John Creasey - Kill The Toff

He pulled up outside Judith’s house.

“I wonder why Grice let you get away with so much,” said Clarissa.

“So does he. The law is flexible when administered by men of common sense and understanding. One way and the other, Grice and I have worked together a great deal. The ice is often thin but Jolly’s saved me from falling through with two red-letter exceptions. Yes, I’ve been jugged twice but they managed to keep me out of the dock.”

“Is it worth the risk?”

“Now you’re becoming fatuous,” declared Rollison.

As they walked across to the house he saw another car turn into Knoll Road; and again he recognised a policeman at the wheel. So Grice was having him followed; perhaps because he thought there was serious danger for him, possibly because he was not yet convinced that Rollison had told him everything he knew.

“May I know who lives here?”

“Judith, the nice girl,” said Rollison.

Judith must have seen the car for she was half-way down the top flight of stairs. She was dressed in her green smock, her hair was untidy, her face bright; for Rollison had telephoned her to talk of good news without telling her exactly what it was. Rollison was leading the way and Judith did not see Clarissa at first.

“I’ve been longing for you to come! Is Jim going to be all right?”

“Yes, he’s cleared,” Rollison said. “Thanks to—”

He stood aside, for Clarissa to reveal herself. The two women eyed each other, tears rising to Judith’s eyes, although she was smiling and happiness glowed in her face.

“Miss Arden,” Rollison finished dryly.

Judith sniffed. “I—I can’t thank—”

“Mr Rollison is revealing a new side of himself,” said Clarissa. “This is false modesty; if there’s anyone to thank, it’s he.”

She took Judith’s arm and they went upstairs to the big room. There dozens of black-and-white sketches littered the drawing-board and Rollison glanced at them and saw that they were drawn much more effectively than those he had seen when he had first come here.

“Genius popping out again?” he murmured.

“Oh, they’re dreadful! When can I see Jim?”

“When would you like to?”

“Now!”

“It will take about an hour, if you’re ready to leave in five minutes,” Rollison said and Judith ran across the room to the tiny recess, separated from the rest of the room by a heavy curtain, and disappeared.

Clarissa looked at Rollison with her head held back.

“You see,” murmured Rollison.

“Yes, it’s worth the risk. She’s sweet.”

“She’s paid a visit to hell and that makes London seem like heaven,” Rollison said. “There are all kinds of hell. Have you been thinking much about Michael?”

“Well—rather more.”

“Has it worked?”

“I can think about him without feeling bitter or desperate and wanting to rush off to find some way of drowning my sorrow. Roily, you’ve already done me a power of good. I think you ought to marry me.”

Rollison raised his eyebrows slowly.

“Original thought. Most people would hate the idea.”

“Would you?”

He considered; and it seemed to him that she was in earnest although the words had doubtless sprung unguardedly from her lips.

She looked beautiful; she was beautiful. Vitality throbbed in her, made her eyes glow, made her lovely face radiant.

“I don’t think I should hate it,” he pronounced. “But Jolly will tell you that I am not the marrying kind.”

“I wonder why you aren’t married.”

“Jolly’s answer will do for that, too.”

“Proposal spurned?” she said lightly.

“No, deferred.”

“You don’t really trust me, yet, do you?”

“No.”

Clarissa said: “Michael didn’t. Michael told me that he wouldn’t marry me while he was still in the RAF because he would be afraid of what I would be up to while he was away. He could have trusted me, he need not have feared that. So can you.”

Her hand moved, to touch his.

Judith called: “I’m ready!” and thrust the curtain aside. Clarissa tossed her head back and laughed.

* * *

Mellor’s skin was clear, his eyes bright; he looked almost well. He sat up against his pillows in a small ward at the Woking Hospital. On a hard, uncomfortable chair in one corner sat a local detective—and at the window stood Clarissa, a little to the left, so that she could not easily be seen from inside.

Rollison tapped at the door and entered and Judith waited in the passage, her hands clenched. She would have rushed in but he had told her that he must break this news gently to Jim Mellor. Mellor said: “Hal -lo! ”

“Well, Jim. Feeling on top of the world?”

“I’m a thousand times better,” Mellor said and gave a rather excited laugh. “You’re Rollison, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Who’s been talking?”

“One of the nurses and the flatfoot over there,” said Mellor. The detective smiled affably. “They have quite an opinion of you. I don’t know how you managed it or even what you’ve been doing but if you yanked me out of that Asham Street room I’ll never be able to thank you. It—it’s damned hard, even now, to believe that I needn’t have done it, that everything’s worked out all right.”

Words spurted from him, as if he were making up for the last weeks during which he had said hardly a word to anyone.

Rollison said: “You’ll believe it, as it’s true. Have you told the police everything you can?”

“Everything but I’m afraid it doesn’t amount to much. I didn’t really know Galloway, I’d just done some work for him—printing jobs— not a great deal. I went down to Limehouse on business one afternoon and—well, I must have been drugged. When I came round I was in the room with Galloway and there was blood all over the place. I must have been crazy to run away then but I was scared stiff. I felt pretty groggy, too, and there was a little chap who came in and offered to hide me. He said I’d had a brainstorm, and—no, it’s no use,” Mellor said, and his voice was hoarse, his face strained. “I suddenly found myself on the run—and then the newspapers came out with my photograph and I knew I was for it. I thought if I could keep out of the way long enough, the truth would come out. I know it was crazy, but—”

“Worry about it later,” Rollison said, is there anyone you want to see?”

“Want to see? I’m longing to see Punch— Judith. My fiancee—that is, unless she’s decided that I’m not worth seeing. She might—but I couldn’t have written to her! It would have involved her in the mess, too. Wouldn’t it? Have you met her? The police promised—”

He couldn’t speak quickly enough.

“Yes, I’ve met her,” Rollison said. “She’s here.”

“ What? ”

Rollison turned his head. “All right, Judith.”

The door swung open. Judith came slowly into the room, her eyes glistening, her arms outstretched, but there was a little hesitancy in her manner, as if this reunion were not quite real. The light in Mellor’s eyes must have convinced her.

He said: “Punch. Oh, Punch!”

Rollison went out and closed the door softly. Clarissa watched from the window for a moment.

* * *

“I’m glad I saw that,” said Clarissa. “Thank you.”

“Life can be good.” Rollison went to the other side of the car which was parked within sight of the window of Mellor’s room. “She’ll stay there for a few hours and the police will see her home.”

They got into the car.

“It’s better without a bodyguard,” Clarissa said.

“Still thinking of wedded bliss?”

“Just seeing the glowing possibilities of it. Roily, I think I shocked you.”