Hammer the Toff Read online

  ‘The post, sir,’ he said, and put it on the table.

  Rollison looked at the package, frowning. He went over and touched it.

  ‘What gives you the creeps about that?’ Grice demanded.

  ‘No creeps,’ said Rollison, ‘just an idea.’ He opened the package. It contained a watch which had been with the repairers for some weeks. He held it to his ear, absently. ‘Bill,’ he murmured, ‘of this I’m sure: Susan knows something or the Hammer thinks she does. The attempt to kill her could only have been to keep her quiet. Agreed?’

  ‘I’ll allow that it’s possible,’ conceded Grice.

  ‘And her flat was searched, remember. Was anything taken away?’

  ‘She didn’t report anything missing. I wish you’d tell me what you’re driving at.’

  Rollison laughed. ‘I was wondering whether Susan ever received that registered letter which you once had. Remember it? There might have been something in that.’ He dialled Susan’s number. She came on the line immediately.

  ‘No,’ she said, when he had asked her about the letter. ‘I didn’t get any correspondence at all at the Lorne Hall Hotel.’

  ‘Are you quite sure, Susan?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Rollison. He rang off, and turned to Grice. ‘You see, Horniman could have taken it, pretending that he would give it to her. What did the hotel people say about the letter when you inquired about it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Grice. ‘Barrow had that to do.’

  ‘Did he do it?’

  ‘I’ll soon find out,’ said Grice. ‘And if he didn’t make the inquiry …’ he laughed shortly. ‘No inspectorship for Barrow!’

  Rollison murmured: ‘Dare you take me with you?’

  ‘I’ll risk it,’ said Grice. The worst Meredith can do is to retire me!’

  Barrow started when he saw Rollison in Grice’s office.

  He was not a bad looking man, with his curly hair and powerful figure. Until his gaze had alighted on Rollison, his manner was cocksure, but he quickly recovered his poise.

  ‘Did you send for me?’ No ‘sir’, no ‘Mr Grice’.

  ‘Yes, sergeant I asked you to find out from the Lorne Hall Hotel, Bournemouth, whether a registered letter had been delivered there for Miss Lancaster. Did you make the inquiry?’

  There was a moment’s pause, then: ‘I—yes, of course,’ said Barrow. ‘Yes. There hadn’t been a letter.’

  ‘You’re quite sure the matter wasn’t forgotten?’ insisted Grice.

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Barrow, but he avoided Grice’s eyes. ‘You wouldn’t expect the hotel to remember a thing like that, anyhow, would you? They must have dozens of such letters.’

  Grice said: ‘I wouldn’t expect some people to remember very much of anything.’ He lifted the telephone. ‘Get me the Lorne Hall Hotel, Bournemouth,’ he said. ‘Now, sergeant. I understand that you told Mrs Piper, the woman who owns the house where the Hammer lived, that you had been tipped off that he lived there by Mr Rollison.’

  Barrow started. ‘That—that’s not true!’

  ‘She has made a statement to that effect,’ Grice said.

  Barrow gulped. ‘I didn’t say anything of the kind. You wouldn’t expect that kind of woman to tell you the truth, would you?’

  Grice said coldly: ‘There are liars in every walk of life, sergeant. What did you say to her that might have been construed into an accusation against Mr Rollison?’

  A touch of insolence crept into Barrow’s voice. ‘It wasn’t a case of an accusation, I might have said something about anyone who had anything to—er—to do with Rollison was asking for trouble, but—’

  Grice said icily: ‘You forget yourself, sergeant!’ He was suddenly in a towering rage. For a moment they stared at each other, and then the telephone rang. Grice took off the receiver: ‘Hallo … Hallo,’ he said, and seemed to forget the others in the room. ‘I am speaking from Scotland Yard, London … May I speak to the receptionist who was on duty on Monday, please … You are? Thank you … An inquiry was made from here about a registered letter addressed to Miss Susan Lancaster and possibly not delivered to her … No inquiry was made? Are you sure?’ His voice sharpened. ‘How can you be so sure … You’ve got it there?’ he exclaimed, and then pulled himself up sharply. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said. ‘I will arrange for it to be collected at once, thank you.’

