The Toff and the Kidnapped Child Page 9

  This new anxiety preoccupied her. She told herself she would call Dr Welling again if he were even a minute late, and then began to speculate about Rollison’s expedition.

  She found herself thinking of this Leah, whom she had heard but never seen; a girl with a rather high-pitched almost common voice, sounding both angry and vengeful. Just what had her husband done, Eve found herself wondering bitterly. Then she faced the fact that he was still missing and Caroline was missing, and fear came over her like a great blinding sheet. She could not stay here and do nothing.

  Why do nothing? She had plenty to do. She hurried to the bathroom, washed, dressed quickly, noting on the surface of her mind that Rollison had everything a woman required here; was it all kept for relations? Did that matter? He was a bachelor, and bachelors had a licence which married men should not claim. She clenched her hands at the thought of the unhappy years, the gradual awakening to the realisation that, when Ralph was away, he was seldom alone. Time had acclimatised her to it, and there had been nothing between them, as man and wife, for many years; they kept up appearances for Caroline’s sake, because Caroline had so idolised her father. Ralph had known that was the reason why Eve stayed with him.

  Now he had done this to Caroline—

  Was that fair? Did he know what had happened? Was it coincidence that he had disappeared first?

  Eve simply did not know.

  She made herself some tea and toast, and when she had finished, half an hour had passed since the telephone call. If the doctor didn’t come early she would call him again; she ought to have telephoned again immediately after she had seen Rollison’s man. Jolly. Jolly – Rolly. She wondered if she ought to look in at the sick man again, but did not. She opened her handbag and took out a photograph of Caroline, a smiling, happy Caroline with a hockey stick held in front of her, a mop of hair untidy.

  She closed her eyes – and as she stood there, a bell rang.

  Was that the front door? Dr Welling?

  She put the photograph away and hurried into the lounge hall. It would be the doctor, of course, here ahead of time. She fumbled with the door, which seemed to have a special kind of lock, got it open at last – and saw a rather short man standing and looking at her with a tentative kind of smile. She did not think that he was Dr Welling; for one thing, he carried no bag. He was very dark, and did not look English, an Italian, perhaps, or—

  She remembered the description of the man who had been at Hapley Station.

  The man smiled more broadly, and showed flashing white teeth. In a way he was good looking, although his forehead was very wide and broad, giving his face a round appearance. He wore no hat. His jet black hair was cut very short, and his thick black eyebrows looked as if they had been trimmed, to keep them short and to make them grow thicker. He had a rather sallow complexion, but a good skin. All of these things made a swift impression on Eve, while her heart thumped with fear.

  He inquired: “Mrs Kane?”

  She could hardly find the words. “Yes, I am.”

  “May I speak to you, please?” His English was good, but had a faint accent; Irish, perhaps?

  “Who—who are you?”

  “I’ve brought a message from Caroline,” he replied, and stepped forward, putting her gently to one side; then he closed the door, taking complete control of the situation. “I should not call anyone else, Mrs Kane. I want to talk to you alone,” he went on quietly. “If you do what I tell you, Caroline will be all right.”

  Eve exclaimed: “Where is she?”

  “We will come to that later.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Where is my daughter?”

  “Easy, now, easy,” said the man, and took her right wrist firmly. “Rollison may have gone out, but he has a servant, hasn’t he?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say that Jolly was ill, but she stopped herself.

  The man repeated: “Hasn’t he?” and when she didn’t answer, he twisted her wrist – not enough to hurt but enough to show that he could hurt badly. “You must cooperate, Mrs Kane, or I can’t make any promises about your daughter.”

  Eve said: “I want to know where she is.”

  “All you have to worry about is that she is quite all right, and will continue to be provided you do what you’re told,” the man said. “Where is this servant?”

  Eve said, helplessly: “He—he’s ill in bed.”

  “Well, how convenient!” the man exclaimed delightedly. “I told my brother this venture had all the signs of a lucky break. Where is he?” He urged her forward. “Take me round the flat. I like to be sure that I’m being told the truth.”

  She went round with him. He peeped into Jolly’s room, and closed the door very softly, as if he were genuinely anxious not to disturb the sick man. Then they went back to the big room, and the man glanced at the Trophy Wall, and smiled rather one-sidedly, as if he were beginning to appreciate exactly what the trophies meant.

  “I’ve read about Rollison, but I didn’t realise he was quite such a personality,” he said. “I hope you know that he’s had failures as well as successes.”

  “What—what do you mean?”

  “It is easy to chalk up the wins,” remarked the sallow man, “but it is harder to point out that many of the murderers he eventually caught had killed several people before being stopped. It would not help you much to know that he managed to catch me, if Caroline were dead, would it?”

  Eve said: “I think it’s time you stopped trying to frighten me.”

  “Trying,” the man echoed, and actually laughed and spread his hands; the nails were beautifully manicured, his suit was perfectly tailored. “I’ve never seen anyone more frightened than you are. And I don’t blame you! But there’s no need to be, provided you do exactly what you’re told. Did Rollison tell you how much I want?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll tell you – twenty thousand pounds. That’s not a lot of money to you, is it, Mrs Kane?” When she didn’t answer, he went on: “Isn’t Caroline worth that to you?”

  She still didn’t answer.

  The doctor would be here at any moment; when he came, what should she do? She could tell him the truth, could make him send for the police, but – what would happen to Caroline if she did? All reason made her want to refuse to pay ransom, made her long to defy this man, but – what would happen to Caroline? He talked about his brother; he knew that Rolly had gone out, so that meant that he had been watching the flat. He gave an impression of complete self-confidence, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and would carry out any threat he made.

  He put his hand into his inside pocket, and drew something out, very slowly; suddenly she realised that it was another lock of Caroline’s hair. She almost broke down at sight of it. She wanted to snatch it from him, wanted to shout and rave, but she knew that if she did she would have surrendered completely. She must not do that yet, somehow she must fight. He held the lock up in the air. The morning light gave it a lighter shade of auburn than the electric fight had done last night. It was tied at one end with a piece of bright red ribbon – ribbon she had bought because one of the school rules was that all girls’ hair should be tied back with ribbon, or plaited. He swung it to and fro, gently. It was nearly a foot long, and that meant it had been cut off close to the scalp. They might have hurt Caroline, cutting it off. Oh, God, what could she do to help Caroline?

  “Would you like it, as a little memento?” the man inquired.

  “No!”

  “Perhaps Rollison would – suppose we start another wall for him,” the man suggested, and sauntered across to the fireplace wall, where the portrait of an elderly man was hanging; these were miniatures, one of a man and one of a woman, on either side. He draped the lock of hair over one of the miniatures, turned to Eve and gave his wide smile, and said: “That is the wall where
he puts the souvenirs of his failures, shall we say.”

  Eve could not stand this any longer, and she shouted: “Where—where is Caroline?”

  “You can have her back, quite unharmed except for the loss of a little hair, in exchange for twenty thousand pounds and an assurance – which I shall work out – that you will not tell the police and will not allow Rollison to be present at the exchange.”

  “How do I know you would give Caroline back to me?”

  “You don’t, do you?” the man replied smoothly. “You have to take my word for it – just as I have to take your word that you won’t have the police or Rollison with you. Or anyone. It’s a simple bargain. But this may make you feel better: we don’t want Caroline much longer. She’d only be a burden. So it’s obviously very likely that we’ll do what we promise.”

  Eve didn’t answer – and while she was staring at him, hating the way he smiled, hating the smooth way he talked, and fighting her awful fears, there was another ring at the front door bell.

  On the instant, the man moved forward and took her wrists, thrust his face close to hers and demanded: “Who is it? Do you know?”

  “It—it’s the doctor, I expect. I—I sent for him.” She could no more lie to him than she could refuse to pay for Caroline. “Jolly is very ill. He—”

  “The doctor can see Jolly, but don’t you say a word about me. Understand? Don’t say a word about who I am. Not a word. The knife that cut your daughter’s hair could just as easily cut her throat,” the man said.

  12

  THE BROTHERS

  Dr Welling stood at the front door. He was a smaller man than Rollison, but not so short as the man in the living-room. He was middle-aged, had a brisk manner, and eyes which obviously missed very little. He stepped inside as Eve drew back, and said: “I don’t think we’ve met?”

  “No, we haven’t. I’m—Mrs Kane.”

  Before she could add that she was a friend of Rollison, Welling said: “You don’t look exactly on top of the world yourself, Mrs Kane. Are you all right?”

  “I—I’ve a severe headache.”

  “Hmm,” said Welling. “I think Mr Rollison’s the best doctor for your kind of headache! Assuming that you’ve brought a problem to him, you couldn’t have come to a better man. Now, shall I go into Jolly? I know my way.”

  “Yes—please.”

  Dr Welling went the longer way round, and not into the living-room; it was almost as if he knew that she did not want him to go in there. Eve hesitated, then went back into the big room. The kidnapper was standing with his back to her, studying the Trophy Wall again, but the moment she appeared, he glanced round; and he whispered: “You’re doing all right.”

  She crossed to him swiftly.

  “Please,” she begged, “where is my daughter?”

  “Quite safe.”

  “I must know where she is.”

  “It will cost you twenty thousand pounds.”

  “I don’t care what it costs!”

  “Are you sure about that?” the man asked, and his eyes lit up. “You know what you’re saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Twenty—thousand—pounds.”

  “I can get it in an hour!”

  “Yes, I know you can,” replied the sallow-faced man. “You could get a lot more than that, too, but we aren’t thinking of more, are we?” He paused for a moment, and then went on: “Rollison will try to stop you.”

  “I won’t let him.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes! Don’t keep wasting time.”

  “All right, Mrs Kane,” the man said. “You get twenty thousand pounds in used one pound and five pound notes, and have it ready by—shall we say one o’clock? That will give you two hours. I will telephone you with instructions, and when I meet you, I will exchange Caroline for the money. Is that clearly understood?”

  “Yes,” she made herself say.

