’ she added quietly. ‘He died and mother and I gave up our big house and took a London flat. The Jamesons owned the cottage here, so they came to live in it. We—we gave them a pension, of course. Mr. Roll—but what is your rank?’

  ‘Mr. will do.’

  ‘I was going to say, this is the truth.’

  ‘I’m not going to doubt where it can be checked easily,’ said Rollison quietly and her cheeks flushed. But she went on without comment.

  ‘They told us that you’d been at the cottage and old Jameson remembered about you. Tom followed your—your adventures when he was younger and I remembered something about you, so I asked a friend what he knew of you. As soon as I knew that you were all right, I sent the black case to your office for safety. That was last night. I thought it would be easy enough to get it back. I didn’t know what was going to happen.’

  ‘Not having second sight. So Lie Number 3 is that the case was stolen from you.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ the girl said quickly. ‘It was stolen and then Peveril stole it from Ibbetson and I—well, I managed to get it back. I knew I dared not keep it for long, so I sent it to a Messenger Service and told them to address it to you and take it to the War Office first thing in the morning. I didn’t think there would be more than one Rollison working there and—well, it seemed safer than the flat.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve realised how easily flats can be broken into,’ the girl replied quietly. ‘I thought I’d put it where it could come to no harm, this time. Then soon afterwards that brute Peveril forced his way into the flat. It—it was pretty bad for half an hour. He threatened some beastly things and I just couldn’t stand out against him. Thank God he believed me!’ she added and Rollison did not doubt her sincerity then. ‘Doesn’t he make the hair rise up on the back of your neck?’

  ‘He hasn’t yet,’ said the Toff, ‘but if you mean does he strike me as being a poisonous customer, yes. But you nearly qualified for the insanity stakes, you know. If you took the trouble to inquire about me why the deuce didn’t you make a job of it and come to ask me to help?’

  She said steadily: ‘It would have meant telling you what was in the case. I couldn’t do that.’

  The contents are as incriminating as that, are they?’ asked Rollison quietly. ‘What kind of a mess have you got yourself into, Patrushka? Who in the name of heaven persuaded you to try to handle it on your own?’

  After a long pause she said tensely: ‘I had to work on my own, I couldn’t consult anyone else, I didn’t know where it would lead to. I didn’t get the case from Mr. Brett. I’m not engaged to his son.’ Those admissions came abruptly. ‘I told you both those things to make it sound more convincing.’ Her voice dropped to a lower pitch, quivering a little, and the cup and saucer shook in her hand. ‘I’ve told you that my father died and we had to give up the country house. That’s true but he was murdered, I know he was murdered and the evidence is in that case. Brett killed him, I’m sure of it. He killed him and robbed the estate, he’s like a great beast of prey, feeding on his victims. My father was one of a dozen, of a hundred! But Brett was too secure, no-one suspected the great Lancelot Brett of being a thief and a rogue and a swindler. Why, the Government consults him and entrusts him with its secrets; he’s gone to America for them now; but if they knew the truth they wouldn’t trust him an inch. I thought if I could get the case I could prove it. I know it holds all his secrets. My father told me he’d seen Brett consulting it. Don’t look at me as if you don’t believe me!’ she flared up suddenly. ‘It’s true!’

  She glared at him and a little of the coffee spilt into t
he saucer while the Toff leaned forward and touched her wrist, a soft, almost caressing gesture of reassurance. He smiled a little, intent only on easing her feeling, suddenly bubbling up and showing the pent-up emotions within her. That persuaded him more than anything else of her earnestness and her conviction.

  ‘Yes, I believe you,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t get worked up, Patrushka, I’ll see you through. And I’ll look after him, too.’

  She gasped: ‘Him? Who do you mean?’

  ‘Whoever you’re working for,’ said Rollison gently. ‘Whoever you’re helping. The man who gave you that engagement ring, I imagine, and because of whom you daren’t confide in the police and you didn’t want to confide in me. There is a “him,” isn’t there?’

  In a strangled voice she said: ‘Yes, but—how did you know?’

