Hammer the Toff Read online

  Snub said: ‘Look here, this is just asking for trouble. You won’t help anyone, you’ll only get yourself into a jam. No one will notice a trail of rice.’

  ‘You’re quite right,’ Rollison said. ‘There isn’t a chance – unless Kennedy makes a mistake. He hasn’t made a serious one yet, except playing in that band and applying for my job. He thought if he could get the job he would be able to find out what I was doing, what lines I was working on. Then he would have walked out on me. It was smart enough, he is smart, but he’s bound to slip up sooner or later. I might be able to make him do it, but to do that I must meet him.’

  Rollison drew up on the road which led across Woking Common. There was no moon, but there was a row of lights along the main road, and the stars were bright. Yet when he left the Talbot and walked towards the club house, which was a small building looking no more than a blurred shape against the sky-line, it was dark enough. Bushes loomed on either side, while now and again he heard the stealthy movement of some creature of the fields. Those rustling sounds were close by, while the sounds of traffic seemed a long way off, as if in a different world.

  Rollison reached the club house, and looked at his watch. It was twenty-five minutes past ten.

  The seconds dragged by, slowly enough for him to wonder just what would come of an escapade that was as foolish as Susan’s, and yet which he felt was the only thing to be done.

  He heard footsteps.

  He did not move, did not even turn his head, though the steps were coming from behind him. They drew nearer. A man’s voice said softly: ‘Rollison?’

  Rollison turned at last, and confronted a tall, indeterminate shape, the only thing definite about it being a scarf covering mouth and chin. The old tricks, he thought dryly, simple but effective, but how one tired of them!

  ‘Have you got those papers?’

  ‘No.’

  The man drew in his breath. ‘What the devil are you playing at?’

  ‘The police have the papers,’ Rollison said. ‘There’s no possibility of me getting hold of them.’

  ‘You said—’

  ‘I’m telling you,’ Rollison said. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  The man was taken aback. It was obvious that he did not know what to do in this emergency. So, whoever had sent him had been convinced that Rollison would do everything that Susan had told him to do. He wondered bleakly, whether there was any chance at all of finding Susan and Bruce.

  The man said: ‘I was told to collect them, he didn’t say what I was to do apart from that. You—you haven’t told the police, have you?’

  ‘No,’ said Rollison.

  ‘How do I know whether to believe you or not?’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Rollison shortly. ‘The only thing for you to do is to take me to Kennedy.’

  The man stood silent.

  ‘Does he live far from here?’

  ‘None of your business.’ A sullen note had crept into the man’s voice. He was on edge, that much was clear, and started looking about him. Was he alone?

  Rollison moved towards him.

  ‘Keep away!’ the other said, in sudden alarm. ‘Don’t you try any funny business, Rollison. I’ve got a gun.’ He turned away suddenly. ‘Wait here,’ he said. Now the wind was cutting across the Common, and Rollison shivered. His arm was aching dully; he remembered Snub’s voice: ‘It’s asking for trouble.’

  The man came back. ‘Go ahead of me,’ he said. One behind the other, they walked round the club house. Another man, as indeterminate as the first, was standing there.

  ‘So you think you’re clever, Rollison.’

  ‘No, not clever,’ Rollison said, ‘but: perhaps not quite so foolish as some,’

  ‘Then you’d better go back and get those papers,’

  ‘No one can get them,’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Naturally it is I who say it. You are hardly in a position to do so. Now perhaps you will stop bandying words and tell Kennedy I wish to speak with him.’

  For some reason Rollison’s spirits rose. He glanced at his watch.

  ‘The police were told where I was meeting you, just five minutes ago.’

  ‘If the police—’

  Rollison said sharply: ‘I’m giving you plenty of time. Even the local police can’t be here for another ten minutes.’

  Sullenly the man said: ‘You’d better come with me.’ He turned down the road that crossed the Common, and soon they came upon a stationary car. Rollison was told to get inside. He smiled to himself in the darkness as he let fall a few grains of rice.

  A scarf was tied over his eyes.

