John Creasey - The Toff In Town

“Caved in?”

“Caught a wallop amidships and departed in pieces,” declared Snub. “Bit of a anti-climax, but I can’t say I’m sorry. They’d threatened all kinds of blood-curdling fancy tricks if I tried to get away, and I wasn’t looking forward to another love scene with the girlie——”

“Which girlie?”

“Why, Pauline,” said Snub. “She of the golden locks, the pink complexion and the black heart.” A subtle change came into Snub’s voice. “She’s a very nasty piece of work. I’ve had the wind up from one breeze and another in my time, but she knows how to make it a tornado. And all so sweet and sugary, too. But you’ve been at her, haven’t you?”

“I tried some new tactics,” said Rollison.

Snub chuckled, himself again.

“So I gathered. Until an hour ago she was all claws and blood-curdles, but she’s become a different woman. Moral uplift from the Toff, I shouldn’t wonder. She came to see me and didn’t talk nicely about you, but I gathered that you’d done a bit of gun-spiking. You whisked Allen away from under her nose, didn’t you?”

“More or less,” said Rollison.

“And does she want that lad to broadcast to-morrow I It’s her one desire, give her that and she’ll leave you the rest of the world. She emphasised what would happen to you and me if Allen were kept away from the studio—you wouldn’t think a luscious lovely like Pauline could be obscene, would you? I was locked in a room in a small bungalow, near Guildford, heard a car move off, waited five minutes and then gave close attention to the lock. When I got out, the bungalow was empty. All she’d left behind her was her potent and powerful perfume. I always think you can tell the nature of the beast from the pomades, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” said Rollison. “Where are you now?”

“In the bungalow. The exchange is Guildford, so——”

He broke off suddenly, and Rollison heard his exclamation —which might have been of surprise or alarm. Rollison’s fingers tightened round the receiver and Jolly, his smile fading, stepped nearer to him.

While talking into the telephone, there had been a fatuous grin on Snub’s face. It was partly due to the reaction from tension—for his experiences at this bungalow and at the garage in Lilley Mews had not been pleasant. And it was partly due to the fact that he was talking again to Rollison and letting himself go. He finished his story and heard Rollison say:

Sometimes. Where are you now?”

“In the bungalow,” he said. The exchange is Guildford, so——”

And then he heard a sound behind him.

He swung round in the tiny, square hall, and saw the little man who was called “Max”. And he also saw the gun in Max’s hand. A small cupboard in the hall stood open; the little fellow had heard everything Snub had said. Snub kept hold on the receiver, but for a few seconds—precious seconds—he was petrified, and could not speak. Had he not been weak and weary from a sleepless night and lack of food, he might have done much better.

“Okay, I’ll take it,” said Max. He held out his hand, and Snub backed against the wall, still gripping the telephone. If he threw it at the little man, he might knock the gun aside. He raised his arm.

“Now don’t get violent,” said Pauline, from behind him.

She pushed him aside and took the receiver as it fell from his grasp. Max moved swiftly and hustled him away from the telephone, then stood back and kept him covered with the automatic. Pauline looked angelic then, and spoke in her most silvery voice.

“Are you still there, Roily?”

“Good-morning again,” said Rollison heavily. “Cat and mouse?”

That’s exactly what it is. You see, I’m determined that Bob shall broadcast to-morrow night, and I thought you might be persuaded to let him, if you had a word from Higginbottom.

We didn’t go far, just far enough to let him think that he was quite safe from observation, and then we came back. He does look sorry for himself—even worse than you did, and you know how bad you felt.”

“I remember,” said Rollison.

“And of course you might trace the bungalow,” said Pauline, “although I don’t think you’ll find it easy. I never think it’s wise to stay in the same place too long, though, do you?”

“One gets into a rut,” said Rollison heavily.

“You’re so understanding! We’re leaving, as I say, and of course taking Higginbottom with us. At least you won’t be able to say that you haven’t had a last word with him. It will be the last word, if Bob Allen doesn’t broadcast my version to-morrow. While we’re on the line, is there anything else you would like to ask me?”

“I don’t think so,” said Rollison. “We’re still even, my pet. I’ve got Bob and you’ve got Snub; we’ll see whose bluff is the stronger.”

“I really don’t care what happens to Snub,” said Pauline. “Well, I must fly. I——”

She raised her hand to Max.

He took a step nearer the telephone, and let out an eerie cry, as if he were being tortured, and the cry broke off with a strangled gasp.

Pauline put the receiver back to her ear.

“ Poor Snub,” she said. “It’s such a shame, and it’s your fault really.”

Then she rang off.

Rollison did not enjoy the rest of that day.

There was no need to ask himself whether Pauline’s nerve would hold out; it would. He did not seriously doubt that she would, if she thought it necessary, kill Snub.

Farran, Rollison’s friend who had friends in the Meritor Motion Picture Company, called in the early evening. He was a tall, spare man with a beak of a nose and a bushy moustache. He had been able to discover little new about Pauline; she was being groomed for stardom and the general belief was that she would be a success. Nevertheless, she hadn’t many girl friends, and that, according to the informative Farran, was not solely due to the jealousy which almost invariably existed between starlet and starlet; Pauline had shown an utter ruthlessness in the film world, trampling over any and everybody who got in her way.

“She looks as soft-hearted as they come, but she’s a deceptive piece,” said Farran.

“Not your type, Roily. I’m surprised at you.”

“I always like to try my improving influence,” Rollison said dryly. “What about this fellow she goes about with?”

“Money,” said the friend, and sniffed.

“Not in the picture business?”

“Well, yes, in a way. Documentaries. Done some good stuff in India and the Far West, I believe. Just the man for Meritor Films:

“Why?” asked Rollison, with quickening interest.

“Well, Meritor are documentary specialists. Done a few comedies but no feature films. Then Merino arrives with money— he used to be a jewel merchant—and Pauline gets a contract for the lead in Meritor ’ s first feature. Curious fact, he took a flat above hers.”

“Very interesting,” said Rollison. “Any little love-nest in the country?”

Farran raised his eyebrows.

“I wish I knew just why you’re so interested, Roily, she isn ’ t your type. No, as far as I could find out, no one’s ever heard of a country cottage. Town-lover and all that. She’s been at the same flat for a long time, it was hers before Merino arrived. I can’t get a whisper, apart from that. Sorry.”

“Thanks for trying,” Rollison said warmly.

“My dear chap. Pleasure! I say,” went on Farran, “If you want a spot of strong-arm help I’m around and about all the time.” He paused, hopefully. “No? Oh well, I suppose I ought to know better than to ask. Sure there’s nothing else I can do?”