John Creasey - Stars For The Toff

“No. But I do feel a bit tottery.” She stood up gingerly and almost collapsed; Rollison grabbed her and she leaned against him. “Rolly dear, am I glad to see you! What are you going to do with them?”

“Hand them over to the police. What else?”

“Sure they wouldn’t talk more freely to you?”

“If you mean will I do a deal with your two nice young friends, the answer is no,” Rollison said flatly.

“You could pretend to.”

“There’s no need, now that you’re free.”

“What do you mean, there’s no need?” she demanded. “Catching them ’ s not the main job, clearing Madam Melinska is. Have you cleared her yet?”

“No, but—”

“There isn’t any “but” about it. Until she’s proven innocent you can pretend anything; you don’t have to play by the Queensberry Rules with that lot.” She seemed angrier with Rollison than with her abductors. “If you hand them over to the police they’ll only tell them all about that beastly old dossier, and that won’t do Madam Melinska any good at all—oh yes, they know all about it, Lord knows how, but they do. And once the police get on to that, Madam Melinska won’t stand a chance.”

Rollison said slowly: “I don’t think she will.”

“There you are then!” Olivia was triumphant. “ You ’ ve got to make them talk. And if you can’t, I can—everyone talks to me when I set my mind to it.”

“That I can believe,” said Rollison. He chuckled as he looked down at her. “You take some beating!”

“You’re not so bad yourself. I thought you’d tumble to what I meant when I talked about Lucy being a moaner. How is he?”

Rollison told her the latest news about Lucifer Stride. Then he turned towards the two men. The man who had threatened him on the stairs still sprawled across the chair, motionless; but the man who had telephoned him was beginning to stir.

Rollison leaned over him. “I’ll take this one first. Any idea who they are?”

“That one’s Bob. The other’s Frank. Or that’s what they called themselves. They didn’t tell me any more—except that they’re brothers.”

Rollison pulled the man to his feet.

“Don’t worry, we’ll soon find out all we want to know. Got that famous reporter’s biro of yours? I’d like you to take down what they say.”

Olivia rummaged in a sideboard, found pencil and paper, and sat down, crossing her legs. “Okay, Rolly, I’m all set.”

Bob was moistening his lips.

“What’s your name?” demanded Rollison.

“Webb. Robert Webb.”

“Where are you from?”

“Bui—Bulawayo, Rhodesia.”

“What work do you do?”

Robert Webb hesitated. “I—we—”

“Just answer for yourself.”

“I’m—I’m a private inquiry agent.”

“You’re a what?

“I’m a private inquiry agent.”

“You won’t be any more,” Rollison said grimly. “What work have you been doing?”

“Finding—finding out about Madam Melinska.”

“Did you prepare that dossier?”

“I—er—we—yes.”

“Who paid you?”

“Mrs—Mrs Abbott.”

“Why did you go to her flat to steal the report you yourself had prepared and given to her?” This was a shot in the dark, but Rollison hoped it might pay off.

“I didn’t steal it.”

“You went to Tillson Street and broke into her flat. While you were looking for the report she returned unexpectedly, and you killed her.”

“I didn ’ t kill her!”

“ And you killed Charlie Wray, a harmless little man who—”

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

“You ran him down.”

“That—that wasn’t my fault, he ran right into my car.”

“Oh-ho, so you did go to Tillson Street.” Rollison’s shot in the dark had paid off. “And this evening you followed me from Gresham Terrace and tried to run me down on the Embankment.”

“I never ran you down.”

Rollison moved forward and gripped Robert Webb’s lapels, drawing him close. He could feel the man trembling, sensed the depth of his fear. He held him for several seconds, then thrust him away. Webb staggered backwards, stumbling against the far wall.

“I tell you I didn’t run you down!”

“You’re lying,” Rollison said ominously.

“I’m not lying. I wasn’t on the Embankment tonight.”

“Perhaps you didn’t kidnap Miss Cordman.”

“Of course I did! I’d been to your flat to see what had happened to my brother. When I got there, your man was unconscious, and Lucy— Lucifer Stride—looked as if he were dead. Frank was just coming round. I managed to get him downstairs and into the car, and then she —” he nodded towards Olivia— “began to follow me. I didn’t—”

He was interrupted by a groan from his brother.

Rollison turned to Olivia. “I’m going to tie Frank to the chair,” he said. “I want you to get a detailed statement from him. I’ll take his brother in the next room and get one from him. If their stories tally, there may be some truth in what they’re saying. If they don’t—”

“They will!” gasped Bob Webb. “They will, I swear it.”

* * *

The two statements tallied in practically every detail. The brothers were private inquiry agents, they had been employed by Mrs Abbott to get information regarding Madam Melinska, they had got the information statement by statement, they had compiled the dossier and had brought it to her in London. Bob had been to see her that afternoon, not to get the dossier back but to give her further information. And he swore that she had been alive when he left.

Once Mrs Abbott had realised that Rollison was going to help Madam Melinska, she had bribed the brothers to help her frighten him off. Bob had made the ammonia bomb which Mrs Abbott had thrown at him screaming that she wanted to kill him. Frank had threatened him on the staircase of his flat. When Jolly had locked him in the bathroom he had, as Rollison had suspected, taken morphia so as to be proof against questioning. Both brothers admitted carrying morphia—they sometimes smuggled political prisoners over various borders in Southern Africa, said Frank, and morphia kept their charges quiet. He had come round to find both Jolly and Lucifer Stride unconscious, and a few minutes later his brother arrived and helped him downstairs and into the car, and they had driven straight here.

“But why here?” Rollison had asked sharply. “This is Lucifer Stride’s flat. What connection have you got with Stride?”

“Stride’s flat be damned,” Bob had exclaimed. “It’s ours. Stride was only staying with us. He’s been working for us. We paid him to get information about Madam Melinska from the girl—Mona Lister.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Clean Sweep

“The problem is, what are we going to do about the Webbs?” Olivia demanded. “I don’t think—”

She was interrupted by a heavy knock at the front door, followed by a long, loud ring.

“It looks as if we don’t have to make a decision,” Rollison said.

“What do you mean?”

“Only the police would make such a din,” Rollison told her, and opened the living-room door as a man called out in a deep but clear voice:

“ Open, in the name of the law! ”

“Coming!” Rollison moved towards the front door and opened it on three men, one of them Clay. He stepped aside and two of them pushed past, while Clay stayed with him.

“We know Miss Cordman’s here,” said Clay. “One of our boys saw the Morris in the drive.”