John Creasey - The Toff In Town

“Shut up, Mac,” said Rollison. “Think yourself lucky that I don’t throw you out on your ear. Barbara, don’t cry.” His words made Jolly and the reporter realise that she was leaning back with tears streaming down her face, making no attempt to stop herself. “It isn’t your fault,” he went on gently, “you’re not to blame.”

The words had no effect on her.

McMahon started to speak, then checked himself. He and Jolly sat on the tip-up seats, opposite the Toff and Barbara. Perky drove at a good speed towards Piccadilly, then to Trafalgar Square and along the Strand.

“Was it Mr. Lundy, sir?” asked Jolly.

“One of them is Lundy,” said Rollison quietly, “but he was present chiefly for our benefit. Jolly, he isn’t the real villain.” Rollison gave a harsh little laugh, and glanced at Barbara. She was still crying, stifling her sobs; and in the half-light she looked pathetic. “Surely you know whom we’re after, Jolly?”

“I—I’m afraid I do not sir,” said Jolly. “It appears to me that unless Lundy is our man, then we have lost completely. Allen remembered those lines perfectly, he didn’t have to read them.”

“He remembered them word for word although he didn’t have a copy of the new script for more than a few minutes, he could hardly have read it, could he? Yet he knew it off by heart. I’ve wondered several times whether you were right when you first reminded me that nice, young women sometimes married bounders, Jolly. You were.”

“Bounders? Allen?” gasped Jolly.

“Allen,” said Rollison. “I began to wonder when he went off with Pauline. He was at the flat about the time that Merino was murdered. And afterwards, he was adamant—he meant to broadcast at all costs. The way he behaved to Barbara wasn’t just the result of overwrought nerves. His own fear of the police proved he had committed one serious crime. He was obviously prepared to do anything to save his own skin.”

“Allen!” breathed Jolly.

Barbara opened her eyes and looked at him through the screen of tears; and then she relapsed into subdued sobbing, she could not keep silent altogether. McMahon sat without speaking. The taxi bowled along the Mile End Road—and then turned off, heading for Bill Ebbutt’s gymnasium; and Perky Lowe suddenly stepped on the accelerator and swung round the corner in the wake of the leading cab.

“Allen!” breathed Jolly again.

Rollison did not speak. The cab pulled up outside the dimly-lighted entrance to the gymnasium. Three or four of Bill’s men stepped into the murky street, and the comparative quiet was broken by angry voice—Lundy’s voice, which Rollison had learned to recognise while he had been in the studio. Lundy was protesting vigorously, but the driver of the first cab climbed out and suddenly it was surrounded by Ebbutt’s “boys”. Rollison opened the door of his cab and jumped down, saying: “Look after Mrs. Allen, Jolly,” and Jolly was compelled to stay behind, whether he wanted to or not. McMahon jumped out nimbly and followed Rollison to the leading cab. By that time the protesting Lundy had been dragged out of the taxi, and another of Ebbutt’s bruisers helped Allen out.

“Run through his pockets,” said Rollison, pointing to Lundy, and before the actor could protest, a man had patted him all over. This man drew out a pipe from Lundy’s right-hand pocket; and Rollison knew then that Lundy had pretended that the pipe was a gun.

Rollison and Allen came face to face.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” growled Allen. Clear out, and let me go home!”

“I don’t think you’ll be going home again,” Rollison said. He glanced at Ebbutt, who loomed out of the darkness. “Get him inside. Bill.”

“I’m not going inside anywhere!” Allen rasped.

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Ebbutt. He stretched out a colossal hand and yanked Allen by the collar towards the entrance. Allen kicked out and tried to free himself but failed, and another of Bill’s men came behind him. Allen started to kick and struggle, as if he were suddenly overcome by a frenzy. But he was overpowered, and there was nothing he could do to save himself from being taken into the gymnasium. The others followed in a little group—and Rollison, glancing out of the corner of his eye, saw that Jolly was escorting Barbara.

The big room was in semi-darkness.

Ebbutt and the other man released Allen, and he stood back against a punch-ball, biting his lips, glaring through the gloom at Lundy. And before any of the others could speak, he burst out:

“There’s your man! Lundy! He threatened me while we were at the studio. He had a gun—I don’t care what you took from his pocket, he had a gun!”

“Did he?” asked Rollison.

“It—it’s a lie,” muttered Lundy. “I—I had to pretend——”

“Pretend!” screeched Allen.