  The man patted her hand, and said: “You’re being very sensible. Don’t let anyone make you change your mind. Now here are one or two details. The money must be in four separate parcels. Each must be wrapped in brown paper and tied round with red string or tape. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, it’s quite clear,” Eve said, and clenched her hands as she went on: “You will hand Caroline over in exchange, won’t you?”

  “That’s a promise,” the man assured her. “You needn’t have any fears, provided the police aren’t told and Rollison isn’t told.” He took her hands again, tightly, with a threat of pain. “You should get out of here, you know. Rollison has quite a personality, and he might—””He won’t make me change my mind! No one will.”

  “You must take the risk and remember that your daughter means more to you than twenty thousand pounds does to me,” the man said. “You aren’t going to take my telephone message here, though. If Rollison doesn’t know what I’ve told you to do, he can’t interfere, and it will be far safer if you do it my way.” He took a white card from his pocket, and held it in those beautifully kept fingers. “Be at this telephone kiosk at half-past one. It’s in the foyer of the Astor Hotel, near Piccadilly, just round the corner from the reception desk. You can’t miss it, and the number is on this card, to make sure you don’t. I’ll telephone you there. Is that all quite clear?”

  “Yes,” Eve said, tautly.

  “Don’t forget that, if you do exactly what I tell you, there’ll be no bother, but if anyone follows you there’ll be such trouble for Caroline that you’ll hate yourself for the rest of your days. How old is she?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “As they say, just awakening to womanhood,” the man said gently. “We don’t want it to be a rude awakening, do we?”

  Horror welled up in Eve.

  “Oh, God! You wouldn’t do—”

  “We won’t hurt Caroline in any way provided you do exactly what I tell you,” the man promised her. “Half- past one, at that number.”

  He smiled, squeezed her hand, and turned away.

  She wanted to rush after him, she wanted to beg and plead with him, she wanted some definite assurance that Caroline was all right, and would not be harmed. She did not move. The man’s back was very broad – absurdly broad – and his trousers were very narrow. He wore light brown suede shoes; in a way, he was a dandy. He went into the lounge hall without looking back; and as he disappeared, Eve found herself impelled to run after him, to stand in the doorway, and cry: “Swear to me that she will be all right.”

  He turned and faced her, and said solemnly: “I swear to you that she will not be hurt if you do what I say.” He opened the front door and went out. She did not notice that he had no difficulty with the lock at the door. She heard it close. She leaned against the wall of the lounge hall without realising what she was doing. She heard movements in the flat, and remembered Dr Welling: she had completely forgotten him, even forgotten him when she had called out. He might have heard her. She turned round in alarm, and saw him entering the big room. He looked grave, glanced at her, then stepped to the telephone and lifted it. He dialled a number, looked at her again, and frowned.

  “Do you know when Mr Rollison will be back?”

  “Fairly—fairly soon, I think.”

  “Will you be here until he comes?”

  “Yes, if—if he isn’t too late.”

  “Ask him to telephone me as soon as he gets in, will you?” Welling said, and then broke off. “Excuse me . . . Hallo, Bridie—Bridie, I’m not happy about Rollison’s man Jolly, not a bit happy. He’s running a hundred and three, and it might be peritonitis. Lay on the ambulance and have a bed ready, will you? . . . 22 Gresham Terrace, that’s right . . . Twenty minutes will do.” He rang off, and looked straight at Eve, but this time he hardly seemed to notice her. “Rollison is devoted to Jolly. If anything should happen to him—�
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  He went on talking.

  It hardly made sense to Eve, but a kind of sense emerged; that Rolly would be desperately concerned for his man, that he would not be able to concentrate on helping her, that she was on her own; utterly on her own.

  “. . . and now I want a look at you,” Dr Welling said, and came towards her.

  “No! I’m all right.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Welling said. “You’re anything but all right. How bad is the situation?”

  “It’s—it’s very bad.”

  “Is Rollison working on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That man can work miracles,” Welling said. “Now, I wonder if you can get some blankets, and . . .”

  Eve watched the ambulance men take Jolly out. She saw his grey face, and realised how right the doctor was to be worried about him. She closed the door on Dr Welling, who did not waste words on further attempts at reassurance. At least she had been busy for the last half an hour. Now she was really on her own, and she knew exactly what she had to do. She was quite sure that Rollison would try to dissuade her. He would have plenty on his mind, too; far too much.

  She hated to run away from him, but must leave before he came back.

  That decision had hardly been reached before she began to move, half-running round the flat. She kept glancing out of the window, but there was no sign of Rollison or his car; only a few people were in the street. She could telephone him about Jolly. It would be a shock when he came back and found Jolly gone, but she could telephone in half an hour; he was bound to be back by then.

  He might have found out where Caroline was!

  The thought seemed to affect her like a physical blow. She stood unmoving, staring in front of her towards the door leading to the domestic quarters. She thought of everything that Rollison had done; how he had said immediately that he would drive her down to Hapley; how he had tried with the police, used his influence with Scotland Yard; gone off this morning after only a few hours’ sleep; been ready to drop everything else for her. There was more, too: the way he affected her, the fact that she felt so completely at home with him.