  Thus blindfolded, Rollison sat back as the driver went off at a good speed. As far as he could judge, they were going towards Guildford. Then the car turned off the main road. Rollison suddenly lurched towards the window and wound it down. ‘Air,’ he gasped, ‘must have air!’

  ‘Close that window!’ snapped his companion.

  Rollison closed it clumsily, as one stricken by nausea. In the process more rice was dropped. If the police followed that route they would find it though it would be daylight before they could be expected to do so and report to Grice. Rice – Grice. He laughed.

  ‘What’s funny?’ growled his companion.

  ‘You,’ said Rollison. ‘I haven’t been in a situation like this for years.’

  The driver gave a non-commital grunt and took a couple of left turnings. The suspicion leapt into Rollison’s mind that the man was deliberately driving in circles to confuse him. More turns confirmed it. Then they had a long, straight run, for ten minutes or more. A sharp turn right took them to a hill. The tyres crunched on gravel, the man changed gear and then stopped.

  Rollison managed to drop a few more grains of rice before he was pushed forward. He stumbled against a step. A man gripped his arm, to steady him, and he was led inside the house. They went up a staircase, reaching a landing.

  Rollison heard a murmur of voices. Then a door opened, and he was led into a room.

  The scarf was pulled from his eyes, and he stood face to face with Kennedy.

  Beside him stood Susan.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kennedy

  This was the real Kennedy, without disguise. He seemed young to be at the head of a complex organisation. He was smiling, though without amusement, and he kept one hand in his pocket. Susan, pale-faced, neither moved nor spoke. The man who had driven the car from the golf course stood by the door, as if in readiness for any attempt at escape.

  Kennedy said: ‘What have you done to your arm?’

  ‘Have you never heard of razor slashers?’ asked Rollison.

  Kennedy shrugged. ‘You asked for all you got. Don’t invite more. What’s this about the police having those papers?’

  ‘It would have been an elementary exercise of intelligence on your part to have guessed that they were now in the possession of the police,’ Rollison said. ‘They were much too important to be left around.’

  Rollison saw at once that Kennedy had, in fact, expected to get the papers. Now his eyes narrowed, and when he spoke there was a hard obstinacy in his voice.

  ‘Rollison, you’re going to get those papers for me somehow, don’t make any mistake about that. But in case you’ve got ideas, let me show you something.’ The man at the door opened it, and Kennedy led Rollison up another flight of stairs. Here was a second landing, and opening from it, three doors. The man who had followed them inserted a key in the lock of one of them, turned it, and stood aside.

  Kennedy pushed Rollison in.

  It was a small, bare room, furnished with a camp bed, a chair and a wash-stand. On the bed was a man whom Rollison hardly recognised. His face was gaunt, his eyes were staring from his head, and he was pitifully thin. There was an ugly bruise over one eye. Rollison looked at him long and searchingly before he recognised Bruce Drayton.

  ‘Hallo, Rolly.’ His voice was weak, but there was an echo of laughter in it. Rollison mo
ved forward to the edge of the bed.

  ‘Tough time, Bruce?’

  ‘Not too good,’ said Bruce Drayton. ‘I’m afraid I look rather a wreck. What are the chances of getting away?’ he asked.

  ‘Pretty thin,’ said Rollison.

  ‘Why did you come here?’

  ‘I thought I might make a bargain with Kennedy,’ said Rollison. ‘It was worth trying.’

  ‘I shouldn’t make any bargain with him,’ said Bruce. ‘He wouldn’t keep it. The man doesn’t know how to honour his word or how to tell the truth. I was the fool for being taken in. ‘We worked together in the same laboratory once. But does it matter?’

  Kennedy, standing in the background, now went to the wash-stand and picked up a small box. Rollison watched him as he took out a hypodermic syringe and held it up against the light; it was half full of a pale liquid similar to that in the syringe which had been taken from his brief-case.

  ‘Recognise this stuff, Rollison? One jab, and Drayton will go out. Another, and the girl will follow him. I’m not fooling, and I want those papers. Can you get them?’

  ‘No one can get them.’

  Bruce said: ‘That’s one good thing. Rolly, if things work out better than you expect, and you find out who posted that letter for me, go easy on him – or her,’ he added, and Rollison was astonished at his spirit. ‘Not all of Kennedy’s people are quite such swine as he.’

  Kennedy said: ‘Finnigan posted that letter, and he won’t need any help from the police. I dealt with him personally.’ He stepped to Bruce’s side, with the syringe in his hand, and actually let the needle scratch Bruce’s arm. Rollison’s teeth clenched, but he did not move and Bruce kept quite still.

  ‘Just one dose, Rollison,’ and Kennedy broke off.

  ‘All very interesting,’ said Rollison. ‘I told you that I had a proposition to make, Kennedy.’

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  Rollison said: ‘What the police don’t know is that I opened that registered letter at Susan’s flat. I took out the papers and copied them, then put them back.’ The lie came out convincingly. ‘No one can get the originals, Kennedy, but I’ve the copies and they should be as good.’

  Kennedy swung round. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Very safely hidden.’

  Bruce said in a taut voice: ‘Rolly, I’ve let them do this to me, I’ve taken everything they’ve given me, I’ve even let them get Susan, to save those papers. You don’t know how important they are, they can help our export trade to—’

  Kennedy leaned forward and slapped his face. It was a savage blow, and sent Bruce toppling sideways. He had hardly the strength to straighten up again.

  ‘I want those papers, Rollison,’ Kennedy said.

  ‘You can have them – at a price,’ said Rollison.

  ‘Don’t get above yourself, and run away with the idea that you can make conditions,’ said Kennedy very softly.

  Rollison laughed. ‘No? Then listen to this one. When Drayton and Susan are back in London, quite safe, then you can have my copies. Not before. It’s as simple as that.’

  Bruce said hoarsely: ‘Rolly—’

  This time Kennedy did not seem to notice the emaciated man on the bed. He took a step towards Rollison and rested the point of the needle against his cheek. Rollison hardly felt it; and yet he remembered Horniman falling by the bookstall; he saw, in his mind’s eye, Finnigan toppling from his chair on to the desk.

  ‘I’m not bluffing,’ Kennedy said. ‘I don’t trust you, Rollison.’

  ‘I don’t trust you,’ said Rollison. He moved his head aside, and stood up. The man by the door stiffened, as if he expected trouble, but all Rollison said was: ‘You’ve heard all I’ve got to say, Kennedy. You’re only changing hostages, and by doing that you’ve got just one chance of getting what you want.’

  Kennedy stared at him in silence for an appreciable time, and then said: ‘I’ll talk to you downstairs.’

  Susan was still in the room below. Silent, white-faced, she sat there rigidly, her hands clasped in her lap. The driver of the car again stood guard over the door. Now that he had taken off his stocking mask, there was something vaguely familiar about him. There was no time to speculate, for Kennedy had started talking in a hard, tense voice.

  ‘Now listen to me, Rollison. I am going to have those papers. I’ve worked hard for them. I’ve taken great risks. I’m not going to be fooled by you, and I’m not going to let this couple go in order to get hold of them. They stay, until the papers are here. And I’ve got something else to tell you. The East End is mine, in future, do you understand? I’ve worked on it until it will do just what I want.’ He laughed, slightly off-key, and Rollison wondered to what length his vanity would go. ‘The Hammer started it, and I’ve taken it over. It’s my beat in future. I’ve made sure that you won’t get a welcome down there. More than that, I’ve made sure that if you show your face too often, you won’t come back. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I understand you very well,’ said Rollison dryly. ‘Then that’s all right,’ said Kennedy, his vanity incapable of accepting any other interpretation. ‘And as for that psalm-singing fool, the original Hammer, he’s come near the end of his journey. I saw a chance and I didn’t waste it. Just so that when I say I’ll get a thing, I get it, I’ll tell you what I’ve done. I started at the Hammer Club with Benson. Horniman came in and joined us. We started imitating the Hammer’s methods, and it worked. We decided that the day would have to come when we must put the Hammer away. He took some finding, I can tell you.’