“You gave yourself away when you reeled off your new script so easily,” Rollison said. “If you’d had any sense you’d have gone on with the original.”

“Don’t be a fool!” cried Allen. “I’ve often mugged up a piece in an hour or two!”

“But you only had minutes,” said Rollison, “and that wasn’t your first mistake, Allen. If you’d been loyal to Barbara in spite of everything else, if you hadn’t played fast and loose with Pauline Dexter, you might have got away with it.”

“That’s a foul lie!” snapped Allen. “I’ve been a swine to Bar, but I couldn’t help it. My nerves“

“You act very well,” said Rollison coldly. “You fooled a lot of people, Allen. Of course, you weren’t putting on an act until you first went away with Pauline. She showed you a way out. Kill Merino, the man you feared, and share the proceeds with her. And you agreed. Since then you’ve acted very well— you were quite impressive at the studio. I suppose you took something to make you sweat realistically, just as you took morphia to make yourself sleep on Thursday and made it look as if you were still a helpless victim. And yet you probably killed Merino and——”

“I didn’t kill Merino!” cried Allen. “He didn’t matter to her, she could have shaken him off——”

He broke off, and drew a shuddering breath.

Rollison gave a little laugh.

“Yes, time to stop—you know a great deal about the relationship between Merino and Pauline, don’t you? But we’re wasting time. Lundy, how did you come to be forced into this?”

Lundy licked his lips.

Allen glared at him, and burst out:

“You’re trying to frame me—and so is Lundy!” screamed Allen. But you can’t get away with it It’s crazy! I’ve been having a dreadful time, my nerves are all to pieces, but I’ve been attacked—look!” He banged his forehead with his hand. “I didn’t do that to myself, I didn’t search my own flat. It’s a frame-up!”

He stopped, gasping for breath.

Barbara stepped forward into the circle of light, and said in a montonous voice:

“I can tell you. He——”

“Keep your damned mouth shut!” Allen cried.

Rollison said slowly. “This is one time when she isn’t going to do what you tell her, Allen. She tried to save you even in the studio, she wanted you to get away because she knows you’ll hang now that you’re caught But I think she’s seen the only sensible thing is to tell all the truth. Barbara, when did you learn all about it?”

She said: “Only—this afternoon.”

“How?”

She looked at Lundy. “He—he brought a message, told me all of it, told me that if it all came out, Bob would be hanged.”

Once she began, the words came freely enough.

Ebbutt put a hard, restraining hand on Allen’s shoulder, but Rollison was prepared for Allen to make a violent rush at Barbara as she spoke. “And I stayed in the flat, trying to decide what to do,” she went on. “Then—then I knew that I had to try to save Snub.”

Allen’s hands were clenching and unclenching, his lips were working and his face was distorted.

“I learned—that Bob planned—to have Snub Higginbottom blamed for Merino’s murder.” She turned to Rollison. “Lundy told me that he was one of the party which found Bob in Burma. It was officially a film party, and Merino was with them. But they weren’t just making films, they were looking for loot which the Japanese had taken from the Burmese and which was stored in a temple in one of the valleys among the mountains.” She caught her breath and turned towards her husband. “And Bob had already found it. He was kept prisoner by the natives because he knew where these jewels were. When he broke his leg, it was in trying to get away with the jewels with a native who was prepared to help him.”

No one spoke when she paused.

At last she spoke again, in a voice so low that they could hardly hear the words:

“Bob knew that he couldn’t do it himself. He sent the native with a message to a friend in Rangoon, a man named Maurice Fenton.”

Rollison remembered reading a letter signed “Maurice Fenton”, to do with one of Merino’s big accounts.

“And——” Barbara began afresh.

“You don’t know half of it!” cried Lundy. “Merino and I went out with the rest of the group—you know some of them, Blane and Max, there were a dozen altogether. And we reached the village. There were hundreds of natives armed with swords and spears, a pretty tough job—but we tried to reason with them. Allen wouldn’t stand for arguing. He’d got a machine-gun. The natives had found it, with some ammunition, and he’d rebuilt it, spent months doing it—and he mowed them down, he killed them in dozens!”

