The Toff and the Kidnapped Child (8 page)

 

Rollison was looking at Leah as she answered, and the reply came without a moment's hesitation; but it was extremely likely that she was lying. She looked prettier now; surreptitiously she had tidied her hair, and although the flush of sleep had gone, she had a complexion quite like roses, and her eyes seemed brighter and bluer; it was easy to understand how a man could be attracted by her – but would a man like Ralph Kane?

He had been.

“Ralph Kane never had two pennies to rub together,” said the man named Max, lightly. “If he had, we would have got all we wanted from him, and it was only when I realised that he hadn't anything to pay with that I began to think about his wife. After all, what belongs to a wife is also her husband's, or it should be in a happy family! So forget Ralph. Supposing you go and talk to Mrs Kane, and advise her that the wise thing to do is to pay the money. I'll telephone you at” – Max flicked a glance at the gold wrist-watch on his left hand – “half-past twelve, shall we say? Or doesn't that allow time enough? Make it half-past one. There will still be an hour and a half before the banks close. I'll tell you where to bring the money. All right?”

“What makes you so sure that I won't bring the police?”

“Oh, I'm not sure,” said Max airily. “I told you, a man has to take some risks when he's playing for high stakes, and my risk is that you'll be a stiff-necked so-and-so, and do what you think is the right thing.” He put a haw-haw tone into his voice with complete aplomb. “You and Mrs K. have to take risks, too. She has to risk losing her daughter. You have to risk losing your life.”

He smiled.

Rollison said: “I'm not sure that it is a risk,” but he had very little doubt that this man was not bluffing. One thing became more obvious every minute: in Max there was something of the cold-bloodedness of the driver of the small car. Had he been that driver? Rollison had seldom known a man make him feel so uneasy; he had often been on edge because of fear of death or pain, but never because of innuendo and threat. He did not fully understand his own reaction, although at the back of his mind he knew that his fears were not for himself, but for Eve.

Above everything else, he wanted to help her.

“You just have to gamble on it,” Max went on.

“I suppose so,” Rollison conceded.

“Toff, I don't want to detain you any longer,” Max declared. For the first time he took his hand from his pocket, without the gun, as if to show that he was sure he had nothing more to fear. “You can send for the police, you can even bring them here. I think I should get away, but whether I did or not, Caroline Kane would never show up alive again. That's the kind of gamble you'd be taking!” He gave his broadest smile. “Be close by the telephone at half-past one.”

Rollison hesitated, and then said: “I will be.”

“That's my boy!”

Rollison saw the glint in the dark eyes, telling that Max felt quite sure he had won. Max actually turned towards Leah, as if Rollison no longer mattered, but he had that curiously cat-like movement, and would swing round if Rollison made the slightest false move. Rollison stepped to the door, hesitated, then turned round and said: “How do I know you'll have the girl with you?”

“You don't, do you?” said Max blandly. “You just have to take my word for it that I'll hand over the girl in exchange for twenty thousand pounds. It's nearly eleven o'clock,” he went on. “You haven't a lot of time to work in.”

Now he turned his back on Rollison, but in the wall near him was a mirror, and he could see any move that Rollison made. Rollison put a hand on the door, opened it, and stepped outside. Max, probably beaming, said something to Leah in a low-pitched voice. Leah made a gurgle of sound in reply.

Rollison stepped outside, closed the door, and went downstairs, walking rather heavily, as if he hated being forced to leave. He reached the first landing, and almost opposite him was the open door of the bathroom. He passed this, reached the front passage, and went out into the street. He was quite sure that Max would be watching from the window. He glanced up, and saw that the gap between the side of the blind and the window was wider, and also saw a hand pulling it back. He went straight to the corner of the street. The Rolls-Bentley was being admired by a middle-aged man, who glanced at him and said: “Beautiful job, isn't it?”

“Eh?” asked Rollison. “Oh, the car. Yes, isn't it?” He saw the man's expression change to one of startled surprise when he got in. “Good morning.” He started the engine and eased off the brake at one and the same moment, shot the car forward towards the far end of the street, turned the corner to the left, went left again, and pulled up close to that corner; round it was Marple Street. He got out of the car and slammed the door, then half-walked, half-ran, towards the guest house. By keeping close to the front of the houses there was little risk of being seen, even if Max was alive to the possibility that he would double back. Max wouldn't miss much, but having seen him leave the house and turn the corner, he probably thought that he had won without a real fight.

The front of the guest house was still open.

