Accuse the Toff (6 page)

‘Well, he gave me the case and asked me to make sure that Lionel had it as soon as he returned to the country—if he did return, he had to say that. If not, I could open it myself and there would be directions inside saying what to do with it. I was tempted to look inside,' confessed June frankly. ‘I thought once it might be some family jewel but I was so busy at the time that I didn't get beyond being tempted.' She smoothed her hair back and the electric light gleamed on the fire of the three diamonds of her ring. ‘I just locked it in a drawer in my dressing-table. Then the old man—I mean Mr. Brett, Lionel's father—went abroad; he's in the rubber business and was going to America for consultations on synthetic rubber, I think—and for a couple of days I practically forgot about it. It would still be locked in the drawer if—if it hadn't been stolen.'

She meant, of course, that she had successfully overcome a temptation to investigate; it was easy to imagine that when she had reached a decision she would stick to it.

‘I thought it was an ordinary burglar. It was at night and I was lying down for an hour—I was on fire-watch duty and didn't get undressed. The man came in the room and started searching and my heart was beating nineteen to the dozen. Then he found the locked drawer and took out the case. Most of my jewels were in the drawer but he didn't worry about them. He put the case in his pocket and went out. So I—I followed him.'

‘Unobserved?' queried the Toff.

‘I suppose so. He didn't seem to notice me. I live in a block of flats at Putney,' the girl explained, ‘and he only went up the next flight and into a flat there. Later I heard them talking; there's an empty flat next to theirs and the walls have been cracked by bomb-blast—they don't know that. I heard them talking about Peveril and what kind of man he is. Apparently the case was stolen from them and they thought Peveril had it. I had to go to the office and couldn't follow them all the time but I kept watching the flat and tonight—I mean last night— I heard them planning to make another effort to get the case. I followed them,' she said simply, ‘and we got here about four o'clock in the morning. They waited outside—it was freezing cold but I stuck it out somehow.' She smiled a little vaguely. ‘Then I followed them up the stairs. I thought I wasn't seen but one of them turned round and waited for me. I couldn't even shout or put up a fight,' she added ruefully. ‘They gagged and bound me and pushed me behind the chair; I heard them talking as they worked, as I've told you. Then one of them outside came in and said you were here, so they went out the back way. I was trying to get my hands free when you came,' she finished simply. ‘That's all there is in it as far as I can tell you. Except the frills and you asked me not to take too long.'

‘I did,' admitted Rollison thoughtfully. A pause and then: ‘As a story it's as plausible as any I've heard but it doesn't ring all the bells.'

‘What do you mean?' she demanded.

‘Item one: Why didn't you go to the police? They're quite used to dealing with burglars. Why did you take on the whole party by yourself?' Rollison leaned back as he spoke but his expression left no doubt as to his meaning and for the first time the girl's cheeks flushed hotly.

‘Put yourself in my position and ask yourself whether you'd believe such a story, ‘ said Rollison. ‘Now, supposing we have the real truth?'

 

 

June Lancing rose sharply from her chair but stumbled, still stiff from her bonds. Her eyes were bright with anger, her hands were clenched, her attitude was one of belligerent hostility. She eyed the Toff without trying to hide her anger; but that emotion might well be feigned and in any case Rollison did not find it disturbing.

‘Before you get hot-headed, do as I say and put yourself in my position,' he advised equably. ‘Well?'

‘You're impertinent! I've told you what happened.'

‘Possibly,' conceded the Toff, ‘but you haven't justified your actions.'

‘Do I need to? To you?'

‘Well, out of gratitude you might,' murmured Rollison. ‘Out of necessity you will; because if you don't tell me the police will be interviewing you within thirty minutes and I don't think you want to talk to the police now any more than you did when you elected to follow the thieves on your own. All normal and good-living citizens always go the police in times of trouble,' he added lightly. ‘Even the most adventurous spirits don't try more than once to investigate on their own. It's an English characteristic,' he added, ‘and it's surprising how we run true to form. When we don't we become suspect and therefore I suspect you.'

‘Don't be small-minded! I've told you the truth, and—' She paused. ‘Are you serious about going to the police? No, you can't be. Why should you?'