  He replaced the receiver slowly, then turned to Barrow, his voice, when he spoke, entirely devoid of expression.

  ‘You are relieved of duty until further inquiries about your dereliction of duty can be made. Sergeant Barrow. Give me your card.’

  Barrow drew in his breath. ‘You—you’ve no right—’

  ‘Damn you, man!’ roared Grice, ‘I’ll see you drummed out of the Force if I have any more insolence from you. Give me your card!’ Sullenly, Barrow took out his wallet and extracted the card. Grice tossed it on the desk. ‘That’s all,’ he growled. ‘Now get out.’

  Barrow said haltingly: ‘I’ve got a right to appeal—’

  ‘Appeal to whom you like,’ snapped Grice.

  As he spoke, the door opened. Rollison glanced towards it and saw the newcomer first.

  Of all the callers, this was the last man he wanted to see, although he supposed that such a visit was to be expected. For the portly, frowning man who entered was Meredith, the Chief Constable. He stood dark and uncompromising, and his brows met when he saw Rollison.

  Barrow swung round. ‘Sir—’

  ‘Be quiet, Barrow!’ snapped Grice, and Meredith started at the harsh tone of his voice. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ Grice said to Meredith. ‘I have just stood Sergeant Barrow off the duty roster for negligence. He had instructions to make inquiries about an important matter of evidence, and failed to carry them out.’

  Meredith said blankly: ‘Oh.’

  ‘Further, sir, he had admitted giving uncorroborated information to a suspected associate of the man known as the Hammer,’ Grice went on, ‘and I think there is little doubt, sir, that he has needlessly, and of neglect, confused a case already sufficiently complicated. I was about to write a formal request for an inquiry into his conduct.’

  Meredith looked completely taken aback for a moment, then a mask came down over his face.

  ‘You may go, Barrow.’ Grice waited until the door had closed behind him and then turned back to Meredith as if they were the best friends in the world. ‘I’m sorry that was necessary, sir,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid Barrow had been making mischief in several ways. Oh—you know Mr Rollison, don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ said Meredith, coldly. He looked at Rollison’s sling. ‘And I must say that I am surprised to see him here, in view of—’

  ‘He has come to make a statement,’ said Grice smoothly, ‘and I would like your permission to have it taken down, sir.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Meredith. He looked at Rollison expectantly.

  ‘I’ll ring for a stenographer,’ said Grice, and pressed a bell. ‘It will cover his version of the Horniman murder at Bournemouth,’ Grice went on, ‘I was anxious to get all the details exactly right, sir.’

  ‘Very proper,’ murmured Meredith.

  ‘I will have a copy sent up to you, sir, as soon as it has been transcribed,’ promised Grice.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Meredith said: ‘Very well, Superintendent.’ He turned to Rollison. ‘You understand, I am sure, that the tightening up of regulations in no way reflects upon the help you have rendered us in the past, Mr Rollison.’

  Rollison smiled dryly: ‘It hadn’t occurred to me to believe otherwise,’ he declared.

  ‘Good, good!’ said Meredith. He nodded, and went out, and Grice smiled broadly, now on top of the world.

  ‘That’s settled him for the time being,’ he said. ‘And I haven’t finished with Barrow, yet.’ he added, ‘the man may just be a conceited fool, or he may have been got at. I don’t want to think so, but—’ he broke off, s
hrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ asked Rollison.

  Grice frowned. ‘I don’t think so. I—Great Scott, yes! That registered letter.’

  He picked up the telephone, and was soon talking to Carr, in Bournemouth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Late Delivery

  The front-door bell rang and Susan jumped up excitedly.

  ‘Don’t expect too much from this letter,’ Rollison counselled her. ‘It might be nothing to do with Bruce.’

  Carr came in first, and looked concerned when he saw Rollison’s arm.

  ‘A trifle,’ Rollison assured him. ‘What are you doing away from the Sunny South?’

  ‘I had to come to town sooner or later,’ said Carr, ‘and I thought I would bring the letter myself. After all, this is partly my job, you know.’ He greeted Susan, who watched him tensely as he took the letter from his pocket. Grice came in hurriedly and closed the door.

