John Creasey - The Toff In Town

Although Bill Ebbutt did not keep early hours, he slept heavily, and he was asleep when the telephone bell rang at nearly one o’clock that morning.

His wife did not stir.

The telephone bell kept ringing.

With a gargantuan sigh, Ebutt heaved his seventeen stone off the massive iron bedstead. He kicked his foot on a chair, swore and crept to the door. The bell kept on and on, sounding much louder when he opened the door.

He crept on to the small landing.

“ William! ” called his wife.

“S’orl right, telephone,” growled Ebbutt

“Never you mind the telephone,” said Mrs. Ebbutt, “using language what you ought to be ashamed of in the middle of the night, you ought to be ashamed of——”

“For Pete’s sake shut your mouth,” said Ebbutt, with some impatience.

When he reached the hall-passage, the bell stopped. He switched on a light and blinked in the glare, his good humour spent. In a pair of vividly-striped red-and-blue pyjamas, his wispy grey hair standing on end and his calloused feet bare, he was a remarkable sight

“Come orn, if you’re going to,” he growled, and put out his hand to switch off the light. Immediately darkness fell, the bell began to ring again. “Cor!” he exploded. When at last he lifted the receiver, he barked: “ ‘Oo in perishin’ ‘ell is it? . . . Oo? . . . I can’t ‘ear . . . Mr. Ar!” he breathed as if syrup had poured into his mouth. “Strike a light I never thought it was you! . . . S’orl right, Mr. Ar, I wasn’t asleep . . .What?”

He listened attentively, closing one eye and staring at the ceiling. He nodded, as if Rollison could see him. He grunted and finally said:

“ ‘Ow many? . . . Two enough? . . . Okay, Mr. Ar, you just leave it ter me . . . sure, right away, I ‘eard you say it ‘ad to be right away. Take me abaht three-quarters of a n’our—they’ll be there all right, Mr. Ar. Anyfink up?”

And what Rollison said then made him shake with gusty laughter.

A little more than three-quarters of an hour later Rollison left Byngham Court Mansions. He ,had with him all the contents of Blane’s pockets and the knife, which was wrapped in a serviette, to preserve the finger-prints.

In the doorway of a house near-by was a shadowy figure, who emerged from the gloom and called to him in a hoarse whisper.

“It’s me. Mr. Ar.”

“Hallo, Sam,” greeted Rollison, making out the tall figure of one of Bill’s one-time “white hopes”. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

“Loverly. Any special orders, Mr. Ar?”

“Top landing, Sam. There’s a chair outside, I’ve fixed it, and the people there know you’re going to be around. Who’s at the back?”

“Bert Dann,” said Sam. “Bill fought you’d better ‘ave a little ‘un for the back, ‘e can nip up the fire-escape pretty quick.”

“Wonderful!” praised Rollison. “If the couple in Flat 31 ask for help, get cracking. If nothing happens, Bill’s going to send someone to relieve you in the morning. Don’t let the police see you if you can help it, but if you get in a jam, blame me for it—that’ll get you out!”

“You needn’t worry abaht me, ” declared Sam confidently, ‘or abaht Bert, Mr. Ar.”

“I know I needn’t,” said Rollison.

He walked to the entrance to the next block of flats, where he had left his Sunbeam-Talbot. He drove swiftly through the deserted streets, thinking a little about Bill Ebbutt and his boys, more about Barbara Allen, much about Allen himself— and the diamonds. He had no doubt that they existed, but Allen had refused to admit it, saying that he knew nothing about any precious stones, and had maintained that attitude no matter how Rollison had tried to shift him or his wife cajoled.

Rollison put the car away in a garage near Gresham Terrace, slipped the key into his pocket and walked into the street. A clock struck two. Ebbutt had wasted no time, and if the Aliens did get more visitors that night, the visitors would have a rude shock. He hurried up two flights of stairs to his flat, and as he neared the top of the second flight, still thinking about the diamonds, he thought he saw something move.

He missed a step, deliberately.

It was dark up here, but a faint light came from the hall below, where a dim bulb burned all night. He couldn’t be sure whether he had seen the movement, but now, as he went up more quietly, he smelt tobacco smoke. He hummed softly, as if he hadn’t a suspicion, took his key and slipped it into the lock. Deliberately he fumbled with it. He was sure now that someone moved. He opened the door a few inches but stopped to take the key from the lock—and as he did so something hard was jammed into his ribs and a man hissed:

“Don’t make a sound!”

Slowly, Rollison put up his hands.

CHAPTER SIX

WARNING

“KEEP still,” ordered the man behind Rollison. It wasn’t Blane; Rollison would have recognised the voice. “Listen to me, and don’t make any mistake about it. Leave the Aliens alone.”

“The Aliens?” Rollison pretended surprise—in fact, there was not much need to pretend. The “something” was pressed harder into his ribs.

“You know who I mean,” the man said. It was pitch dark. They were half inside the hall of the flat, and there was no glimmer of light here; the radiance from downstairs didn’t spread as far as this. Rollison could feel the man’s breath on the back of his neck, so he was tall.

“Keep out of the Aliens’ affairs, see. You saw Allen tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I saw the wreck.”

“That’s nothing to what will happen to you if you poke your nose in,” growled the unknown. “You won’t know whether you’re coming or going.”

“But I’m,” said Rollison, “I’m staying here.”

“You’d better stick right here,” the man said. “This is something you can’t tackle. It’s too big for you or anyone else. You won’t heip the Aliens by going to the police, and you’ll only get bashed if you try anything yourself. Got me?”

“You’ve made it all very clear,” said Rollison.

The man pushed him forward, sending him staggering into the hall, and slammed the door. Rollison came up against the wall as a light went on in Jolly’s room, and Jolly’s door burst open. Jolly gave the Toff one glance and rushed to the front door, a vision in yellow.

“Careful !” called Rollison.

“I will be, sir.” Jolly opened the door an inch and peered on to the landing “I don’t think——” he began.

The street door slammed.

“You can relax,” said Rollison, moving from the wall and brushing his hair out of his eyes. Dishevelled, there was a ruggedness about him that had not been noticeable before. “I think he had a gun, but it may have been a bit of wood.”

“Shall I——” began Jolly.

“You will not go out the back way and trail him,” said Rollison firmly. “He’s almost certainly haring along the street by now. It’s a night for letting bad men get away, so we may as well keep in the fashion. Sorry you were disturbed, Jolly.”

“I’m sorry you were roughly handled, sir,” said Jolly.

“He could have been much rougher,” Rollison confided. “He was waiting on the landing and had one fixed idea. To put the fear of death into me.”

Then he could not have known you very well,” observed Jolly.

Rollison chuckled.

“Nicely said I On the other hand, he knew me and he knew that I’d been to see the Aliens. The position is this: Mrs. Allen is distressed because her husband is in a spot, and he . . .”

There were few gaps left in the story five minutes later, and Jolly, whose ability to grasp quickly the essentials of such a recital was unrivalled, forbore to ask questions, although he looked very thoughtful. He was lukewarm about Ebbutt’s men but he accepted them philosophically.