  ‘I see,’ murmured Rollison.

  Kennedy laughed.

  ‘There were four of us at first: Benson, Horniman, Finnigan and me. Finnigan helped with drugs. Horniman and Benson between them had been specialising in blackmail for a long time, and they had a list of monied people who gladly paid for silence. So, I looked after the robberies and the East End, Horniman and Benson did the blackmail, Finnigan was an odd-job man. It worked all right until they got too big for their boots. Horniman started it. He made contact with an American firm prepared to pay heavily for Drayton’s secret methods. But Horniman tried to handle that by himself. He worked up a nice connection. He pretended to be floating a company. He put the black on some people to make them subscribe, he just talked the others into it. He didn’t make a bad job of it, but he forgot one thing: he forgot to ask me to take a share.’

  ‘Fatal,’ murmured Rollison.

  ‘You’re right, it was fatal. He was working well. He’d got hold of Drayton and brought him here. He found a stooge for Drayton and burnt the stooge up. Do you know why he did that, Rollison?’

  ‘I’m not good at guessing,’ Rollison said.

  ‘But I am,’ said Kennedy vain-gloriously. ‘So I found out that the American company wanted to make sure that Drayton was dead, before they would buy. They didn’t want it said that they’d stolen his methods and they didn’t want him to be able to do the work again. So Horniman fixed it that Drayton appeared to be dead, but kept him here. And then he planned that, when the American company started producing the goods, he would tell them that he had Drayton, and that would improve his income quite a bit, as they’d have to pay for his silence.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Rollison, ‘clever chap.’

  ‘Clever, yes,’ said Kennedy, ‘but not as clever as I am. He thought he would be able to make enough out of it to work for himself. He wasn’t even scared when I had his train shot up. Remember that? Everything went well for him until he lost the papers.’

  ‘Lost?’ echoed Rollison.

  ‘Sure … lost. Finnigan stole them. Finnigan had a conscience!’ Kennedy laughed, mirthlessly. ‘Drayton told Finnigan that the sale of those papers to the States would help to kill export, so Finnigan got them and posted them to the girl. Horniman had to find out who’d got them. He went down to Bournemouth and interviewed all the people he thought might have them. At the same time he worked on Susan Lancaster. He had to convince the Americans th
at Drayton was dead, and the best way to do that, he decided, was to announce their marriage.’ Kennedy laughed again. ‘But I put a stop to that. The Lenwell woman was wise enough to see it my way.’

  Once started, it seemed that Kennedy could not stop talking. ‘Horniman wasn’t any good outside blackmail,’ he went on. ‘He didn’t know how to work when the papers were lost, he couldn’t think clearly when the marriage announcement failed to appear. He lost his head. He’d been foolish enough to tell Susan that he was associated with the Hammer Club. He was afraid she would remember it, and decided to kill her. He hired a man named Welling for that job, but you stopped him, didn’t you?’

  Rollison gave an ironical bow.

  ‘And I stopped Horniman, and did the same to Finnigan. Then I found that Benson was in the racket with them, so I dealt with him. That left me with only two worries: you and the Hammer. I wasn’t worried for long about the Hammer. I’d found out where he lived. I put the police on to him.’

  He paused to light a cigarette, and then went on: ‘From the time I started operating in the East End, I found two names kept cropping up – yours and the Hammer’s. It began to bore me, and I decided to do something about it.’

  Kennedy seemed, literally, to grow bigger as he sat there. ‘Beginning to see what you’re up against, Rollison? I’ve got an organisation larger than anything you’ve ever thought of, and I’ve got the people on my side. If there’s any trouble, I’ve only got to say “Hammer” and my men will get protection.’

  ‘Quite a programme,’ murmured Rollison.

  ‘Most of the time I work according to plan,’ Kennedy said, with a satisfied laugh, ‘but my arrangements are elastic, Rollison. One of the people whose advertisement you answered was at the club, and boasted because he was impressed by the name Rollison. I thought I would blow along instead of him. I—’