Rollison went in, bent down and slipped off his shoes, and hurried silently up the stairs. As he neared number 7, he heard a sound that surprised him, and he paused on the landing. The sound was repeated: laughter. He drew on his shoes and stepped towards the door. Max and Leah were laughing as if at the best joke in the world; Max was nothing if not a character. The girl began to squeal, breathless with laughter, and gradually words formed themselves. “Don't, Max. Oh, Max, don't! Max, don't!” She was almost hysterical, and there was little doubt that Max was tickling her. This might be exactly the right moment to go in, they were so preoccupied; but there would be a restriction of movement inside the room. Rollison stood flat against the wall so that when the door opened he would be able to stretch out a hand and grab Max; or stretch out a leg, and trip him. The laughter was now a series of gasps, the kind which was almost agonising.

Then, while Leah was gasping for breath, Max said: “Okay, Leah, I'll give you a break. But next time don't let me catch you with your pants down.” He seemed quite good-humoured and on top of the world. “I don't think Rollison will come and see you again, but if he does you don't know a thing more.”

“Well, I don't anyway,” Leah managed to say.

“That's right, you don't,” agreed Max.

Undoubtedly, he was smiling that beaming smile. Rollison heard him come across the room towards the door, and flattened himself against the wall so that there was no risk of being seen when the door opened, unless Max was still suspicious and wary, and peered out before he stepped outside. There would still be time to catch him before he could take any action – unless he carried his gun at the ready. He might do that. Rollison felt the now familiar sense of apprehension, admitting to himself that the next move was quite unpredictable; this man knew all the tricks, and might have one up his sleeve.

Max opened the door.

He turned and waved to Leah, and kissed his fingers at her. Then he stepped outside, pulling the door as he did so, and it was firmly closed when Rollison lunged, caught his right wrist and thrust it upwards, forcing him to turn round. Then Rollison dipped his hand into his pocket and drew out the automatic. Once that was in his own pocket, his tension eased. Max had drawn in one hissing breath, but made no attempt to struggle; there was no doubt that he knew Rollison might break his arm.

“Downstairs,” Rollison ordered. “Don't try to run away.”

He thrust the man forward a little, and Max stepped out awkwardly, careful not to jolt his arm. They went down without being seen, but as they reached the hall, a door at the end of the front passage opened, and a woman said: “Oh! You gave me quite a shock.” She could see Rollison's back, but very little of Max. “Did–did you want someone?”

Max said: “It's okay, Mrs Bottley, this is a friend of mine.” He sounded natural enough and the answer satisfied the woman. The front door was open. He went out, Rollison still gripping his arm. Almost certainly he told himself that Rollison would not keep that hold on him when they were in the street, and that would be his chance to get away.

“Max,” Rollison said.

“Toff,” said Max.

“Don't run, and don't do anything foolish,” urged Rollison. “Apart from the fact that you might break your arm, the police would be very glad to see you. You killed a policeman last night.”

“I wasn't within fifty miles of Hapley when that copper was run down,” Max said, “and I can prove it.” He paused for a moment, and then went on: “So he died.”

Rollison didn't know for sure, but said: “Yes.”

“That's too bad.”

“You'll soon find out how bad it is.”

“Toff,” said Max, “I don't know what's on your mind, but let me give you a little information.” He was moving forward quickly, arm still held behind him and thrust upwards, so that although they looked as if they were walking peculiarly only someone very close by could see what was really happening. “It's about Caroline Kane.”

“Go on.”

“She won't have a chance at all if you take me to the police.”

“Perhaps I think I ought to call your bluff.”

“It's not bluff,” Max insisted. “But why don't you try it? And then why don't you talk to Mrs Kane afterwards? Tell her you didn't mean to sign her Carrie's death warrant – such a nasty death, too – and see how much that helps. There were some things that Ralph Kane helped us with, Toff. He told us how much his wife loved his daughter. What do they call it? Maternal fixation, or something. You ever noticed how often a mother or a father dotes on a child if ma and pa don't exactly hit it off?”

Rollison said mildly: “Max, you're going to take me to Caroline.”

“Not on your life,” retorted Max.

They reached the corner, and the Rolls-Bentley stood facing them. Rollison went on thrusting the man towards it, and said: “Open the door.”

After a moment's hesitation, Max did so, and said: “Well, well , what's it like to be rich? How do you spend your money, Toff? I'd like to find out the best way, and I've a feeling that you know. Do you want me to get into this piece of opulence?”

“Yes.”

“Believe it or not, this is the first time I have ever sat in a Rolls-Royce or Bentley of any kind,” said Max, as if with reverence. When Rollison released his arm, he eased it and moved his shoulder gingerly, got in, and leaned back; there was a seraphic expression on his face as he closed his eyes. “My,” he breathed. “This is really what it's like to be in the money. Did I ever tell you that I intend to be rich before I've finished?”

Rollison locked the door, which was on the passenger's side, and went round to the driving wheel. Max had made no attempt to move, and he was smiling raptly when Rollison sat next to him, and put a hand on the wheel.

