Accuse the Toff (14 page)

He finished and then went to mix himself another drink.

Jolly was sitting back in an easy chair when he returned, regarding him thoughtfully. When Rollison invited Jolly to sit down it was not his man's habit to perch on the edge of the chair and look ill at ease and he did not alter his habit then. His expression was grave and his eyes thoughtful as he said: ‘What conclusions have you reached, sir?'

‘None,' said Rollison promptly. ‘What are yours?'

‘I haven't really had time to assimilate everything thoroughly,' said Jolly slowly, ‘but I am a thousand times more regretful that I allowed the young lady to get away. We need so much to find out how she knew that the case had been sent to you.'

‘We need that more than anything else,' admitted Rollison. ‘Confound it, she didn't guess! And no one sent the black case to me just for the sake of me or because they remembered someone who had heard of me. And—'. He paused, his head on one side. ‘Jolly, the Ibbetson connection keeps this affair in line with young Tom Jameson. Apart from Ibbetson, there's no connection; that's the
prima facie
evidence, isn't it?'

‘Undoubtedly,' admitted Jolly.

‘But there's more,' snapped Rollison, jumping to his feet and striding across the room. ‘There's much more, Jolly, but I've only just seen it.
Only
the Jamesons, father, mother and son, knew that I was involved in the case even remotely, except the police. Remember that black case was posted last night to the Delivery Agency and all I'd done then was to see Grice and have a chat with him and go to the canal cottage. This morning the whole world knew that I was interested and that the case had been sent to me. Conclusion: the Jamesons gave the information away. No one else could possibly have known on what case I was working—and I wasn't even working on it then.'

‘I'm not sure that your assumptions are fully justified, sir,' said Jolly carefully. ‘You may have been seen entering the cottage.'

‘Seen and recognised?' demanded Rollison. ‘I don't think it's likely. And there's another thing. Young Jameson told me a story that I was inclined to believe but the evidence wouldn't support it when Grice made inquiries. The story fell down on the lack of corroboration from the landlord and barmaids of a pub near the canal. That lack of corroboration could have been deliberate. Grice did give me the name of the pub,' he added and broke off, snapping his fingers, and staring at Jolly for inspiration. ‘Confound it, the name was connected with the canal, it—I've got it! The Bargee. Have you had anything to eat?'

‘I'm not particularly hungry,' said Jolly.

‘You can probably get a snack at The Bargee. Hurry down there and get a feel of the place. The men you might see are—' He gave brief, but sufficient, word pictures of Ibbetson's two companions – since he had interviewed Ibbetson he did not need a description of the plump man – and added: ‘Go carefully and remember that if Ibbetson sees you he'll probably connect you with me and that won't be healthy. Perhaps I'd better send a policeman with you, in case of accidents.'

‘I hope you will
not
,
sir,' said Jolly emphatically.

‘All right, please yourself and get back as soon as you can.'

‘Will you be staying here, sir?'

‘Of course not. I'm going to see the Jamesons,' declared the Toff. ‘I'll beat you to it but we're going different ways. Grice will probably be here soon, so we'd better hurry or he'll delay us too long.'

On the crest of a wave of excitement, which he afterwards admitted to be unjustified, Rollison left the flat five minutes after Jolly. A taxi was depositing a fare outside a house nearby and he hailed it immediately. Once inside he saw a closed car turn the corner and glimpsed Grice sitting in the tonneau; two men were in front. Grice's expression was grim and Rollison raised an eyebrow as he considered the likely import of questions which the Superintendent would have ready for him. The journey to Wembley took a little more than forty minutes, fair going by road and at least equal in time to the same journey by train.

‘Stay here, will you?' Rollison asked the driver.

The man had pulled up outside a narrow cut which led from the road running alongside the canal to the canal itself. It was dark and only the sidelights of the cab showed, together with the bright gleams of the stars high in a cloudless sky. Although it remained cold, Rollison did not think that it was so piercing as it had been on the two previous evenings; but he walked carefully along the canal bank towards the cottage which, once he was past the advertising hoarding, showed in clear silhouette against the stars. There was no glimmer of light from the cottage and, although he knew that the blackout restrictions made that normal, he could not repress a fear that his quarry was out.

He shone his torch, finding a knocker but no bell. The knocker was a light one of brass and made only a slight sound, hardly enough to arouse anyone inside. There was no response and he tried again. A second period of waiting made him exclaim in annoyance and then he banged heavily on the door with his clenched fist.

At last he heard a movement inside.

His annoyance faded and he even prepared a smile with which to greet one or the other of the elder Jamesons when a door slammed and he heard a rough oath, followed by footsteps outside the house near the back. He went to the path swiftly and heard a clatter of footsteps, followed by whispered voices. He could not be sure but he thought that one was Ibbetson's. Unable to see the men, he went closer to the corner of the house and heard their breathing as they approached.

By day he had seen that the only entrance to the garden was from the little gate close to the canal but he was prepared for them to rush over the garden and jump the fence, rather than be orthodox and resort to the path.

Then a torch shone out in front of him.

Its powerful bream broke all the lighting restrictions and bathed him and the side of the house in a bright glow. He blinked against it, backed closer to the house with narrowed eyes, prepared to deal with an assault but knowing that he had been caught at a severe disadvantage.

To counteract it, he shone his own torch.

He caught a glimpse of Ibbetson and two other men, one of them carrying a body over his shoulder; the light was good enough for the Toff to see a pair of shapely legs dangling in front of the man before one of the others fired at him.

 

 

The shot missed him and struck a window, the glass breaking and splintering with a loud report. Rollison jumped farther into the garden to get out of the beam of light, reaching for his revolver as he did so. Another shot – obviously the man had a gun fitted with a silencer-came uncomfortably close but by then he had his fingers about his gun and he fired towards the torch. In spite of the odds against him, his aim was better for he struck either his target or the holder's hand and the torch clattered to the ground and went out. By then he had switched off his own torch and the darkness was intense. He heard a man blundering past him and Ibbetson – it
was
Ibbetson – snapped in a high-pitched voice: ‘Dump her—dump her in the canal!'

The darkness, breathed Rollison, if only there were light in the darkness. He was treading on soft soil and movement was difficult. He heard blundering footsteps and then an oath, presumably as a man struck against the garden fence. Another bullet, heralded by a flash of flame which only revealed the gunman momentarily, hit the earth yards from the Toff who drew a deep breath and switched on his torch again, knowing that it would give the sharpshooter a much easier target.

The man with the girl was climbing over the fence: Ibbetson was behind him and the third man was standing by the fence with a gun in his hand. His shot and the Toff's were simultaneous and both missed. The Toff moved to one side, leaving the torch on the ground. It shone slightly upwards because it rested on a pile of earth and cast a pale glow about the fence; but it no longer meant danger to him. Making a sweeping movement, he approached the fence while keeping out of the radius of the light.

He reached it as the man carrying the girl threw her into the canal.

That eerie scene, with the figures shown as dark silhouettes in the faint light of his torch, was vivid and macabre. He saw every movement of the man who lowered the girl so that, for a moment, he cradled her in his arms then tossed her forward. The light was just sufficient for Rollison to see a flurry of arms and legs but he did not catch a sight of the surging water, although he heard the splash which half-drowned another shot from the gunman by the fence.

‘Come on!' howled Ibbetson. ‘Hurry!'

The plump man took to his heels, the others followed him and in a moment they were lost in the darkness. Rollison fired in the direction of the running footsteps three times, less in the hope of wounding them than of making sure that the neighbourhood was thoroughly aroused and would rapidly investigate. Then he vaulted the fence and shone his torch on to the water of the canal.

At first he saw nothing.

His heart was beating fast enough to threaten suffocation: he did not think that there was much doubt about the identity of the girl whether she were, in fact, June Lancing or Patrushka. The fact that she appeared to have gone beneath the surface was a frightening thought and he moved the torch so that the light bathed the surface of the water for several yards. Then he saw her face, sideways towards him, and could even pick out her mop of hair which was floating on the water.

‘Hold on!' he shouted. ‘Hold on!'

It was a wasted exhortation for she was unconscious, floating sluggishly and going farther under with every passing moment. Rollison put the torch carefully on the cement edging of the bank, fearful lest it should roll into the water. Every moment was agonising but he had to have some light. He put his hat by the torch, to prevent it from rolling, and stripped off his greatcoat and tunic while kicking off his shoes.

The girl had floated out of the radius of the torch before he was ready.

He heard confused sounds not far away but did not think of them, did not even assume that they were made by people from the row of houses in the road where the taxi was waiting. He moved the torch gently, holding the hat in position all the time, then picked out the girl's face again. It was half-submerged; he thought that her mouth was under water. But he was satisfied that he could reach her and took a racing dive.

The shock of the immersion in the icy water stung him so much that his head reeled and he felt himself going stiff; he was surprised by the sharpness of it. He did not fight against it but continued to follow through, coming well up within the radius of the light. The girl was floating two yards away from him but he could only see her hair.

Two strokes took him to her.

By then he was shivering; the cold bit to his bones after the few seconds of his immersion but he clenched his chattering teeth, kept his eyes open and stretched out a hand to clutch her hair. It slipped from his fingers but he tried again and pulled her to the surface. As she came up he caught one glimpse of the pallor of her face and then their movement took them outside the light and there was only darkness.

His shivering increased.

He kept afloat with one hand while manoeuvring with the girl with the other. Movement in the water was difficult but she was soon floating on her back: he could feel her face, turned towards the stars, with his free hand. He turned over slowly and cautiously, frightened all the time lest he should lose control of her, but contrived to keep her face upwards and to get himself into a position where he could support her while swimming, also on his back, towards the bank. He remembered the little iron rings built into the concrete for barges and boats to tie up and wondered vaguely whether he would be able to reach one. The cold was growing worse, almost paralysing his legs and arms. Movement was difficult and painful and there were moments when he seemed not to be moving at all but merely trying to, as if he were in the grip of a nightmare hold which would not relax. Mechanically he fought against it, his teeth chattering like castanets. The girl stayed in front of him, her head close to his chin, making no movements of her own volition.

Only then did he try to shout for help.

It was difficult to make his lips form the word and when he uttered a cry the sound was so faint that he knew it could not travel far, even along the surface of the water. Taking a deep breath he tried again; this time the volume was better but he had no idea whether it travelled far enough.

He was fighting a losing physical and mental battle against the cold, so much worse because he had been immersed so suddenly, but the fears of cold and of having to struggle on without assistance faded suddenly into one much greater.

Something clutched at his leg.

He kicked out but his movement was slight and he did not release himself. For a moment he thought that it was a hand and imagined that another would be pressed over his head, forcing him down. Then the truth came to him; weeds were entwined about his legs, holding him.

The darkness about him was impenetrable and the glow of his torch seemed a long way off.

He shouted again, no longer struggling against the weeds with his fast leg but using his arms and his free leg to try to get nearer the bank; reaching and holding one of the iron rings grew all-important. His breathing was short and laboured, even his lungs seemed frozen. He knew that he was growing weaker and that the paralysis of cold which had threatened was becoming a growing menace; he even doubted whether he could reach safety.

Then a light shone on the water near him.

For a second he was so startled that he did nothing but watch it. Then his body twitched and he opened his mouth to shout again. Vaguely, as if from a long way off, voices responded. He thought he heard someone say: ‘
There he is!'
but could not be sure. He kept still and the light moved until it shone into his eyes, blinding him.

‘Hold it!' a man exhorted urgently.

‘Where's that hook?' another called.

‘Comin', George,' said a third man breathlessly.

To Rollison they seemed a long time, although he knew that they would be in time to reach him. Of greater urgency was the increasing weight of the girl. He put his hand to her chin and found that the water was lapping up to her mouth. He eased her further above the surface and then was seized by a cramp in his right arm and leg. He gasped in pain and did not see the boat-hook which moved gropingly towards him. Another torch was switched on and the hook caught in his shoulder. Tight-lipped, and with increasing spasms of pain coming from the cramp, he could do nothing to help himself but the men on the bank were on their knees with outstretched hands, risking a ducking to bring him and the girl to safety.

They took her first.

One man lay full length on the bank and, leaning close to the water, put a rope about the girl's arms and then slowly hauled her until other hands could reach and lift her to safety. The boat-hook kept Rollison close to the side; without it he believed he would have gone under. He felt an easing of the pain as he was lifted but did not feel the hands gripping him; when at last he was stretched out on the bank he was numbed from head to foot except for the shooting fires of the cramp.

‘We've got to get them into 'ot barves, an'
quick!'
a man declared. My missus 'as got the water 'ot, one of 'em can go there. What about yours, George?'

‘Soon get it 'ot,' declared the ubiquitous George. ‘We could do wiv' them stretchers, wot's Bert thinking of?'

‘We ain't 'ad a raid fer so long they've got rusty up at the post,' declared the first speaker with a ghost of a chuckle. ‘Wot they reely wants is a nip o' somefink. Wot about 'opping over to The Bargee and getting' a quartern, George?'

