The Toff In New York Read online

  There was a succession of visitors. Morris and his sergeant again, Cy Day, Dando, other newspapermen, friends who had known him in England, Morris again, doctors, nurses - and these, Rollison knew, were now largely superfluous; Morris and Cy were deliberately playing up his injuries, and making out that he was worse than he was. Nothing else was discovered. Halloran and Conway stayed at the Milwest Hotel, and still seemed nervous, went out very seldom. The police and Cy Day were going through lists of Wilf Hall’s friends and acquaintances; but there were hundreds of them, few with any conceivable motive. The revenge possibility did not reveal any new line.

  On the seventh day, Rollison was pronounced well enough to go out, if he took things carefully.

  On the ninth day, just before he left the Belle Hotel for a walk, knowing that he would be followed wherever he went, there was another visitor. He saw her from the window of the drawing-room where he had been sitting. She walked briskly. She was very small, her name was Julie, and she was Russell’s sister. Even at a distance, there was something about her which won compassion; she looked so nervous, so timid. Rollison felt quite sure that she was here to see him, and went downstairs to greet her. Eagerly. By the time he reached the hall, a bell-boy was speaking to her.

  She looked up at Rollison; nervously?

  “Hallo, Miss Russell,” he said; “come to see me?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, please. Can I talk to you?”

  “Of course. Would you like to talk here or shall we go out?”

  “I - I don’t mind,” she said; “anywhere. It - it’s about my brother. I hope you aren’t angry with me for coming.”

  “Not even slightly angry,” Rollison assured her. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

  It was warm outside, and pleasant, and he had been looking forward to some fresh air. He reminded himself that Cy Day’s men would protect him as if he was a Crown Prince. And probably the girl would feel that she could talk freely only when they were out of earshot of anyone else.

  Just across the road were the gardens of Riverside Drive, the shade of trees, the cool breeze which came off the river. They strolled out. Cy Day’s men were there all right, and one man said:

  “Don’t do anything without warning us, Mr. Rollison.”

  “Just a stroll.”

  “Okay.”

  A taxi was drawn up not far from the hotel; the nearest vehicle in sight - a red-and-yellow taxi. Rollison glanced across, and Sikoski raised a hand. Rollison waved back and called out: “See you,” and then went across the road with the girl. She already seemed more reassured.

  “Now, what’s the real trouble?” Rollison asked, and his manner and his smile put her completely at her ease.

  “It’s Van,” she said quickly; “I just want to help Van, but he - he’s almost crazy. I’ve never known him anything like it. He says that you’re the one man in the world who could identify Dutch Himmy and he’s going to make you, somehow.” She was breathless again, and she gripped Rollison’s arm tightly. “Do you know Dutch Himmy?

  Rollison said: “I wouldn’t know him if I saw him.”

  Her great brown eyes were very near his, and in them he saw the last thing he had expected: relief.

  “Thank God for that,” she breathed.

  Rollison said, startled: “What makes you so thankful?”

  “If you knew the man you might tell Van,” she said, “and if he knew, then he’d try to kill for himself. I - I just don’t want to lose my brother.”

  Rollison smiled down into that pale face.

  “Julie,” he said, “if I ever find out who Dutch Himmy is, your brother will be the last man I tell.”

  Her eyes lit up.

  “That’s wonderful to hear,” she said. “Just wonderful. I’ve been so worried because of Dando . . .“

  “Why Dando?” Rollison asked, sharply.

  Julie said: “I think he’s gone mad since - since his brother died.” Recollection of the boy she had loved brought tears to her eyes, but she went on: “He’s always egging Van on, always telling him that he must find out who Dutch Himmy is. It’s Dando who seems sure that you know but won’t tell anyone. Van would be bad enough by himself, but with two of them” She broke off. “But if you promise me that . . .”

  Such golden simplicity.

  Rollison said: “I’ll come and see your brother and try to convince him that I don’t know, Julie. Now, supposing we get a taxi for you, and”

  He stopped.

  He saw the car swing into the road, and tear towards the Belle Hotel. He heard a shout, as of warning, from one of the watching men. He grabbed Julie and flung himself behind some trees, but was a split second too late. There was a burst of shooting. He felt Julie shiver in his arms. As the car roared past and he crouched against the tree, unhurt, she was a dead weight against him.

  There was an ugly wound at the back of her head.

  Van Russell stood by the window in the living-room of his apartment. Dando was sitting on the arm of a chair. Rollison stood near the door, watching Russell, seeing the way his eyes stormed, his lips worked. All the bandages were gone, now, but his arm was still in a sling. He looked like a man in torment, as if he couldn’t control himself.

  He had been told that Julie was dead.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said hoarsely, “I just can’t believe it; she was so sweet, she was such a honey! Oh, God, why do you let it happen? God, let me find Dutch Himmy, let me avenge her. Let me . . .“

  “Van,” Dando said, in a cracked voice, “the man who can help you find Dutch Himmy is right here. He’s talked to him, he’s seen him. You can believe that line that he couldn’t describe the man if you like, but I don’t believe it.”

  Dando stopped; and there was a glitter in his eyes, a lean and hungry look on his face.

  Russell moved a step towards the Toff.

  “If I thought you knew,” he said, and almost choked. “Of course you know. Dando’s right; you can put a finger on Dutch Himmy. Come on, name him. Name him! Name the man who’s killed my best friend, my sister, who . . .”

  He sounded as if he might burst out screaming.

  Rollison said: “Get a hold on yourself; you won’t help anyone this way. If I knew Dutch Himmy . . .“

  “But you must know him, you’ve talked to him,” rasped Russell. “And I’m going to make you talk!” He swung round from Rollison, dived towards a small writing-desk and, before Rollison could reach him, snatched out an automatic and covered him. “If you don’t name Dutch Himmy I’ll shoot you,” he threatened savagely. “Who is he?”

  22

  BACK TO BRIAN CONWAY

  Russell was only six feet away. He looked wild enough to shoot to kill. The gun was quivering in his hand, but if he fired the margin of error would be trifling - he couldn’t miss. Dando was on his feet now, and Rollison stood quite still. If he jumped or tried to get the gun away he might jolt Russell into shooting.

  “Van . . .“ Dando began.

  “You keep out of this!” Russell flung at him. “Rollison, who is Dutch Himmy?”

  Rollison said very softly:

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “You stood and talked to him, you heard his voice. Even if he wore a mask you heard his voice! What did it sound like? Who is he?”

  Rollison said: “He had a very deep voice - you heard that man Halloran, didn’t you? Conway’s friend.”

  “I know who you mean. Come on - was that Dutch Himmy? Was he?” Russell almost choked. “Or are you lying to me, are you trying to fob me off?”

  “Dutch Himmy’s voice was deep, like Halloran’s,” said Rollison, quietly. “If you ask me, Halloran may know”

  Russell swung round.

  Rollison swung his arm out, and took the automatic, then slid it
into his own pocket in almost the same movement. He backed away as Russell rounded on him. He wasn’t at his peak form, but he was more than a match for the man who seemed to have lost his head.

  Dando put in: “Van, why don’t you calm down?”

  Rollison thrust Russell into a chair, backed away, and said roughly:

  “You keep away from Conway, Halloran and Dutch Himmy. You stay here, and get a doctor; if I had my way I’d chain you to the bed until Dutch Himmy’s caught. Let me tell you something. Your sister came to see me to plead with me not to tell you who Dutch Himmy was, even if I knew.”

  Dando exclaimed: ‘’ What’s that?”

  For the first time since he had started to shout, Russell spoke calmly. The rage died out of his eyes, and for a moment he had the look of his sister, and slipped back into his old, almost diffident manner.

  “Is that - is that the truth?”

  “She came to tell me that she thought you’d get yourself killed if you knew Dutch Himmy, and she begged me not to help you find him. I promised that I wouldn’t,” Rollison went on, “and that’s the kind of promise I don’t even think of breaking.” He turned round on Dando. “You could spend your time trying to make sure that Dutch Himmy doesn’t have any sacrificial victim ready, instead of driving your friend crazy.”

  Dando said: “So I could,” but there was no life in his voice.

  Rollison went down to street level. He saw one of Cy Day’s men standing just outside the swing doors of the apartment building. It would be easy to go out, cringing, fearful of another attack. He went out briskly, stimulated by the danger; and deeply, bitterly angry. He could picture the dead girl’s lovely brown eyes and her eagerness, her delight that he could understand why she had gone to see him, and what she wanted.

  Double-parked was Sikoski’s cab.

  “It’s okay,” the Agency man said, “no one’s about.”

  “Thanks.” Rollison went to the taxi, and got in. Sikoski wasn’t grinning, wasn’t at all his usual self, but there was no sign of injury on his face. He drove fast until he was on Riverside Drive, and then pulled into the kerb. An Agency car slowed down just behind him. He turned round in his seat, and said thinly:

  “You going to be okay?”

  “I think so,” Rollison said.

  No’Colonel’; no’Bud’.

  “That girl,” Sikoski said, and licked his lips. “The way they rubbed her out. That’s one thing I’m not going to forget or forgive. The way they killed that girl instead of you. She just happened to get in the way. I guess that’s one thing you aren’t going to forget or forgive.”

  “You couldn’t be more right,” Rollison said. “Did they get the killer?”

  “There was a gun battle, and he got his.”

  “That’s a pity,” said Rollison. For dead men didn’t talk.

  There was a buzz of sound in front of Sikoski, who picked up the mouthpiece-cum-earphone of his radio. He said: “Sikoski” and waited, shot a glance at Rollison, and then went on roughly: “Okay, I’ll tell him.”

  He switched the radio off, and turned round towards the Toff. Something in his manner told Rollison that this was even worse than what had happened to Julie Russell. The Toff sat absolutely still, heart hammering, fear sitting at his shoulder.

  Sikoski said: “Colonel, that dame you’re interested in has run away from the farm where she was staying. There’s a guy name of Mellish who called the hotel. He waited an hour, and when you weren’t back, he told the cops. Valerie Hall decided she didn’t like it at the farm any longer, and she’s run out. A while before she left she made a telephone call. That’s not good, is it, Colonel?”

  Rollison was with Cy Day and Morris. He didn’t argue his case and they didn’t reproach him. Mellish had been on the telephone twice, and they knew exactly what had happened. Valerie had seemed quite contented, but had made a telephone call unexpectedly, had gone out ostensibly to feed the fowls, and “She took my car,” Tim Mellish had said. “It was found near the Highway. It looks as if she was going to meet someone there. Rolly, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.

  Now the three men were sitting in Morris’s office in the big Police department building. There was no sound of traffic from outside; this was a rare oasis of quiet in the city and in the building. Morris had put out general calls for Valerie, and neighbouring states had been asked to cooperate; but Rollison felt as bad as a man could.

  Cy Day said:

  “I never did believe in fooling myself, Rolly, and it isn’t going to be easy to find that girl. If Dutch is going to kill her, then we can just sit back and wait for the news that her body’s been found.”

  Morris’s expression suggested that he agreed.

  Rollison said levelly: “Why did Dutch Himmy want her, in the first place? He was talking in small numbers, but that must have been to fool her. He wanted to scare her, and I can’t imagine any reason except this: if she were scared, she was more likely to do what he wanted.”

  No one spoke.

  “And if he wanted her to do something, then he’d want her alive,” Rollison went on.

  “Rolly,” Cy Day said, “you’re trying to fool yourself.”

  Rollison said: “Not all the way, Cy. What I’ve said adds up. There’s another angle, too - who knew where she was?” He looked at Morris. “Did you find her?”

  The policeman shook his head.

  “Any of your boys, Cy?”

  Day said quietly: “I knew that Morris was looking, and I was happy to leave it to him. I’m not going to make things worse by saying that you should have told us, so that we could look after her.”

  Rollison said bleakly: “That doesn’t make it any worse, Cy. It couldn’t be any worse. But is she alive? Is Wilf?” He lit a cigarette and flicked a match out of his hand towards the window. It didn’t go out when it hit the floor. He moved across the room and trod it out. “How could anyone trace her? How”

  He broke off.

  His expression made Day move swiftly towards him, made Morris look as if he had seen a bright light.

  Rollison said, savagely:

  “No one knew. If Morris and the police couldn’t find her, then Dutch Himmy couldn’t. She wasn’t found. She”

  “Rolly,” Day interrupted, “you’ve had a rough time, you want to take it easier.”

  “Cy, you should let me finish,” Rollison said, and went on very smoothly: “No one knew where Valerie was and she wasn’t found, she telephoned someone and arranged to meet them. She gave the hiding-place away. She didn’t want to go there, it was against her own judgment, and she just couldn’t hold out. She believed that the one way to save her brother was to deal with Dutch Himmy, and she knew only one man who might be able to act as go-between. Call it two. Brian Conway and Mike Halloran. Didn’t you say they were being watched?”

  Morris was already stretching out for the telephone.

  Day said swiftly: “You think she called Conway, and that he met her?”

  “He met her, or he sent someone else to.” Rollison was sharp; convinced.

  “We’ve found nothing against Conway . . .“

  “But plenty against Halloran,” Rollison reminded him, “and here’s something against Conway. He killed Al Cadey.” He saw Morris’s lips tighten, but the policeman didn’t interrupt, just stood with the telephone at his ear. “I’ve been trying to work out why. Conway said that he killed Cadey because he was going to injure Valerie, but I was at the door. He could have wounded the man. He didn’t, but shot him through the heart. I’ve kept asking myself why and haven’t had an answer, but here’s an answer.”

  Morris had finished on the telephone.

  “There’s been trouble,” he announced, quietly. “You coming?” He reached for his hat. “Cy, two of your operatives at the Milwest have been shot; one of my
boys has, too. Sure, I had one there.” They were at the door in a few strides; soon in the elevator, at the hall and spilling out to cars which were waiting. Two motor-cycle cops were already astride their machines. The engines roared. The sirens whined up and down, up and down, and the cops carved a way through the traffic as they would for visiting royalty or the President himself. They kept out of mid-town, and roared towards the Milwest Hotel.

  Rollison was sitting next to Morris, in the back of the police car. Day was by the driver, looking like death.

  “. . . and I think I know part of that answer about Conway’s reasoning,” Rollison said. “Cadey didn’t work for Dutch Himmy any longer. Cadey knew about Wilf being missing, and he tried to squeeze for himself. That’s why the play seemed so small. Dutch Himmy wouldn’t be interested in a hundred thousand dollars, but Cadey would, especially if he wanted to get out of New York and out of Dutch Himmy’s reach. Conway knew Cadey wouldn’t go for Valerie’s ear-rings the way he did if he was getting her ready for the big squeeze, later, so he guessed Cadey’s game. Conway was frightened - he takes fright easily - and for his own safety he shot Cadey. Both before and after that he named Dutch Himmy, hoping that if he was caught and accused, first Valerie and then I would say he’d named the big shot, and that it would be in his favour. On the side, he hoped to impress Valerie; she could be a friend in need. He impressed her, all right - she thought he’d killed Cadey simply to save her life. She told me how guilty she felt, didn’t want to believe that Conway was in the racket.”

  Sirens were still wailing up and down. Traffic was pulling to the right and left, to let them go.

  They turned a corner, and the Milwest was in front of them. So were other police cars. So were motor-cycle cops. So was an ambulance and a crowd of a hundred people or more. Even with the outriders, Morris couldn’t get right up to the entrance.

  As Rollison slid out, he saw two ambulance men coming with a stretcher between them. Morris and Day pushed a way through the crowd, and he followed. Morris went to the stretcher as it was being pushed into the ambulance. Photographers were already busy, there were pale flashes.