  ‘If all you’ve told me is true, and I think it is, you wanted to get the case open first, to extract something incriminating. Unless that was so you would have told the police at once or I’m no judge of Patrushka-June Lancing. Let it all come out now, even a half-truth or a single fact not disclosed might make all the difference between winning and losing.’ Rollison talked to soothe her, using the first words that came into his mind, believing he had divined the truth and seeing confirmation in her eyes. He watched her closely, seeing her lips moving as her breathing quickened and her eyes, with their great lashes, wider open than he had ever seen them.

  ‘Oh, dear God!’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t face it, I’m frightened he’ll be found out. Oh, Gerry! Why did you have to do it, why couldn’t you have fought against it?’ She stopped, but her great eyes still stared at the Toff.

  He sensed the depths of her emotion and forgot the questions crowding his mind in the revelation of a heart laid bare to him. To this girl the unknown ‘Gerry’ mattered more than anyone or anything in the world.

  In a brittle voice she went on: ‘Brett employed a secretary who knew almost as much as he did. Gerry killed him. The evidence is in the case. And I had it in my hands for hours. I had it in my hands but I daren’t open it. I just daren’t. I knew what would happen if I did. I could have destroyed it but it would have ruined the chances of bringing Brett’s crimes home to him, as well as of freeing Gerry. I couldn’t destroy it,’ she went on tautly. ‘I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t let such a man go free.’

  Quietly, not then comprehending, Rollison said: ‘Why couldn’t you open it, Patrushka?’

  He was not giving all his thought to what he said; he was thinking of the unknown Gerry to whom the contents of the case, if the girl were right, would bring home murder. He was thinking of the fact that Grice had the case and that there was little or no chance of examining the contents before the police did. He was wondering what Patrushka would think and do when she knew that he had given it to the police, was reproaching himself for having let Grice have it although in his heart he knew that it had been the right thing to do. He was strangely disturbed by thought of Gerry; the tension in the girl explained that to some degree. He was disturbed, too, because of the likely effect of the revelation on her. He did not stop, then, to reason out the probable truth of Peveril’s and Ibbetson’s search for the case although his mind did admit the probability that, if it contained such information against Lancelot Brett, it would be a weapon of untold value in the hands of a blackmailer.

  Many of the problems were settling themselves.

  Subconsciously he realised that and, if he had not yet learned why a Commando had run amok or another man had pretended to, the threads were being disentangled, the worst confusion was in the human problem only then impressing itself on his mind.

  The girl did not answer, and he repeated: ‘Why couldn’t you open it, Patrushka?’

  ‘I—daren’t,’ she breathed. ‘I hadn’t the key and if it’s forced it will explode and kill anyone within a dozen yards. Brett boasted about that; he didn’t mean anyone to get that evidence. I had to get the key as well as the case.’

  Then she stopped and it was her turn to see dismay on Rollison’s face. He stood staring at her, hard-eyed and with a cold hand gripping his vitals. He was thinking of Grice trying to force open the case.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Keep It Closed’

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Patrushka. ‘What’s the matter?’ As Rollison did not answer immediately, she leaned forward and stretched out a hand. ‘Who has the case? she breathed. ‘Where is it?’

  In spite of the sudden surge of fear for Grice and others at the Yard and the total unexpectedness of the news, Rollison did not mention the police. He turned to the door, reaching it in one stride across the tiny room, saying: ‘Friends of mine are going to try to open it.’

  ‘They mustn’t do that!’ cried the girl. ‘It will be fatal, tell them to keep it closed!’

  ‘Fatal in two ways, yes,’ said Rollison. ‘I’ll be back.’

  There was no light on the landing or downstairs in the little hall and he stumbled on the first stair, slipping but saving himself from falling by clutching the handrail. He made noise enough to make June Lancing call out in anxious inquiry and for light to shine suddenly as a door opened below. Mrs. Mee’s voice came upwards urgently: ‘Who’s that. What’s happening?’

  Rollison went down the rest of the stairs swiftly, calling as he went.

  ‘Where’s the nearest telephone. Is it far away?’

  ‘There’s a kee-osk outside Green’s, the butcher’s,’ Mrs. Mee told him, staring at his strained face. ‘You can get there in ten minutes, sir.’

  ‘Too far,’ said Rollison briefly. ‘Isn’t there one at a private house?’ He had the front door open by then and the woman hurried agitatedly towards him.

  ‘Oh, sir, please mind the blackout, they make a fuss.’ She pushed the door to firmly and then went on: ‘Mr. Yateman has got one, but he’s a miserable old—I mean he doesn’t like the neighbours using it.’

  ‘I’m not a neighbour,’ retorted Rollison. ‘Where is his house? This is urgent,’ he added sharply as he pulled at the door.

  His manner more than his words made her allow the door to open although light streamed into the street. Hurriedly she told him that Mr. Yateman lived two doors along on the same side of the road, that he was rather deaf.

  Rollison reached the small gate before he paused. In his anxiety to get word to Grice he had overlooked the possibility that the girl might decide to take to flight again now that she had said so much. The approach of a dark figure in policeman’s uniform helped to solve the difficulty.

  ‘Put that light out,’ began the constable and the door closed abruptly.

  Rollison spoke on the man’s words, without preamble.

  ‘Go in there, constable and make sure that the young lady upstairs stays in her room—Mrs. Mee will tell you which young lady. I’m speaking for Superintendent Grice,’ he added, then pushed past the policeman and reached the gate of the second house away. Visions of waiting and fuming on the doorstep faded for the door was opened quickly upon his ring; the faintest of faint lights showed a little man in silhouette.

  ‘May I use your telephone, please,’ said Rollison, and added the open sesame. ‘Police business.’

  ‘Eh?’ said the little man, barring his path.

  So he was deaf, thought Rollison and drew a deep breath preparatory to shouting, then thought better of it and leaned forward, putting his lips close to the man’s right ear.

  ‘Telephone—urgent,’ he said clearly.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ said the deaf Mr. Yateman. ‘I won’t be bothered by being called at this time of night to let people use the telephone. I—’

  ‘Police!’ declared Rollison harshly.

  ‘Police!’ echoed Mr. Yateman, backing a pace. ‘Oh, I see. Well, I suppose you’d better use it, then. Close the door,’ he added, complainingly, ‘you’ll need the
light on, I suppose.’

  He indicated the instrument in the hall and the Toff dialled Whitehall 1212, getting no immediate connection and fuming at the delay. When he thought dispassionately he considered the probability that Grice had already made the effort and, if Brett’s declaration to the girl about the case were true, then there was little hope for the Superintendent or those who had been with him. Such a disaster would be too great and unexpected; the Toff found it inconceivable but the brr-brr of the ringing tone and the long time that it took for the answer made him fear that disaster had befallen the Yard. Surely there could be no other reasonable explanation of the delay? He dialled again, as Yateman made a tcha-tcha noise with his lips and then a cool voice announced: ‘Scotland Yard speaking, can I help you?’

  ‘It’s Richard Rollison here,’ said the Toff quickly, his forehead cold with perspiration. ‘Get every line you can working for a call for Superintendent Grice. Tell him that Rollison says that the black case must be kept closed until I’ve seen him. It must be. Is that clear?’ ‘Black case, sir?’ queried the operator. ‘The little black one that I gave him.’ ‘I’ll do what you ask at once, sir. Will you hold on?’ ‘I will,’ said Rollison, oblivious to further tcha-tchas from Yateman and also to the fact that he retained the blanket which was about his shoulders and also dangling to his feet, likely to trip him if he moved again. A clock struck half-past eight; and the waiting seemed interminable.

  That the case remained unopened as late as eight o’clock that evening was against all Grice’s inclinations. It would have been forced at a much earlier hour had it not offered difficulties which Grice himself had found insuperable. He had sent for Sergeant MacAdam whose speciality was the opening of recalcitrant locks and the dismantling of complicated mechanisms. The sergeant soon admitted himself temporarily beaten and asked permission to take it to his workroom.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Grice said.