Rollison put his head on one side and regarded her in marvelling silence for some seconds. Then with an expressive gesture he indicated the state of the room and murmured: ‘Another English characteristic is to go to the police when they have the kind of visitor I had today. There are exceptions,' he added cautiously, ‘and provided I'm convinced that it's necessary I could be one. Although there's the matter of insurance, the company will want police testimony that the damage was done by thieves before they'll repair it free of charge. The damage isn't negligible,' he added mildly.

‘Oh, damage. That's what's worrying you.' She was contemptuous. ‘Send the bill in to me. I'll pay it.'

‘Well, well!' exclaimed Rollison. ‘The girl with the answer to everything. Now, do try to get this clear. People don't do unreasonable things without a strong motive and your attitude is unreasonable. What's the motive?' He stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, gazing down on her and appreciating the contours of her face and the agitated rise and fall of her breasts. He thought she would shout at him to do what he liked but she said tensely: ‘I daren't go to the police.'

‘Daren't is frank enough, anyhow,' conceded Rollison.

‘I'm being frank about everything. I—I'm not English. I'm an alien and I've no right in the country without registering with the police. I haven't done so. Does that satisfy you?' she added waspishly and then turned her head away, hiding the expression in her eyes but not before he had seen the hint of fear in them.

As she spoke he remembered Grice's harassed comment: ‘Aliens, aliens, nothing but aliens.' But her statement surprised him; she had no accent and if her appearance was not typically English he knew a dozen English ‘types' who varied at least as much as she from the popular conception of blue eyes and golden hair. She was worried, though, and trying hard not to break down and implore him to keep away from the police; in her there was a pride which might one day fall but would sustain her through most eventualities.

‘June Lancing sounds English,' he said quietly.

‘It's an assumed name. At least,' she corrected, ‘partly assumed. My mother's maiden name was Lancing; she was English.'

‘That would help with the police and friendly aliens—'

She lifted a hand, long and tapering, the white palm turned towards him.

‘I'm not a “friendly” alien. She sneered the ‘friendly.' My father was a Rumanian.'

‘There are even enemy aliens as free as the air,' said Rollison mildly.

‘That's the way an Englishman would talk,' she stormed at him. ‘You don't know anything about what happens in your own country! If I were to be detained now and examined, it would take weeks before the authorities were satisfied with my
bona fides
,
even though

I was brought up in England and have spent years over here. Weeks? Months, more likely! Oh, they would treat me all right but they'd pen me up with hundreds of others until everything was “in order” and I can't afford to be interned even for a few weeks. I've too much to do.' She hesitated, then dropped her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘But you'll do your duty like any stiff-necked officer and gentleman. I know your type.'

She turned and stood with her back towards him.

Rollison contemplated a wisp of hair at the back of her head; it was out of place, a faint blemish on the smooth, dark sheen. He pursed his lips and allowed the silence to be prolonged; a clock in the dining-room struck half-past eight. It was a signal for her to turn and her expression was dejected, her eyes tearful.

Slowly and sadly Rollison shook his head.

‘No, I'm not so soft-hearted,' he said drily. ‘I've seen too many women pretending to cry. If I delay telling the police it won't be because of the appeal in your lovely eyes, so you needn't keep it up.'

Anger burned afresh in her eyes.

‘You pig! You—'

‘If I keep away from them
pro tem
it will be because I think whatever job you're doing warrants it,' continued Rollison, ‘and then not till I'm convinced that you've told me the truth and not pitched a beautiful fairy story. But we won't argue about that now. I'll let you stay here until I am satisfied and I'll give you fair warning of what I'm going to do. That will have to be enough for the time being. Now—do you want to alter anything you've told me? This is the best chance you'll have.'

‘You know the truth,' she said stiffly.

‘Did your fiancé's father know your nationality?'

‘He did not.'

‘Your fiancé?'

‘Yes,' she said abruptly. ‘I've told him and he agreed that I ought to say nothing about it. No one suspects me of being Rumanian and my work—'

‘We'll talk about the work later,' said Rollison. ‘You're quite sure that you don't know what's in the little black case?'

‘I've no idea at all.'

‘How many men were in the flat of the man who stole it?'

‘I don't know,' said June sharply. ‘Four or five, anyhow. I heard at least four different voices.'

‘Did you hear any names?'

‘Oh, what do names matter? I wasn't worrying about names.'

‘Everything considered, you weren't worrying about enough,' said Rollison tartly. ‘The names are important. Do you remember any?'

She drew a deep breath.

‘I know one was called Smith.' She uttered that challengingly, as if conscious of the fact that such a name might sound a deliberate fake. ‘There was another peculiar one, I don't really remember it. Something like “gibbet” and the others called him ‘Ibby' more often than anything else. I don't remember the others, I'm not even sure that any others were used. I—' She broke off and stared at him in astonishment. ‘What on earth's the matter with you?'

‘The matter,' breathed the Toff. ‘Nothing's the matter, my sweet, except that you've really said something worthwhile. The name was Ibbetson, wasn't it?'

‘Ibbetson! That's it.'

‘And Ibbetson is the missing link, although he might not like to know it,' said Rollison very softly. He felt as elated as he looked, standing up and thrusting his hands deep in his pockets as he regarded her. ‘I think I shall probably be glad that you came, after all. Was “Jameson” mentioned?'

‘I don't remember it,' said June.

‘What about “Tom”?'

‘There wasn't anyone called Tom,' she assured him. ‘I would remember a short name like that. But—look here, I must be going, I can't stay away from the office this morning, we're absolutely rushed off our feet. I promised to be there by eight o'clock.'

‘I think you'll have to pretend a headache,' said Rollison, regretfully, ‘and wait for a while.' Before she interrupted he went on: ‘I'll telephone a message for you, if you like. Where do you perform the slavery? He did not add: ‘Why do you need to work if you can so casually offer to pay for the damage here?' but waited for her quick, sharp response.

‘At the Gower Street Red Cross Depot. I—oh, I don't see why I should
beg
you to let me go but there's a big consignment of mail in from German prison camps and another due in from the Far East today and one from Italy expected any time. We can't let them accumulate; it's too cruel to keep relatives waiting for mail a minute more than necessary.'

There was no faking; she was sincere, her plea was heartfelt; its genuine ring was not one which could be forced. For the first time he was tempted to let her go but he steadied himself, for she might be lying so easily.

‘
Will
you let me go?' she demanded.

‘Just a moment,' said Rollison. ‘Are you understaffed at Gower Street?'

‘Of course we are!'

‘Are there men as well as women working there?'

‘What difference does that make?'

‘Are there?' persisted Rollison.

Yes, but—'

‘Then you can go,' said Rollison, very amiably, ‘and you have a voluntary helper for the day. Or nearly voluntary,' he added. ‘Jolly. Jolly!'

‘Coming, sir,' said Jolly. He appeared promptly, his mournful face showing little expression. ‘Can I do anything, sir?'

‘You can join the Red Cross as a temporary helper in Miss Lancing's office,' said Rollison lightly. ‘Work diligently and go with Miss Lancing to the office, to lunch and escort her back here when you've finished.' He looked at the girl, whose chin was thrust forward but who made no objection and added to her: ‘That's the one condition. Will you keep it?'

‘Oh, I'll fit him in somewhere,' said June disparagingly. ‘He'll be helplessly slow, it needs practice but—' She stopped abruptly and surprised Rollison by the sudden warmth of her expression and her eyes. ‘But I'm being a beast; it's really generous of you. Of course, he'll be invaluable.'

‘Thank you, miss,' said Jolly. His eyes were pained as he regarded Rollison's uncompromising face. ‘If you really require it, sir, I will get my hat and coat. I was about to prepare breakfast but—'

‘I haven't time to eat,' said June.

Five minutes later Rollison watched them walking along the street, the girl hurrying, clad in a mink coat which had been in one corner of the lounge and making Jolly lengthen his normal sedate stride. The sight of the precise, black-clad servant and the hatless, eager girl amused Rollison and yet his smile was tinged with uncertainty. Then it grew set, for he saw a man walk in the wake of the couple, a man who had been walking much more slowly a few seconds before.

‘This is going to be another unpopular day for me at the office,' he said,
sotto voce.

Grabbing his greatcoat he hurried out of the door with one arm in a sleeve and the other pulling the door to. Although he saw the man who sprang from the shadows of the landing, he could do nothing to save himself from a heavy blow on the side of the head which half-stunned him and sent him pitching forward. He banged his head again when he struck the floor and lost consciousness after another blow on the left temple. He had a momentary image of his attacker, short, dark clad, with an arm up raised, before everything faded.