Accuse the Toff (18 page)

When he stopped, the room was very quiet. She did not close her eyes but stared at him expressionlessly, the colour gone from her cheeks again, her eyes lack-lustre. He saw that her hands were clenched over the bedspread and thought that she was grinding her teeth. He fought against a temptation to add more persuasion, waiting for a long time without moving.

Then she said very slowly: ‘Will—will you tell Gerry what you're going to do, first? If I give you his name, will you promise me that?'

‘Yes,' said Rollison unhesitatingly.

‘All right,' she said. ‘All right. I expect you're wise, it's been a dreadful time. But Gerry—I don't know what he'll say. I don't know whether he'll think it's worth it.'

‘He will,' the Toff assured her, with quiet assurance. ‘He'll see the sense of it, June, and he'll see the chance of laying a ghost. Now, what's his full name, his station and the name of his CO, if you know it?'

She told him that he was Gerald Paterson and gave him the other information. She also solved a problem that had been worrying him; the man who had taken her from her work in a car was a neighbour and always gave her a lift. She seemed listless and very tired when he finished and he believed that the effort, the shock and the fierceness of her fight against him had completed the effect of the immersion and exposure; now she would sleep. While she slept he had much to do.

 

 

Pondering the girl's reaction after her decision, Rollison left the room, not surprised to find Mrs. Mee in an upstairs room; the light there was on and he caught a glimpse of the woman's back, assuming that she had been doing all she could to eavesdrop. He made no comment but said quietly: ‘Didn't the doctor advise a sleeping draught?'

‘Why, yes, sir. I put it in her coffee.'

‘Oh,' said Rollison, relieved that the draught was causing June's apparent listlessness but startled because she might have submitted to its influence before he had gained the information. ‘That's good. I'm going next door to see whether my uniform is dry yet. There'll be a policeman on duty in the house all night, I'm afraid.'

‘Lawks!' exclaimed Mrs. Mee. ‘I've
never
'ad—but if it's to help the young lady, sir, that's all right, o'course it's quite all right.'

‘Good, thanks,' said Rollison. ‘I'll see you again tomorrow.'

The uniformed man was standing in the porch and Rollison exchanged a few words with him, to be interrupted by the sergeant who had transmitted his earlier message to Grice. The sergeant had instructions, it seemed, to make sure that no one involved in the canal incident was allowed to escape police observation, although Mr. Rollison had not been included in that general order. The sergeant, therefore, promised to see that the girl was watched and then said: ‘I inquired for Mr. Jolly, sir.'

‘Yes?' Rollison's voice grew sharp.

‘He was there,' said the sergeant and Rollison's fears abated. ‘I sent one of my men who isn't well known, sir, and pretended that there was a message waiting for him at his home.' The constable smiled although the darkness hid the fact from Rollison. ‘Mr. Jolly took it up very quickly and mentioned casually he had only just managed to rent a flat nearby, so I don't think anyone thought much about it.'

‘Good,' said the Toff. ‘Where is Jolly?'

‘Still at the pub, sir. He asked me to tell you that he thought it would be worth staying there for an hour; he got talking to several people who were there when young Jameson got tight the other night.'

‘I see,' said the Toff slowly. ‘That should work out all right. What kind of reputation has The Bargee got?'

‘Not a mucher,' he was assured. ‘They're a funny crowd that rents it but they do good business. I've left a man outside, just in case of accidents. From what the Superintendent told me this is going to be some case and if it's connected with what that young Jameson's charged with that's not far out.'

‘Did you know Jameson?'

‘Oh, yes, sir, fairly well. He hasn't lived 'ere long but he was a nice young fellow; the last thing I could have expected was for him to get a brainstorm and do anything like
that.
'
On the ‘that' he lowered his voice and then went on: ‘Will one man be enough at the pub, do you think?'

‘I'd make it three at least,' said the Toff. ‘Oh, sergeant. When you've strengthened the watch there, telephone Mr. Grice for me, will you? Tell him that I've had to go north in a hurry but that I hope to be back tomorrow with some news of importance.'

The sergeant assured him that he would do that at once and Rollison returned to the first house. The plump little woman, so much more genuinely hospitable than Mrs. Mee, assured him that she would not dream of letting him have his uniform: he would catch his death if he put it on. Wouldn't he stay the night? She could easily make up a bed and he'd be much better for it.

‘Thanks very much,' smiled Rollison, ‘but I most go now. I'll come and see you again,' he added, before saying
au revoir
to George and the others who had played a part in the rescue and going into the blackout to find the taxi driver waiting patiently.