‘Not me,' said George. ‘Mean! They wouldn't squeeze yer a teaspoonful o' gin if you was dying. I never did like that pub
an
'
I never will.'

They were working as they talked, giving the girl artificial respiration and massaging Rollison's stomach and arms. He felt a little warmer while thoughts filtered more coherently through his mind. If he could only get really warm he would be much better; they must not be long taking them to the hot baths. But he was a fool, he had a whisky flask in his hip pocket. He swallowed hard, and then croaked: ‘Pocket—flask.'

‘What's that, guv'nor?' asked one of the men promptly. ‘Eh … oh, that's the ticket!' He found the flask and in the light of a torch unscrewed the stopper. A spot of whisky was put to the girl's lips first and then a trickle into Rollison's mouth, biting him but bringing a fiery warmth as it began to course through his veins. In a few minutes he felt much better and by then also they had stopped working on the girl, one man declaring with profound satisfaction that she was breathing like a good 'un. Relief helped to improve Rollison's own condition while stretchers from a nearby first-aid post were soon at hand. Men lifted him gently on to one, although he thought that he was in a good enough condition to walk, and he was carried along the narrow path to the row of little houses.

By then other men had arrived, amongst them a sergeant of the police.

In the front room of a house a large fire was burning and there, for once in his life, Rollison really enjoyed a fug, as he said urgently: ‘Sergeant, my name's Rollison. I'm helping Mr. Grice—'

‘Mr. Rollison!'exclaimed the sergeant sharply. ‘Oh,
yes
,
sir. Can you tell me—'

‘Three men, including Ibbetson,' interrupted Rollison, drawing a deep breath. ‘Remember that name—Ibbetson. They threw the girl into the water. Now—can you send someone—to the cottage? Canal Cottage. There might be more trouble there.' He paused at an expression of surprise on the man's face and added more sharply: ‘What's the matter?'

‘The Superintendent's left a man there,' said the sergeant slowly. ‘I wonder if—but I'll check up, sir. Anything else?'

‘Yes,' urged Rollison. ‘Send a man to The Bargee. Ask for a man named Jolly—don't mention my name, just ask for Jolly. If he's there, bring him here at once unless he has any other suggestions to make. Can you—do all that?'

‘I'll get started right away, sir.'

It was mortifying to be so useless but the cold was still in the Toff and only a twenty minutes' soaking in a steaming hot bath brought comfort. After the first ten minutes he felt that he had nearly thawed out and even summoned the energy to call to a man waiting outside the bathroom door for a cigarette. He finished it while laying there then towelled himself vigorously and began to wonder why he had felt so weak and helpless for, by then, he was glowing with warmth and felt fit enough to tackle any eventuality. If he were anxious about Jolly and the news from The Bargee he concealed it and thought more of the girl in the next house, hoping that she was being as well cared for as he. He was not yet sure that it was ‘Patrushka' but he did not dwell long upon doubts. Dressed in borrowed clothes that were a little too small and tight for him, and wrapping a blanket about him for extra warmth, he left the cottage and went next door. His own clothes were drying in front of a fire tended by the friendly little wife of George.

In the hall of the next house he found a tall, thin, melancholy-looking man with grey beard who eyed him without interest and continued to speak to an angular woman who had opened the door.

‘Keep her wrapped up and warm for the night, Mrs. Mee, and she will probably be all right tomorrow. Give her that sedative in half an hour and let her sleep as late as she wants to.' He looked away from the angular Mrs. Mee and eyed Rollison. ‘Do you want me?'

‘No thanks, doctor,' said Rollison. ‘But I want a word with the young lady upstairs.'

‘Is it necessary?' asked the doctor.

‘I would say vital,' Rollison assured him.

‘Oh, all right, but don't worry her too much.' The doctor, who looked harassed and tired and was almost certainly overworked, let in a blast of cold air as he left the house.

Mrs. Mee regarded the Toff, still wearing the blanket about the borrowed clothes, and asked with a touch of sarcasm whether he was going to stop the night too. Rollison judged quickly that, although she had been quick to offer hospitality and help to the girl, she was worried lest she were called upon to do more. He assured her that he would make sure that she was amply compensated for her trouble. Talk of compensation brought about a change in her manner; she was just going to take a cup of coffee up to the poor young lady, would the gentleman like one, too?