John Creasey - The Toff on The Farm

“Someone’s been getting at Alan,” Gillian said, and turned to Rollison. “But I told you I couldn’t believe that it was Monty. I just couldn’t believe it of him.”

“Do we have to talk about it any further?” asked Tex Brandt, and he flashed a grin at Rollison; it could not have been more friendly or more likeable. “The first thing is to find out where the cache is. We can talk when we’ve found it.”

“He’s found it already,” M.M.M. declared, and Rollison saw the tension spring into Tex Brandt’s eyes. “Why don’t you make a deal? Why don’t you buy Rollison off? He’s buyable.”

“Monty,” murmured Rollison, “I don’t think anyone could buy anybody off with the contents of that safe. I don’t know for certain what is in it, but I don’t think anyone would fight the way they have done for jewels. I don’t think they would commit murder so recklessly. I don’t think the police would allow Tex Brandt to get through the cordon thrown round this farm if they really thought he was a bad man. What’s in the safe, Tex?”

Tex was grinning more broadly than ever.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to get up earlier to fool you,” he said. “You’re dead right, Mr. Rollison. That safe contains an atomic radiation unit which was stolen from research laboratories in New York a year ago. It’s a new kind of unit, much smaller than any in use yet. It’s in a special kind of radiation proof container which weighs pretty heavy but isn’t made of lead. In that safe it’s harmless, but out of that safe it would kill anyone if they were exposed to it for long. It operates like a death ray. Sure, it’s that bad,” he added, when M.M.M. gasped and Gillian gripped his arm very tightly. “Does anyone object if I go and have a look and make sure it’s the right one ?”

“Yes, I object,” Rollison declared. “Tex, you forgot to tell me about the jewels you handled for Freddie Littleton and others in the U.S.A.”

“You’re thinking of someone else,” said the Texan slowly. “There’s a man from Texas, a real bad man, who once called himself William Brandt. He posed as me in New York, and it suited me to let him get away with it.”

“Maybe,” Rollison said, hopefully, and then added to M.M.M. : “Keep our American friend covered with this gun, will you?” He took his own small automatic from his pocket, and handed it to the crippled man. “I won’t be five minutes. Gillian, don’t make Monty get careless with the gun, this time it’s loaded.”

M.M.M. looked savagely delighted.

The Texan smiled, as if he hadn’t a fear in the world.

Rollison ran up the stairs and into Littleton’s room, slicing the cords from the man’s ankles, helped him off the bed and then unsteadily down the stairs. Littleton kept gasping as the blood began to circulate again, but he reached the doorway of the downstairs room inside the five minutes that Rollison had stipulated.

“Which of these is your boss?” Rollison asked, still supporting his prisoner.

Littleton took one glance.

“You kidding?” he demanded. “Neither of them. Brandt is a fat guy. I don’t know the tall guy, and I’ve seen Morne around, that’s all.”

The response was too spontaneous for anyone to doubt it’s truth. This Tex Brandt was not the man the police were after: was not Littleton’s employer. He had not killed Lodwin or Charlie.

The killer was a certain fat American . . .

M.M.M. looked almost regretful.

“Try walking about,” Rollison said to Littleton, “you’ll be all right in a minute.” He turned to Brandt. “Hi, Tex! You’re okay, apparently. I did wonder about you and tried to get a picture of the real Brandt, but it didn’t arrive in time. It’ll come soon. Monty, he’s the wrong man to shoot, but we still need the right one.”

Gillian was looking intently into the tall American’s eyes.

M.M.M. turned away, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of them together. Littleton began to hobble of his own accord.

“You want to know something?” the Texan asked Rollison : “I knew I wasn’t such a bad guy. Mr. Rollison, I know the other William Brandt only too well. I’m in England to hunt for him. I took an interest in this farm because of him. I do have a principal in New York, but he’s not a private individual.”

“Let me guess that he’s also represented in Washington,” said Rollison mildly. “F.B.L”

“That’s right.”

“All right, I agree that you had to fool me,” said Rollison, forgivingly. “Put me out of my misery in another way, too. The police know what you are really doing, don’t they?”

“I had them informed, today.” Tex said. “They’ve been mighty kind, since they recovered from the shock.”

“Don’t ever say the British aren’t co-operative,” Rollison said.

“I don’t know anyone who could co-operate more,” declared Tex. “Will you make a real job of it, and let me look at that safe now?”

“Just follow me,” said Rollison.

He turned towards the kitchen, the hole, and the safe. The tall Texan followed him, and Gillian was just behind. Littleton kept hobbling, much easier now, and M.M.M. stared bleakly out of the window.

There was everything as Rollison had left it, with two exceptions.

The back door was open.

The safe was open, too.

23

CAUSE FOR DREAD

ROLLISON heard the sound of approaching men as he stared at the empty hole. Several detectives were near, and in the distance there was the hum of several car engines. He felt the Texan’s hand heavy on his shoulder, and Brandt said in a taut voice:

“Where is it, Rollison?”

Rollison said : “When we were here before you arrived, the safe was locked.” He saw shadows at the doorway, and knew that the police had arrived in strength : there would be others at the front, the house would be surrounded. “How bad is it?”

“If anyone keeps the container taken from that safe for twenty minutes without putting it inside a protective box, it will kill everyone within fifty yards of it,” declared the Texan. “I wasn’t fooling you about that. It’s death in a box.”

Bishop came in, looking more massive than ever. He didn’t smile as he looked at Rollison and then at Tex.

“You’ve had all the time I’m going to give you,” he said to Rollison, and looked at the Texan. “Are you William Thomas Brandt ?”

“Bishop,” Rollison interrupted, “I don’t know how much you’ve been told, but a small container has been taken out of this safe, and this man says that it contains a radiation unit which would be deadly to anyone exposed to it. Have you stopped everyone who’s left the farmhouse?” Rollison looked bleak and pale. Tex Brandt, a card in his hand, was like a figure of doom. Bishop looked from one to the other, and said sharply:

“Don’t try to scare me.”

“Anyone exposed to that radiation unit for long will die,” Tex said. “I’m not scaring anyone. I’m terrified of what will happen if we don’t find it and put it back in that safe.”

Bishop said heavily: “No one has left the farmhouse in the past half hour. We’ve allowed everyone to come in, none to go out.”

There was silence which lasted for a long time. Then suddenly Freddie Littleton broke in, bursting into a nervous cackle of a laugh.

“So the Boss has beaten you,” he said, and his voice nearly crackled. “He’s got away with it under your noses! Cops ? I’ve trodden on cleverer things than you !”

The Texan’s hand gripped Rollison with frightening force.

“We’ve got to get that container back,” he said. “If it’s in this house, none of us will live for another week.”

Swift, frightening thoughts flashed into Rollison’s mind. Someone had got into the farmhouse by the apple store-cupboard, had crept across, opened the safe and taken the unit out—but he hadn’t gone out by the back or the front door; they had been too closely watched.