‘It's a bit nippy aht 'ere, sir, ain't it? Where to?'

Rollison went to his flat, donned a fresh uniform and then was driven to the Whitehall building. He dismissed the cabby with a fiver and, with the man's warm thanks echoing in his ears, went up to the office.

The night staff in some departments were on duty and he telephoned a colleague who acted as liaison officer between his department and its equivalent at the Air Ministry. The liaison officer was on duty and led off by saying that he thought Rollison was taking French Leave.

‘Only more or less,' said the Toff. ‘Tim, if you can perform miracles, here's one waiting for you. I want a man, at the Bedloe Station in Yorkshire, stopped from operational duty tonight if he's briefed for it and released to come down for a few days on urgent private matters.'

‘
What?'
exclaimed Tim.

‘Also, I want to get up to Bedloe to see him tonight,' continued the Toff. ‘There's bound to be a 'plane going north with something on and it won't make a lot of difference if I'm dropped at Bedloe. Can you do it?'

‘Of course I can't,' said Tim, and abruptly: ‘What's the urgent private matter? Life and death?'

‘Yes,' said the Toff emphatically.

‘Hm. I
might
get him released,' said Tim. ‘I know one or two men who'll pull what wires they can but I can't guarantee anything. And I certainly can't get you a seat on a 'plane going north. Damn it, man, do you know what you're asking?'

‘Yes, and I'm not joking,' said Rollison quietly. ‘You can arrange it if you exert yourself. I don't want to waste time going further upstairs.'

‘I'll see what I can do,' said Tim gruffly. ‘I'll ring you back.'

He rang off and Rollison pushed the telephone away and contemplated the files in which the day's correspondence was locked. He was not thinking of the correspondence but his justification in having reached a compromise with June and also for trying to get to see Gerald Paterson by air. Strictly speaking there was no justification for the latter and he was using his official position for essentially private purposes. It did not weigh on him heavily for he believed a talk with Paterson would do much to help him assess the situation. He was troubled, too, because earlier in the case an RAF officer had been mentioned. He could not remember in what connection.

The telephone rang as he was pondering the position so far reached and he did not think Tim could have made contact with the Air Ministry so quickly. Nevertheless it was Tim who said gruffly: ‘Is that you, Rolly?'

‘What's the bother?' asked the Toff.

‘Just what
is
this show about?' demanded Tim. ‘I'm bound to be asked.'

‘It's an official request from me,' said Rollison, burning his boats completely, ‘and it's on official business.' That at all events was a half-truth, if police counted as officials, and he added: ‘I'll answer any questions that are put to me but for the love of Pete get going quickly; an hour might make the difference between life and death.'

He put that touch in for the sake of impressing Tim and not because he believed that it would make much difference – except to the peace of mind of a girl and possibly Paterson. He did not know that from a house in London, where Ibbetson had made a detailed report to his employer, two men had started out by road with instructions to persuade Gerry Paterson to leave Bedloe at once to come to London.

‘All you want is to get Paterson off the aerodrome,' the man told them. ‘You can't handle him when he's there but you can soon get at him when he's on the road. It doesn't matter how you do it but get rid of him.'

‘Just
why
are you worried by Paterson?' he was asked.

‘Because his blasted girl and Rollison are together and Rollison will get the story from her,' said the man who had ordered the journey. ‘Rollison and Paterson mustn't meet, d'you understand? It's as much as our lives are worth. They mustn't meet and Paterson mustn't be interviewed by the police. He's close to breaking point and he might break down into talking too freely. Get off and hurry. Make a good job of it.'

‘And then what?' one of the men demanded.

‘It will soon be over,' he was assured. ‘You won't have to worry afterwards but get rid of Paterson and don't waste time.'

So the two men started for Bedloe in the blackout and were three hours on their way when Rollison sat at his desk and waited for the telephone call from Tim. To while away the time he unlocked the ‘Correspondence Awaiting Reply' drawer of a cabinet and glanced through it. Several letters had been set aside for his personal attention and he pencilled notes on them. Half an hour passed but did not drag too slowly, although it would have seemed much longer had he known of the car forging along steadily just beyond Northampton on the road to York. He had finished a scribbled note when the telephone rang and Tim's voice sounded eagerly in his ear.

‘You've the devil's own luck, Rolly. I've fixed one part. You can go but Paterson's on ops tonight already.'

‘Bless your little heart!' exclaimed the Toff. ‘How soon do I start?'

‘There's a car leaving the Air Ministry in twenty minutes,' said Tim. ‘It'll take you to Hendon and there's a ‘plane leaving for Lettley as soon as the car arrives. Carrying some papers,' Tim added briefly, ‘and there's plenty of room. You'll have a Wing Commander with you and he might be curious. Don't let me down.'

Rollison smiled into the mouthpiece.

‘I'll see you all right,' he said with assurance. ‘One day I'll let you know what it's all about and you'll be glad you spread yourself. Cheerio.'

He replaced the receiver, bundled the file back into the cabinet and locked it and hurried downstairs. He was at the main doors of the Air Ministry building just fifteen minutes later; the sidelights of a car glowed eerily through the gloom and he approached the driver, a girl in uniform just visible in the reflected light.

‘I think you're expecting me,' he said. ‘Colonel Rollison.'

‘The others won't be a moment, sir,' said the girl.

They followed almost on her words and with Rollison climbed into the tonneau. Rollison was brief but heartfelt in his thanks, a gruff-voiced man waived them and the journey to Hendon passed with neither incident nor comment. The transfer to the aeroplane, a twin engined bomber, was quickly accomplished and they took off within a few minutes of arriving at the airfield.

Once in the air, the gruff-voiced man said: ‘Well, I'm going to have a nap. Need it.'

Obviously the machine had been converted for the seats were upholstered and the passengers' comfort well looked after. Faint snoring came in place of the gruff voice and the other man said little, evincing no curiosity whatsoever about the reason for an Army man's sudden journey. Rollison smiled appreciatively in the darkness and then settled down with the roar of the twin engines loud in his ears. Now and again a member of the crew passed him and, on the starboard side some half an hour along the journey, he saw a network of searchlights and coloured shells rising into the air. He even caught a glimpse of a machine illuminated by the searchlights with a dozen puffs of whitish smoke bursting about it. Then the silvery streak disappeared while his aircraft went onwards steadily.

The flight to Lettley took precisely two hours.

The gruff voice grunted once or twice after being awakened and they climbed from the ‘plane to the landing ground. Rollison felt somewhat ill at ease as he asked one of his companions how far it was to Bedloe.

‘Fifteen miles or so,' he was told. ‘They may have a car going over there in the next hour. Hold on, I'll see.'

There was a car leaving at 3am, he was told a few minutes afterwards, which meant he would be at Bedloe about half-past three or a little later. Would that be all right?

Rollison assured them that it could not be better and was ushered hospitably into the mess where he was fed on bacon, egg and strong tea, in company with a dozen members of the station personnel, the crews of two bombers who had just returned from a ‘flip over the pond.' Their desultory talk about the night's journey intrigued Rollison who saw that their tired eyes were bright enough to reveal the spirit in them and wondered whether Gerald Paterson would be anything like them. He asked whether anyone knew Paterson and the men stared at him, suddenly interested in a man who until then had been a chance guest whom there were too tired to worry about.

‘Good Lord, yes,' a tall, dark-haired man said. ‘Don't we all? Mad blighter.' There was a general chuckle which Rollison rightly took to be praise and appreciation of Paterson. ‘He got back last night with a couple of holes in his belly and only just holding together but he got back. Know him?'

Rollison felt a lump hardening in his throat.

‘I was going to see him, but—'

‘No need to get worried,' a chunky man assured him with a side grin. ‘Pat's all right, no holes in his diaphragm. Belly applies to his kite.' His grin widened at Rollison's obvious relief and he went into some details of the escapades for which Gerry Paterson had made himself famous.

It was when the party had left the mess that a broad-shouldered man with the two thick and one thin stripes of a Squadron Leader approached him somewhat diffidently and asked casually: ‘Did I gather that you were going to see Paterson?'

‘That's right,' said the Toff.

‘H'm. Good fellow. You don't know him well, I suppose?' He eyed the Toff as the latter shook his head and then shrugged. ‘Oh well. Look here, I shouldn't say this but he's not in any bother? Odd, I mean, you coming up here to see him.'

‘No official bother,' Rollison assured him.

‘H'm. No. I'd know about that. Or I should. You'll find him a bit tense. Between ourselves, I've often wondered what's on his mind. But natural, the way he goes on. You expect it in the Polish or Free French boys, y'know, but Pat's got some bug biting him. Best of fellows, flown with me a lot, but—look here, you don't mind me talking like this?'