“Toff,” Max went on, very gently. “Don't let heroics force you into a serious mistake. You live a comfortable kind of life. Any man who can run a car like this and has an address in Mayfair must know all about the good times. Why spoil it? Why try to build up your reputation any more? You're in the money and Mrs Kane's in the money. Put me and my friends in the money, and you'll get the girl back so we can forget all about it. Why don't you?”

Rollison said: “Because if you get away with it this time, you'll try it again.”

“Not on the same people, Toff, and you needn't know anything about the next time! Twenty thousand pounds is exactly the right sum for me to start with. I know how to work after that. Leah's a bigger help than you might think. Know what Leah does? She finds my fools, the rich fools, the Ralph Kanes of this world, and I separate them from some of their riches. We thought that Kane was well heeled, but soon found that he had the next best thing – his wife. With twenty thousand in the kitty, so to speak, we can manage quite nicely. Don't make it difficult and don't make Mrs Kane a bereaved mother. Be sensible. Tell her to pay up.”

He was talking earnestly while Rollison was driving towards Kensington High Street, and trying to decide the most effective thing to do. He could take Max to the flat, but it would be impossible to deal with him if Eve were still there. In his heart he knew exactly what Eve would want to do: pay the money. Well, if Eve could afford it, what were the arguments against? The child would be all right, at least he could make sure of that. There was logic in Max's arguments, and Max knew exactly what he was doing—

Rollison forced the ideas away almost in dismay. A policeman badly injured if not dead, Max and Leah left to prey upon fools, Max even more cocky if he got away with this: it was impossible to think of advising Eve to pay.

But she would want to.

“While you're making up your mind,” Max said, “do you mind if I have a cigarette?” He took out cigarettes, used the dashboard cigar lighter as if it were a new toy, puffed with relish, and then went on: “There's a particularly bad mistake you could make, Toff. You might think that I work alone. Just at the moment, I imagine, a colleague of mine is having a cosy little chat with Caroline's mother.”

 

 

When the door closed behind Richard Rollison, Eve Kane stood looking at the Trophy Wall for a few moments, saw sunlight from the window glint on the glass of a small cabinet filled with phials containing powder, presumably poison, and stepped quickly to the window. By pressing close against it, she could just see the pavement outside the front door of this house. Almost at once, Rollison appeared, and she watched him turn right, and walk with long, easy strides towards the car; a man with complete confidence in himself, and obviously superbly fit. But neither of those things explained the way she felt about him; there was no easy explanation, but it was a simple fact that she felt more at ease with him than she had ever done with a man – even her own husband.

She would have hated Ralph to see her as she had been when she had come into this room and faced Rollison; it had not occurred to her to think twice about Rollison seeing her. If anything was absolutely certain it was that he would do his utmost to help her, and would not miss a chance.

She turned towards that remarkable wall. Anywhere else, it would have seemed showy, even ostentatious; in this otherwise beautifully furnished room it should look like that. Instead, it was ‘right'; even the top hat on the peg close to the ceiling had a kind of jauntiness. She saw a hole in it, and then realised that it was a bullet hole.

Had Rolly been wearing the hat when that hole had been made?

She looked at other trophies; at knives, guns, poisons, rope, wire, hammers – some obviously weapons for crimes of violence, that ‘blunt instrument' so often read about. Others had some association with murder and violence which it was not easy to grasp: the nylon stocking, for instance; some chickens' feathers; a white wedding veil; a Salvation Army hat placed in the centre of them all. She sensed the romance and the excitement and the danger which those souvenirs told of, and they gave her a deep, helpful feeling of confidence.

Here was all the evidence that Rollison knew exactly what he was doing.

What had he asked her to do?

Have Jolly telephone the doctor, or telephone herself, of course; but what was the doctor's name? She ought to have remembered it. Webber, Well—Welling? She hurried to the desk, hesitated, then opened a drawer, and was lucky to find a small card index at the front of it, marked
addresses.
She found a card for Dr G. Welling, and a Mayfair telephone number. She dialled, and when a girl answered, said: “I've a message for Dr Welling from Mr Rollison.”

“One moment, please...” After a brief pause a man came on the line, and Eve explained simply that Rollison's man was ill, and the doctor promised: “I'll be over within the hour.” Eve rang off, and went into the kitchen, hesitated, and then opened the door of a room just along a narrow passage. She heard a man breathing heavily as she stepped inside. An elderly man was lying on his back, rather high on spotlessly white pillows. His cheeks were colourless, and his lips seemed pale, too. She went across to him, and realised that he was really ill; he probably had a very high temperature. There was sweat on his forehead and his upper hp. If she wiped that off she might wake him, and it would be better if he could stay as he was until the doctor arrived; but she wished she had come in here first; she could have made it sound more urgent.

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.