John Creasey: The Toff on The Farm

“We don’t want to call the cops for a little private fight, he declared,

“I thought he was going to kill you!”

“Sure, and for a minute I did, too,” said the other, “but he thought better of it, and that gave me time to try to kill him.” He let her go, and smiled down at her; he had eyes which crinkled at the comers, and made him look perhaps nearer thirty-five than twenty-five, and his smile was most attractive. “But the fight’s finished now. I’m sorry you saw it.”

“Why did you spill the water over him ?”

“Now, ma’am, don’t blame me for that,” the tall American protested; “accidents will happen, even to a Texan in England. What was his final offer for the farm?”

Gillian didn’t answer.

“Did I hear him say twelve thousand ?”

“If you knew, why trouble to ask me?” Gillian felt annoyed, exasperated, and even foolish because she had been so near absolute collapse. Her legs felt weak again, and she longed to sit down. She thought of Alan for the first time since that whirlwind fight; Alan was still absent, and the voice of the man on the telephone seemed very close to her ears again. “. . . or he might get hurt.” She remembered everything more vividly, including the warning that she must tell no one that Alan was missing.

“If he offered twelve thousand pounds, or close on thirty-five thousand dollars, he must want that farm building mighty bad,” observed the man who claimed to come from Texas.

Gillian backed to a chair and sat down.

“Apparently he isn’t the only one.”

“No, ma’am, there are the two of us,” the coppery-haired young man agreed, and gave his most winning smile. “Well, you’re a business woman, and you won’t listen to a lower offer, I guess. I’ll go to twelve thousand five hundred pounds, but you’ll have to wait some weeks for your money, I could give you one thousand pounds as a down payment, and the balance “

“In a hundred years’ time,” barked the man on the floor.

He was getting up slowly and watching the Texan warily. His right side of his chin was slightly swollen, and one of his eyes looked puffy, too, but that was the only outward sign of the fight.

“Did I hear you say something?” inquired the Texan, mildly.

“I said you would pay the balance in a hundred years, which as far as Miss Selby is concerned means never. I repeat my offer. Miss Selby, and there is no reason why the contract should not be drawn up over night, in fact this very afternoon. I would pay cash, in full, against your signature. I hope you will be sensible enough to take it.”

Twelve thousand pounds in cash ?

Gillian didn’t speak, but there was the conflict of whispers again.

Twelve thousand pounds . . . or he might get hurt.

“You want to know something,” said the Texan. “You fascinate me, Mr. Lodwin. You have the oddest way of making a young lady want to oblige you. You ought to take a correspondence course in how to impress a customer. If I read Miss Selby aright, she wouldn’t sell to you even if you piled the twelve thousand pounds up on that table in front of her eyes. Would you, Miss Selby?”

“I should have to consult my brother before making any decision,” Gillian said almost desperately.

“That makes sense,” the Texan approved.

“Surely you have authority to make such a decision on your own. The farm is yours, not your half-brother’s, isn’t it?” Lodwin was even more sharp-voiced than ever; and he also knew the truth.

Gillian disliked him very much. If she had to choose which one of these men to sell to, it would be the Texan every time, except for one thing : ready money. The money would be equally divided between her and Alan, that had always been understood between them, and it would make a fortune for each. Six thousand pounds. But Alan was—

“Where is your brother?” inquired the coppery-haired young man.

“He’s out.”

“When will he be back?” demanded Lodwin.

“I don’t know.”

“Come, come, surely you have some idea when he will return?”

The Texan laughed spontaneously.

“I guess the best way I can make sure of getting that farm is to leave you two together for a while. At the end of half an hour I imagine you wouldn’t have a chance,” he said to Lodwin. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.” He drew nearer Gillian, smiled down on her, and went on : “I forgot to introduce myself, Miss Selby. Just call me Tex, everyone back home does that. I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself, but I’m prepared to take a chance that you’ll give me an opportunity to buy that farm. Right now I’ve some other business to attend to, but I’ll be back. You can be sure of that.”

She didn’t know whether she wanted him to go or not. She certainly did not want to be left alone with Lodwin, but beyond that, couldn’t really be sure what she did want.

She said: “I should have to wait for my brother before making any decision, so why don’t you both come back this afternoon?”

“Suits me, ma’am, suits me fine,” the Texan said.

“I see no point in postponing the decision,” interposed Lodwin nastily. “Obviously what you really mean is that you want another bid. Very well. I have the contract of sale in my pocket. I have a thousand pounds in cash, and my cheque for fourteen thousand pounds will be met if you make special clearance arrangements before three o’clock this afternoon. You stand to take no risk at all, Miss Selby. Why don’t you stop being foolish, and sign ?”

He actually took a large envelope out of his pocket. It was badly crumpled at one comer, and a little crumpled everywhere, but somehow had an imposing look. It must have been a very tight fit in his pocket. He unsealed it, and stepped to the table, then shook out the contents. Five-pound notes began to fall out, not in ones and twos, but in dozens. They showered upon the table in a little hillock of paper money. The last thing to fall was a folded sheet of paper.

William T. Brandt seemed as fascinated by the cascade of notes as Gillian. When the paper stopped sliding and rustling, each stared as if hypnotised, while Lodwin looked triumphantly into Gillian’s face, his expression making it clear that he was certain that she could not hold out any further.

He didn’t know the difficulty with Old Smith, Gillian thought.

He couldn’t possibly know that the farmhouse was worth no more than five thousand, could he ?

“Miss Selby,” remarked the Texan, “that’s a large sum of money, and I come from a State where they respect money and a good business-man. I guess you’re a good businesswoman. If you are, then you’ll be asking yourself right now why it is this fat creep is ready to pay you fifteen thousand pounds for property which isn’t worth a penny more than ten thousand? I guess there must be some good reason. If you take my advice you’ll try to find out what it is before you close any deal with him.”

Lodwin now glared at the Texan.

Gillian actually shivered.

That was as much because of the expression in the dark-clad man’s eyes as anything. He looked as if he could kill; looked as if he was ready to kill just then. His right hand had moved towards the inside breast pocket of his coat. It stayed there. The Texan watched him steadily, and it was almost as if he was willing him not to thrust his hand further inside the jacket.

The two men seemed to have forgotten Gillian.

Ten minutes ago, they had fought that swift, bitter battle with their fists. Now it seemed as if they were fighting with their eyes and their minds, and that it could be just as deadly. She wished they were a thousand miles from here. That telephone voice intruded again, with everything that it implied. Gillian was completely confused, although she knew that the Texan was right: before she made any decision, she ought to know why these men thought that the farm was of such value.