John Creasey: The Toff on The Farm

In a moment, everything about him seemed to change.

Except for her pallor, this girl was really lovely. One would have to travel a long way to see her equal, and obviously she did not realise just how lovely she was, or how gracefully she moved. The over-critical might have said that she was a little plump, but that was hardly true, and she had a wondrous small waist and a beauteous bosom. Behind her, limping very badly, was Montagu Montmorency Mome.

“Hallo, Gillian,” Rollison greeted, as if they were lifelong friends, and to prove it, took her hands in his, drew her to him, and kissed her lightly on the lips. She was so astonished that she didn’t back away. He kissed her again, squeezed her, and went on with magnificent ease: “Now don’t worry a bit, we’ll find your brother. That’s if he doesn’t come back of his own accord,” he added cheerfully. “Is there any news at all ?”

“It’s been ludicrous,” Gillian announced, and added with a catch in her breath : “And frightening, too. I’ve never been so scared, and never been so worried.”

“No need to worry now,” declared M.M.M. “I’m here, and if that isn’t enough, the Toff has agreed to give the investigation priority. Beheve it or not, he clipped thirty-five minutes off my pre-amputation time for getting here from London, a hairsbreadth under fifty-nine minutes. I was quite sure that after the inevitable accident, I’d lose my other leg and a pair of arms.”

It was obvious that he was being cheerful and bright for the sake of it. Rollison wasn’t sure that these were the right tactics now, for the girl looked quite as worried as she said she was. The essential thing was to get her to talk, and Rollison did not want to lose any time.

“What’s made it so worrying?” he asked, and his hand was gripping her forearm firmly; encouragingly. “News of Alan?”

“In a way.”

“Bad?”

“A man said,” Gillian began, paused as if she didn’t know how to continue, and then suddenly began to talk as if she would never be able to stop. The whole story poured out of her as they stood there in the sunlight and amid the silence, with M.M.M. leaning against the front door and Rollison looking into Gillian’s beautiful eyes, made radiant by her eagerness to make sure that he understood everything. He did; she even managed to make him understand what a temptation it had been to sign on the dotted line, and accept Lodwin’s offer.

As the story progressed, M.M.M.’s smile faded, and he looked both bewildered and baffled. When she had finished he looked from her to Rollison and back again, as if quite speechless. When he did manage to speak, it was gustily.

“You mean three different people want the farm?” His voice squeaked. “They must be crazy !”

“Three people if the man who telephoned wants it,” agreed Gillian. “He didn’t actually say so, just said that I mustn’t tell anyone that Alan was missing until he’d been to see me. He ought to be here soon,” she added, and looked along the road.

“He’ll come, sooner or later,” said Rollison, “but probably not if Monty and I are still here. He’ll watch the cottage and try to catch you on your own.”

“Sixth-sighted Sammy says so,” said M.M.M., weakly. “What on earth do you make of all this, Roily ?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ve got round to wondering if Mr. Smith of the farm knows anything, and whether his knowledge explains why he doesn’t want to give up possession,” Rollison said thoughtfully. “The puzzling factor about the story you first told me was that old Smith should be so difficult to move. I wondered what his real motive was, and it’s beginning to look as if there is a good one,”

“We’d better tackle him, pronto,” said M.M.M.

“All in good time,” demurred Rollison. “We’ve a number of other things to do first. This man who ran away, Gillian —what did he say his name was?”

“Lodwin.”

“I don’t think I know anyone named Lodwin,” Rollison mused, and slid an arm round Gillian’s waist and led the way to the door. M.M.M. went ahead of them, now moving more uprightly, as if his leg hurt less. “Yet he must have run away because he was afraid of too many people seeing him. What was he like ?”

They entered the front room,

“Well, medium height, and rather pale, with sharp features, I suppose.” Gillian frowned. “It’s rather difficult to describe him, he was really rather neutral. He had pale grey eyes and I suppose they impressed me most, he looked as if he was so used to getting his own way that if I refused, he’d cheerfully kill me.”

She shuddered.

“He won’t,” declared M.M.M.

“He won’t even have a chance,” said Rollison, and hoped that wouldn’t prove an empty boast. “Did he have any distinguishing mark—a mole, scar, moustache, anything like that?”

“I can’t think of any.”

“Kind of face that gets lost in a crowd,” put in IM.M.M. with obvious regret, “Dark clothes and a bowler could mean that he was really a solicitor, but would a solicitor behave like that?”

“Shouldn’t think so,” said Rollison. “All we really know about him is his height, his taste in clothes, and the fact that his Austin car was a Black saloon and had new Everlast tyres.”

‘‘What?” M.M.M. sounded incredulous.

“They made a clear mark on the drive,” said Rollison offhandedly. “They’re not the most common tyres and would be easier to trace than most. Anyone with him, Gillian?”

“No.”

“What about this other chap, Tex the Texan?”

“All I know is that I liked him, and that for some reason he suddenly decided to go off on his own. I didn’t understand it at the time, unless he knew that he hadn’t enough money to outbid Lodwin, and wanted to go and try to arrange to get more.”

“Nice head on those pretty shoulders,” M.M.M. said. “What did I tell you? But don’t you go falling in love at first sight with a handsome young Yank. I’m leader in the field.” Gillian was almost tart.

“Don’t talk nonsense about falling in love with a stranger.”

“Sorry, pet.” She flared up.

“You might show that you’re a little worried about Alan! No one has given a thought to him yet.”

“Oh, yes, many thoughts,” Rollison assured her, “and among them the fact that the telephone threatener said that he would be here soon, and that he probably won’t come if he thinks you have company. Think you could bear to be left alone for a while ?”

Gillian said dubiously : “If I have to be.”

“Not the slightest reason why she should,” said M.M.M. “We could hide.”

“If this chap is watching the cottage, he’ll know we’re here, and will wait until we go away before coming to tell Gillian what he wants,” reasoned Rollison, “and we want to know. We’ll leave, Monty, but we won’t go far. There’s a pub in the village. We’ll arrive as if for lunch, and go inside. Then I’ll nip out the back way, and cut across country to the cottage. It won’t take half an hour, and the chap probably won’t come until he feels sure that we’re safely tucking into our luncheon. All right, Gillian?”

Obviously she was eager, even anxious, to trust Rollison.

“Yes, of course. What am I to say to him, when he does come?”

“At first, you must refuse to listen to anything he has to say, whether it’s a threat or bribery, or whatever he thinks up. Just say you won’t agree to anything until your brother’s returned, and if this man of the telephone really knows where he is, then you’re going to tell the police. Take your time leading up to that,” Rollison went on, “and take it from me that I’ll be back within twenty-five minutes of leaving here. That’ll be at twelve forty-nine,” he declared, looking at his watch. “Don’t worry, Gillian.”