John Creasey - The Toff on The Farm

“He gave me a telephone number and told me to ring there if—if you looked like getting too close. I had to do it, if I hadn’t it would have been letting Gillian down. I could tell that he was serious, he—he showed me proof that he’d got Alan prisoner, and told me that if he didn’t get hold of the farm he would kill both Alan and Gillian. The only way to help them was to get you off the case, and then persuade Gillian to sell.”

“So that’s what you were going to do?”

“Yes I had to. I thought we could butter you up a bit, and—well, what else could I do?” Now that it was off his chest, M.M.M. seemed less troubled, but kept dabbing at his forehead. “I still think the only safe thing is to let these swine buy the farm.”

“Do you know why they want it ?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“I’d never heard of them until this morning, of course I don’t know.”

“How much did they offer you for your help to get me off the job, and to persuade Gillian to sell ?”

“That’s a swine of a question. You know damned well that the only thing they could offer me was Gillian’s safety and after that, Alan’s. Money didn’t enter into it. Good God ! I’ve got enough money for anything I’ll ever want in this life.”

“All right, no hysterics,” said Rollison. “Now, about this man who warned you ?”

“He came in just after you’d left, a biggish chap in a brown suit. He had a whispering kind of voice but he was American all right. He drove that black Humber, the car Charlie came in. Mildred and Bert couldn’t hear a thing he was saying, although they were at the bar all the time. And you can call me everything you like, but I still think that the wise thing is to buy this swine off.”

“In spite of two murders?”

“You talk as if ordinary, decent people had been killed, instead of a couple of crooks !”

“Monty,” murmured Rollison, “their way of earning a living apart, a lot of crooks are ordinary, decent people. They have wives and children who mourn them when they die, and a lot of very good qualities.”

“These two were brutes! They would have killed

“They daren’t kill Gillian until they have the farm, and they daren’t use too much pressure because any sale made under pressure could be ruled invalid,” said Rollison. “They could use threats, but couldn’t do physical harm to Gillian. That speaks for itself.”

“That’s what you say,” Monty almost sneered.

“All right,” said Rollison, crisply. “And the couple waiting in the other flat were going to ginger up your spirit of co-operation. Ever seen the woman before?”

“No.”

“I hope that’s true,” said Rollison, and seemed to relax; but he had never been further from relaxing. “Monty, I want you to try to remember this. You never benefit from making a deal with bad men. You can’t buy safety and you can’t buy an easy conscience. If you do what this man in brown orders, and persuade Gillian to sell the farm, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. That might not be for long, because once you’ve done what you’re wanted for, you might be rubbed out. Nice, expressive phrase, rubbed out, even if it is a little old-fashioned. They’re expert at the rubbing process. They’ve killed two men, and I think they would cheerfully have killed me. Don’t fall for it, Monty. Come back on my side.”

M.M.M. didn’t answer, and before Rollison could speak again, there came a sharp ring at the front door-bell. He glanced at the door, and M.M.M. turned round, as if glad that he didn’t have to listen to anything more from Rollison.

“This will be the police to ask more questions,” Rollison said. “I’m going out by the fire-escape, but tell them who I am, and that they’ll be welcome at my flat any time of the day and night.”

M.M.M. only stared at him.

Gillian was sitting in the car near the corner, watching police cars and the crowds which gathered; obviously she hadn’t got out, and nothing had happened to alarm her except the evidence of trouble.

“Is Monty all right?” she asked quickly.

“Perfectly, and so am I,” said Rollison, “Charming of you to ask.” He squeezed her hand. “I hope that Monty will see things my way in future.” She didn’t answer, and he started off, watched but not stopped by the policemen at the main entrance.

Jolly opened the flat door before he reached it. His lined face would soon be wrinkled, his sparse grey hair was neat, his eyes were the eyes of an affectionate sheepdog. He looked at Gillian with surprise; and in spite of her tensions and her worries, she was quite lovely.

Rollison led her straight to the spare room, which had its own tiny bathroom.

“Tidy yourself up, and let me know when you’re feeling respectable again,” he said.

She looked into his eyes.

“Roily, I don’t know whether you’re right or wrong, but thank you for being so charming,” she said, “I know I’ve been a little beast.” When Rollison smiled, she went on with more spirit: “And don’t say it’s nothing : it’s a great deal,” Then she burst out: “Do you know if Tex Brandt’s been here yet?”

Her expression told Rollison that one day she was likely to have bad news for Montagu Montmorency Mome; that was a strangely ironical fact.

“I think he’ll turn up,” Rollison said.

He did not remind her that Brandt could have killed both Charlie and Lodwin, He closed the door on her, and went back into the big room, and told Jolly to send the American in. He stood with his back to the remarkable Trophy Wall.

The Texan came striding in; he seemed to grow in stature every time Rollison saw him.

“Hallo, Mr. Rollison, it’s good to see you again,” he greeted, and held out his hand.

Rollison took it.

“Hiya, Tex,” he said. “Used any lethal daggers lately?” He twisted his arm, and quite suddenly Brandt was bent almost double, held in a grip which he could not escape unless he wanted to break his arm. He was still looking flabbergasted when Jolly came in, and Rollison said :

“Search him. Jolly, just in case he has a bloodstained knife.”

13

TEX TELLS

Jolly was both expert and quick. Tex made no attempt to free himself as hands dipped in and out of his pockets, sometimes coming out empty, sometimes loaded : as with an elaborate pocket knife, a cigarette-lighter with a hole in the wrong place, and a small compact automatic pistol of German make. Jolly next ran his hands along Tex’s legs, arms, waist and chest, and then drew back. As he did so, Rollison released the Texan, smiled cheerfully, and said:

“What are you going to have to drink?”

“I need Bourbon on the rocks,” Tex said, in a bewildered way.

“Bourbon on the rocks for Mr. Brandt, Jolly,” said Rollison, and went to the large desk where the weapons had been placed. “Quite an amount,” he observed, and picked up the palm gun. “One of the Toledo jobs, isn’t it, made by Yanez.” He weighed the automatic in his hand. “Otto Schmidt, of Hamburg, gets better and better. Isn’t the knife American made?”

Tex said : “Sure.”

“Don’t ever let it be said that I left a man defenceless in a foreign land,” murmured Rollison, and handed all three of the weapons back. “Unless you’ve a licence for that automatic I shouldn’t let the police know you have it, and the lighter could get you into a lot of trouble. I know. I’ve got one. Does yours fire slugs or gas pellets ?”

“Slugs,” answered Brandt, a little less weakly.

“I prefer gas pellets,” Rollison confided. “They’re just as quick, they scare more, and if I get caught ladling them out, no-one gets so angry. You probably don’t know it, but the police in this country can be very tough when they think you’re going to throw lead about.”