  The letter looked ordinary enough. Only the blue-pencilled lines across it made it different from a dozen others lying on Rollison’s desk. It was addressed in block capitals, and the blue registration slip was marked: ‘W. Kensington.’

  Carr held the letter towards Susan.

  ‘Please open it,’ she said, in a strained voice.

  Carr slit the envelope, and, under the tense gaze of the other three, took out several folded sheets of paper. Each one was covered with closely-written handwriting, and Susan leapt to her feet.

  ‘That’s Bruce’s writing!’ she exclaimed.

  She watched with tense expectancy as Carr separated the sheets. All appeared to be very much the same and now Rollison could see that there were many rows of figures, arranged in what looked like some sort of formulae. Susan took each sheet and glanced at it, looking for a personal letter; but there was none.

  ‘Now we are making progress,’ Rollison said, as much to cheer her up as for any other reason. ‘Word from Bruce since the fire tells quite a story.’ He took the envelope. ‘Dated last Saturday,’ he said. ‘Is that in Bruce’s hand too, Susan?’

  She studied the block letters closely.

  ‘I can’t be sure,’ she said.

  Carr looked up. ‘There might be a code, you know,’ he commented. ‘Drayton may have known that he could not get a letter away, so hid a message in these formulae. They concern his new inventions, I suppose.’

  Susan was recovering from her disappointment, she even smiled. ‘Do you really think it’s proof, that he was alive after that body was found, Rolly?’

  ‘It’s a reasonable assumption,’ Rollison assured her. ‘Who else would post them to you?’

  ‘If he could post those, why couldn’t he post something else?’ asked Susan, reasonably. ‘Can we find out for certain that he posted them?’

  ‘We can test the envelope for prints,’ said Grice. ‘I don’t think there’s much hope of finding out who took the receipt from the post office. If Mr Drayton did himself, then it means that he was in London last Saturday. But if that were so, surely he would have telephoned you.’

  ‘You’d think so,’ said Susan. ‘I was hoping so much that—’ she broke off. ‘Is there anything else?’ she demanded, abruptly.

  ‘Not just now,’ Grice said.

  ‘How long are these policemen going to follow me about?’ Susan asked, and gave a nervous little laugh. ‘It makes me feel almost as if I’m under suspicion myself.’

  ‘It’s for your safety only,’ Grice assured her. ‘As soon as the case is finished, they won’t worry you any more.’

  ‘They don’t exactly worry me,’ said Susan.

  But Rollison, for greater safety, sent Snub after the girl when she left, to see her home. Then he returned to the sitting-room, where Carr was looking at the wall of exhibits and Grice was poring over the contents of the registered envelope. He glanced up and met Rollison’s eye.

  ‘I think we’re thinking the same thing,’ said Rollison. ‘How do these papers compare with those which Horniman dished out to his partners? Isn’t it time we had a look at them?’

  Grice chuckled. ‘Meredith’s in a more amenable frame of mind at the moment,’ he said. ‘I’ll fix it.’

  Exactly three hours later, a little after two o’clock, the last of the papers which Horniman had given as security to his financial partners, was in the flat.

  There were five sheets in the letter which had been sent to Susan; there were fourteen of Horniman’s sheets. The handwriting was different and a quick comparison proved that although there were superficial resemblances, the two sets were not the same. Twenty minutes after they had reached that conclusion, a little, flat-faced man who spoke with a broad Lancashire accent arrived, and Grice introduced him as Townley, London representative of one of the big Lancashire textile companies. He took one look at Horniman’s papers, and laughed.

  ‘Ah don’t think you need worry about them,’ he said. ‘Looks to me someone copied them out of an elementary text-book on plastics. You surely didn’t send for me for those, Mr Grice.’

  Grice handed him the other sheets.

  ‘Try this lot,’ he said.

  Townley glanced at them casually at first; then his interest quickened. Suddenly he pushed his way to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. Rollison had rarely seen so remarkable a change in a man. One moment amused and rueful, the next he was completely absorbed in the papers in front of him. He spent at least ten minutes on the first sheet, then pushed his chair back and looked up, his eyes glistening.

  ‘They’ll make Silva-Sheen half the price to produce,’ he declared, hoarse with excitement. ‘They’re Drayton’s work, Ah’ll be bound, Drayton was working on these lines. When producers get these, they’ll go up in the air all right!’

  ‘Will they injure the trade?’ demanded Rollison.

  ‘Injure it, man? They’ll make it! In a year, wi’ these methods, we’ll double our export trade.’ There was no doubt of his excitement or sincerity. ‘Who owns them now?’ he demanded.

  Grice said: ‘Drayton may be alive.’

  ‘If he’s alive there’ll be no need to worry,’ said Townley, ‘but gi’ two or three companies these papers and they’ll monopolise the trade. Are there any copies?’

  ‘Not to our knowledge,’ Grice said.

  ‘Then put them in a safe place, where no one can touch them,’ Townley cried. ‘Gi’ them to the Board of Trade as soon as ye know there are no copies,’ He took out a cigarette, but was too excited to light it. ‘Ah always knew Drayton had something in him,’ he said, ‘man’s a genius if ever there was one.’

  There seemed no further doubt that Drayton had been kidnapped for his new formulae. Thus the motive came back to the first one suspected, and for the next half hour, the Hammer, the East End and all that went with them faded to the background of Rollison’s mind. That Horniman had tricked his investors was now clear enough. Grice, interviewing them, had found that all had been convinced of Horniman’s honesty. All, that is, excepting Jane Lenwell and her husband, and Mrs Willis on whom he had brought pressure to bear. The only two people who might have known more of what Horniman had been doing, Benson and Finnigan, had been killed.

  Grice said: ‘The only contact now is the Hammer.’

  ‘Who’s built an impregnable wall about himself,’ said Rollison.

  ‘Surely there’s something you can do,’ Carr said.

  Rollison, sitting back and nursing his arm, murmured: ‘We must find something out of nothing. What are the known facts now? Someone thought that Susan had received that letter, and tried to kill her to prevent her from bringing it to us. Her room was searched at the flat, remember. That she was lured away so that could be done suggests that there are no copies. It also suggests that someone, and we’ve got to assume that it’s the Hammer, wants to get a monopoly of the new methods. So it begins to make sense, and our hand’s stronger than it was.’ He laughed. ‘It’s a curious fact, Bill, that while murder was being done to get hold o
f these papers, they were waiting for anyone to collect from the reception desk at Lorne Hall Hotel.’

  ‘Now tell us something that will help,’ suggested Grice.

  ‘There are two lines which you can see as well as I can,’ Rollison told him. ‘First Mrs Lenwell, who visited the Hammer Club, remember, and saw Benson there – she’s the only one we know who ever had any contact with Benson. And the other is Janet Piper. You’re having her watched, I hope.’

  ‘Closely.’

  ‘The Hammer might get in touch with her again,’ said Rollison, ‘but it’s a slender hope, I think he’ll decide that he’s safer away. Which leaves us with one other even more slender hope.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Something we’ve forgotten far too long. Our plump man, who tried to get Susan, and did get Horniman,’

  ‘We’ve no name. We haven’t even a good description of him,’ Grice pointed out. ‘Plump men abound.’

  ‘So they do,’ said Rollison, cheerfully. ‘But we know now what the plotters are after. Lock those papers up in the vaults at the Yard, Bill, and don’t let Barrow know you’ve got them.’

  ‘Barrow won’t worry us again,’ Grice assured him. ‘I’ve given chapter and verse to Meredith. It’s shocked him. There’s a chance that Barrow’s been taking bribes, but I hink he’s no more than a conceited fool.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Where’s Higginbottom?’

  ‘Gone with Susan.’

  ‘He’s been a long time, hasn’t he?’ asked Grice.

  ‘He’ll be back,’ said Rollison.

  But the question had made him uneasy. When Grice had gone, he telephoned Susan, who told him that Snub had seen her to the door and left her; that was nearly an hour ago. The police were still watching her, she said, and she felt quite safe. She had now got beyond the point of asking whether there were any news, and Rollison sensed her misery and dejection. With every day, hope was receding.

  He talked with Jolly …

  At every sound of footsteps in the street, he thought it would be Snub, but when darkness fell Snub had not returned.

  ‘Jolly,’ said Rollison. ‘I like this less and less. If we wanted to, we could fashion a formidable case against him, you know.’