Lundy stopped; and no one moved or spoke, not even Allen

“It wasn’t any good leaving some of them alive,” said Lundy in a muffled voice, “so we finished them off, burned the huts down, and reported that we’d found the village set on fire by a hostile tribe—it often happens out there, no one was surprised. We got the jewels to Rangoon without any trouble, but getting them to England was a different matter. We divided them. Merino, Allen and I had the biggest lots, but everyone had plenty. They were smuggled back to England and the party split up, arranging to meet again when everything was safe, and the risk of danger was over. Allen fixed his story all right for the Press, same one as he broadcast. Then the trouble really started. Merino wanted the lot. He thought he could blackmail Allen into parting with his share, and get the others from those members of the party who still had some. He had a list of all the names and addresses—but Allen took it away from him.”

“Allen took it?” interpolated Rollison.

“Yes—so that he had the upper hand of Merino,” said Lundy. He talked eagerly, as if he were glad to get it off his mind. “Merino knew that one or the other—Allen or Pauline—had taken it There was only one, Merino wouldn’t have copies made, he didn’t want to be double-crossed. He plumped for Allen, that’s what started the violence. And Allen had been scared stiff of Merino all the time. Merino had Allen kidnapped and beat him up himself, then sent him back for the list, but Allen had lost it.”

“That scrap of paper!” cried Barbara.

“Yes,” said Lundy. “Merino sent Max and Stevie to the Aliens’ flat to look for that list. Only it wasn’t there to find, because Mrs. Allen had destroyed it by accident.”

“Well, that’s how it began,” Lundy went on wearily. “Allen fighting Merino, and Pauline standing by, on Merino’s side. And she saw that if they went on fighting, no one would get anything out of it. So she went to see Allen, and suggested they should murder Merino, collect all they could and get away from England. Allen fell for it. He—he’d come to hate his wife, he was just a savage brute by then. All he worried about was getting out of danger. He did kill Merino. I—I know, because I was there.”

A hush fell over them all.

“I couldn’t break away, they had me where they wanted me,” Lundy said hoarsely.

“You mean you didn’t break away,” Rollison said, and waved his hand impatiently when Lundy began to interrupt. “It want to know one more thing. What was the real point in getting Allen into In Town To-night !”

Lundy gave a mirthless laugh.

“That started as a joke. We used to listen to that programme when we were in Burma—listened to plenty, but that was the favourite—people in London while we were out there, get me? And I used to say that if we had to split up, I’d arrange to broadcast on the programme. They didn’t believe I could fix it, and used to chip me about it every time the show was on. Well, when the list was lost, we had to get in touch with the others who’d got so many of the jewels. Merino first suggested the way. It had been arranged that Allen or Merino would dispose of the jewels, you see, they would all be prepared to part. But we had to get in touch with them. And I was pretty sure that most of them would listen to the programme. Fixing it was easy, I didn’t even have to do that myself, Pauline did. Allen thought up his idea of fooling you with the altered script. After Merino was dead, you were the only danger. Once the broadcast was over, he thought there wouldn’t be any more trouble. He and Pauline were O.K., he didn’t see what you could do, because you would want to save your friend’s life. He was going to get out of the country with Pauline, when he’d collected all the jewels. He wasn’t going to share out the proceeds with anyone else. He had it fixed in his mind after Merino’s death, that he only had to stall until Saturday, get the message over, and arrange a meeting with the others before he walked out on them. The truth is——”

He broke off.

“Yes, let’s have the truth,” said Rollison.

“He’s crazy!” cried Lundy. “Living in a village drove him out of his mind. While he was there he just had one fixed idea, getting away with the jewels. When he got back, he wouldn’t think far beyond it. I knew he’d bring us to this.”

Lundy’s voice trailed off.

Rollison said slowly: “I think you’re right about Allen. His mind was turned.”

Lundy lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers, but the story had slackened the tension of the others. McMahon slipped away towards the telephone box, doubtless to reserve space in the Sunday Cry. Barbara looked dreary, and Ebbutt stretched out for a chair and pushed it behind her. She sat down. Allen stood quite still, looking into Rollison’s eyes.

“You’re quite a boy, aren’t you?” asked Rollison.

Allen said: “Maybe I am. So is your precious Snub. And Lundy doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know where Pauline is either. I saw to that, I wasn’t taking any chances. What would you rather have? A rope for me and a bullet for Snub, or both of us alive and kicking?”

The only sound in the gymnasium was the heavy breathing of some of the men and, in the distance, McMahon’s voice on the telephone. The tension had suddenly leapt to a high pitch again, and obviously Allen believed that he had a chance to win on this last desperate throw. His eyes met Rollison’s in a challenge and defiance.

Then Ebbutt said wheezily: