Here Comes the Toff (9 page)

Renway refused, abruptly.

The Toff took one, and struck a match. Wrightson lit his cigarette, and as he did so the Toff looked closely at his face.

“Thanks,” said Wrightson stiffly, and drew back. “Has Uncle been showing you the collection?”

“Yes.” Rollison talked of it enthusiastically, and decided that in spite of a marked lack of response he liked the look of Wrightson. He was a little shorter than the Toff, but broader across the shoulders; and he had a rugged face that could be called attractive, but certainly not handsome. His hair was fair and crisp, and his lips well-shaped and generous. His whole expression at the moment was one of resentful sullenness.

Yet he did not look the type of man to be habitually bad-tempered.

That there was an estrangement between the uncle and the nephew would have been obvious even had the Toff not possessed prior information. Both men created the impression that they were finding it an effort to be polite to each other. The Toff chatted for a few minutes, the better to gauge the atmosphere of the house, then made his excuses.

When he left he was all smiles and thanks, but his smile disappeared as he climbed into his Frazer-Nash.

“There's a flare-up coming in that quarter,” he mused. “I wonder if Irma
has
been fanning the flames?”

He meditated on the three obvious possibilities as he drove to his flat. One, that Irma was actually contemplating marriage with Renway for the sake of his money. Two, that the new business surprise that Renway had talked about was being ‘nursed' by Irma and Kohn. That would be one explanation of Renway's need for secrecy. Three, that there was a plan afoot to steal the art treasures.

For the first, there was some evidence. Possibly Irma had helped to widen the older man's breach with his nephew over the association with a girl, hoping to get James Wrightson disinherited. On the other hand, neither this nor the possible art theft was the kind of crime Irma was likely to specialise in. The business angle was the one to concentrate on, as far as Rollison could judge. But while concentrating he would keep an open mind.

Meanwhile, he doubted whether trouble between Renway and Wrightson would come to a head quickly.

 

The Toff might have revised that opinion – or, at least, suspended it – had he been at the millionaire's house twenty minutes after he had driven off. Renway returned to the study, and his first words were anything but conciliatory.

“Well, James? I've given you until this evening to decide whether you will cease this absurd defiance, or …”

“Be kicked out,” Wrightson finished for him in a low voice. “You know quite well what the answer will be. I'm marrying Phyllis at the first opportunity, and if you can't approve, I'm sorry.”

“Sorry!” Renway barked the words. “You'll be the biggest fool in creation if you insist. Give the slut up, and …”

He realised before he had finished the sentence that he had gone too far. Wrightson's cheeks flamed, and he stood up, pushing his chair behind him sharply. It crashed to the floor, but neither man heeded it as their gaze met stormily.

“That's more than enough,” Wrightson said, and his voice shook with suppressed anger. “I've stood a lot too much from you, and I'm through, do understand? Through. I've done my best to serve you, and I've tried to save you from making a fool of yourself over the Curtis woman. Now the quicker I'm away the better for us both.”

Renway's lips tightened, but the Toff, had he been present, would have seen the anxiety in his eyes.

Outwardly, only his anger showed.

“An inheritance of a million isn't to be thrown away for nothing,” he said stiffly.

“Nothing? I'd rather have Phyllis than all your filthy money!” The younger man's voice was harsh, strident. “Spend it on that doll who's following you around! Put your precious million into any crazy scheme you like,
I
don't want it!”

“No,” said Renway, more slowly than before, “and certainly you won't get it. Before I leave you a penny piece I …”

He stopped suddenly, and as the younger man glared at him his face seemed to change colour.

Wrightson stepped forward quickly, putting an arm out to support his uncle; without it Renway would have fallen. For a moment they stood very still, with Renway breathing stertorously.

There was a bluish tinge to his lips that worried Wrightson. He knew his uncle's heart was not as strong as it might be, and, before the quarrel which had now been going on for weeks, he had been fond of the old man.

He led Renway to a chair, and poured out a little brandy. Renway gulped it down, still breathing hard. After a few seconds his colour grew more normal.

“That's—better! I–I thought I was going.” The eyes of the two men met, and, surprisingly, Renway's thin hand went out and his fingers pulled Wrightson's sleeve. “James, don't make a hasty decision. I'm sorry if I said anything to offend you; temper is an ugly thing. Think things over well, my boy.”

Wrightson's eyes were troubled, but unrelenting. He had no desire for the break, but he knew the choice had to be made eventually, doubted whether his uncle's attitude would alter; but the issue could be postponed.

“All right,” he said. “We'll forget it for now, Uncle.”

“Good!” said Renway. “Good! Now help me upstairs, there's a good fellow. I must go out tonight, and if I don't get a rest I'll be like nothing on earth. Old before my time, eh, Jimmy, and that won't do.”

Wrightson did not say that the rest of the world believed his uncle to be ten years older than his age.

 

 

 

James Wrightson had a blank evening before him, and he did not feel like spending it at the St. John's Wood house. There had been times when he had been quite contented to browse among the classics, evenings which he had spent with his uncle and had enjoyed. The days for that were past, he knew, and he wondered how long it would be before the final break came.

Renway was with the Curtis woman, of course.

Wrightson, possessed of a sense of humour which had been sadly repressed of late, smiled crookedly at the thought of his uncle condemning Phyllis while being condemned for the Curtis woman. Irma had a beauty that Wrightson thoroughly disliked. The hot-house type, the siren-type; as different from Phyllis as the proverbial chalk from cheese.

It did not occur to him that he might be wrong. It did occur to him that Irma had been responsible in a large measure for the change which had come over his uncle, a change he did not consider was for the better.

There seemed nothing he could do to alter it.

He sat for a while in the study, which he had always shared with his uncle, brooding over the quarrel of that evening, and the heart attack which had followed. Such spasms were growing increasingly frequent, and Wrightson believed that the faster tempo of the life Renway was leading with Irma Curtis – he knew nothing of her real name – was responsible for it.

Renway seemed quite blind to that possibility.

Renway, in fact, was an old man who had never married and who was ‘seeing' a woman for the first time in his life. It was surprising that one of Irma's type had managed to snare him; he might have been expected to look for someone older, as company in his declining years.

Or might he?

Wrightson realised, if a little vaguely, that only Irma's startling looks could in the first place had attracted so confirmed a bachelor. She knew how to handle Renway, of course, and on the few occasions when she had met Wrightson she had been pleasantness itself. In short, he knew nothing specific about Irma to explain his acute dislike of her, and yet he knew that that dislike was in no small measure the reason for the trouble between himself and his uncle.

He was honest, too, when he claimed that he did not mind whether or not he inherited Renway's money. He had a few thousand pounds put aside, and he was experienced enough, and had enough friends, to get a reasonably well-salaried position in the City.

That would mean an income sufficient for Phyllis and himself.

He smiled as he thought of her, and wished that friends had not claimed her for the evening. She was somewhere in North London, and he did not even know the address. Odd, how lonely he felt when she was out of his reach.

After trying to read, he stood up from his chair, deciding to try to walk through the Parks to settle his mind. He did not make the experiment, however, for as he entered the hall there was a ring at the front door. He opened it, and in some surprise saw the immaculate figure of the man he had met that afternoon.

“I'm afraid Mr. Renway's out,” he said.

“I'm not surprised,” said the Toff. “I came to see you, Mr. Wrightson. I hope I'm not in the way.”

Wrightson was intrigued, and in any case glad of the diversion. Rollison entered the house for the second time, and Wrightson found drinks – not Amontillado, but Johnnie Walker. Rollison chatted idly for a few minutes, for he wanted thoroughly to whet the other's curiosity. And he was succeeding.

He liked Wrightson even more at the second meeting than at the first. A clean-cut fellow, whose rugged good looks bespoke honesty as clearly as his blue eyes.

After thinking over the situation, the Toff had decided that a talk with him would be the next step in his plan of campaign, basing the decision on his assessment of Wrightson's character.

He opened the subject unexpectedly.

“I know it will seem an impertinence, Mr. Wrightson, but I came to see if you know much about the lady who is taking up so much of your uncle's time.”

“No-o,” said Wrightson, slowly.

He was inclined to be offended at first, however; he could think what he liked about his Uncle's friends, but certainly it was no business of other people's. Yet there was something about the Toff's smile that smoothed him down. “Isn't this rather an unusual opening gambit?”

“I won't say that I know for certain,” said the Toff, who did not propose to commit himself on any point at that moment, “but I've an idea that she has been mixed up in some shady business in the past. She is – again I'm guessing – an adventuress of a rather different kind, and it seemed possible that you might be able to give me some idea of the kind of thing she might be able to wheedle out of you uncle. Does that make the gambit more understandable?”

He said it all lightly, but it shook Wrightson, who had considered nothing more than the usual association of rich man and loose woman with ambitions.

“It's still peculiar. What is your particular interest?”

“Purely that of an amateur,” said Rollison cheerfully. “I have been known to look on when the police are working, and I know one or two of the rules. It struck me that if I could do anything to stop developments, you might like it. Provided developments are in the offing, of course. Kick me out if you want to,” he added, with a smile. “Gently, of course!”

Wrightson did not kick him out.

For one thing, he suddenly remembered that he had seen the name of this man in Old Bailey trials; for another, he realised that a scandal of any kind would probably make his uncle's heart flutter for the last time. And, as the Toff had hoped, he liked the direct approach on a delicate subject.

He told all he knew and felt – that he disliked Irma, had warned his uncle against her, and would certainly watch any point that might arise. As far as Wrightson was aware, the only thing his uncle was planning was a new company, and Wrightson himself knew little about it. It was an electrical business, and executives from several large companies had promised to join the new one. Renway had kept everything quiet, wanting to put the new company on the market quickly and suddenly.

That, thought the Toff, was a considerable point. It might have been inspired by Irma, of course. On the other hand, it was a good business ruse, and there might be nothing questionable about it. He made no comment, and learned, among other things, of the trouble Renway had had with a man named Martin, an accountant who had worked for him for years. Martin was the only man apart from Renway himself to know a great deal about the old man's finances.

And then Wrightson mentioned Sidey – and the Toff knew he was getting very warm.

Sidey, Wrightson said, was an ex-convict who had been employed by Renway on Martin's introduction. Martin had been dismissed soon after Sidey.

Rollison already wondered whether there was a direct connection between Renway's ex-employees and Leopold Kohn.

Unfortunately Wrightson did not know where Martin lived, and the Toff would have to locate him. He did not think that likely to be difficult.

It was past nine when Rollison took his leave. Wrightson still felt puzzled, yet easier in his mind. Rollison, he recalled now, had a reputation to be envied; and if he was holding a watching brief, there was little or nothing to worry about.

It was an easy attitude, and a soothing one, for Wrightson's major concern was for the girl, Phyllis.

At twenty past nine the telephone rang. Wrightson answered it abruptly, and then his face brightened.

“Phyl, thanks be! How did you escape?”

“The party's postponed until tomorrow,” said Phyllis Bailey cheerfully. “I've been dreadfully busy, darling, but I thought you might care to entertain me for an hour …”

“Where are you?”

“At Baker Street.”

“Hop on a bus, darling, and come here. He's gone out …”

Renway was referred to as ‘he' between them – “and we're all right for a couple of hours. I'll run you home in the car before zero hour. I've lots to talk about, including a visit from a man named Rollison, and his opinion of sweet Irma will make good hearing.”

Phyllis laughed, promised to hurry, and rang off.

She arrived twenty minutes later, and Wrightson's earlier enthusiasm for the Rollison-Irma subject dimmed; they talked of more personal things, which was only to be expected.

He related the story of his quarrel with his uncle, and the end of it, and although she professed to be pleased, actually she was worried. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause a breach between Jim and his uncle, and little that had happened suggested that there would be a reconciliation while she remained engaged to him.

It had never occurred to Jim that she might break the engagement. It might not have occurred to her but for the fact that she knew Jim was worried, and hated the sight of his troubled face when ever – as now often happened – there had been words between him and Renway.

Phyllis had often wondered whether it would not be wiser for her to drop out of Wrightson's life. It depended, of course, on how much he really loved her. It was difficult to estimate, difficult to be sure whether he was in love with her or whether the opposition from Renway made his feelings seem more acute than in truth they were.

She was a small girl, yet not tiny, a brunette, and – as even the Toff would have agreed – very easy to look at. There was, in fact, a likeness between her and Anthea, although Anthea was so fair and Phyllis Bailey so dark. There was the same acute intelligence in grey eyes which were very steady, the same high brow, the same complete self-confidence. Her nose was short and the least bit
retroussé
, her lips were full and quick to smile. She sat back in an easy chair opposite Wrightson, completely self-controlled, graceful even while unmoving, nursing one knee in her hands and showing nice legs, and ankles which could hardly be more shapely.

She was a writer – not well known, though there was a circle of readers who enjoyed her books, which were neither fight romances nor heavy tragedies. She could capture the passing phases of modern life perfectly, and had a gift for characterisation which was the strength of her published work. A small independent income enabled her to write what she liked, as apart from what would earn the most money; and there were critics who prophesied for her a brilliant future.

The Toff would have liked her.

She looked on Wrightson rather in the same way as Anthea looked on her Jamie. He seemed incredibly young at times, at others older, far, than herself. There was so much about him to love: his directness, his honesty, his easy laughter, the warmth of his love for her. Still, she wondered whether it would be wise to allow this breach with Renway to worsen, wondered if he would be happy if she allowed it to.

She saw no way of healing it.

Thought of giving him up hurt: but other things in her life had been painful, and in his. If it would be the best thing for him, she could do it.

“Do you think he's dangerously ill, Jim?”

“We-ell, he is, of course. Anyone with a dicky heart ought to be careful, and he used to look after himself well enough. Fussed too much, as a matter of fact. Some doctor told him that he ought to get about more, and just then the Curtis woman arrived. He started stepping out, and of course nothing I can say now will make him see that he's asking for trouble.”

“But if these attacks come more often he can't avoid seeing it.”

Wrightson shrugged.

“You'd think so. But she's got such a hold on him that he just won't see what's under his nose. I think he would get up from his sick-bed to go out with her. Certainly he shouldn't have left his room tonight, to trot about the Embassy, with half London laughing at him,” For a moment Wrightson looked and sounded bitter, but he went on in a few seconds with a light laugh: “We shouldn't grumble, at all events. The Fates work with us, my sweet – I get an evening free here, and you're let off! What happened to the party?”

“Big business or something equally tiresome.”

“Hm. How's work?”

“I can't complain,” said Phyllis. “I keep doing a little, and every day brings the new book nearer completion. One day I'll write a book worth writing, but now …” She shrugged, and laughed. “It doesn't matter, Jim. What are
you
doing?”

He lifted his hands expressively.

“Hanging around. A dog's life, but I can't leave the old man as he is now, and he depends a lot more on me than he pretends.”

“Ye-es,” said Phyllis slowly.

Wrightson's expression showed surprise.

“Why do you speak like that, Phyl?”

Her grey eyes were sober.

“I don't like the way things are developing, Jim. He's set very firmly against me since he read some of my work – the Lord knows what he would think of the really modern writers if he calls mine indecent! and I don't want to force an issue.”

Wrightson leaned forward and gripped her hand.

“Forget it, darling. You're not forcing an issue, he is. We mean too much to each other to look on it like that. If the true course won't run smooth …” He shrugged; and in a few seconds he was sharing her chair – and Renway, the possibility of a broken engagement, work, worry and the Hon. Richard Rollison, were completely forgotten.

Rollison, meanwhile, had been summoned posthaste to Chamley Mansions, where Lady Munro greeted him with such warmth that he knew she had recovered from the aspersions which he had cast on Jamie. She gushed a little, allowed him to know that she was a devoted reader of thrillers, and assured him that to meet in real life a man who had figured as the central character in current novels was the thrill of the century.

The Toff made his escape to Anthea's room before her mother lapsed into the broad Americanisms of gangsterdom, to find Anthea looking thoroughly charming against the pillows, with a pink kimono about her shoulders. He pulled up a chair, and said severely: