The Toff and the Kidnapped Child (6 page)

 

So Jeff was smart.

If he were so quick on the uptake, he would quickly guess if Rollison tried to fool him. The only wise thing was to let him do what he suggested. The police could be as discreet as anyone, and if they believed that Caroline Kane was in danger, they would certainly be discreet over this; more harm would come from trying to pull the wool over Jeff's eyes than in giving him his head.

“Right,” whispered Rollison, and then realised that there was no need to keep his voice down. “I'll pull in towards the school drive. He won't be surprised to see the rear light go on then.” The drive showed up dimly beneath a street lamp, twenty or thirty yards away. The car hardly moved, and when it stopped it was with the gentlest of a forward sway.

Jeff's left hand was already on the door handle, and he pressed down and flung open the door almost before the car had stopped. He was swivelling round, legs thrust towards the open door, too, and in a flash he was standing alongside the car, then racing back towards the little car, which was fifty or sixty yards behind him. Rollison saw him vaguely in the mirror, which was anti-glare and, by night, filled with shadows. He saw the headlights of the car go on. One moment Jeff was a shadowy figure, the next he showed up stark and vivid and black, arms still stretched out as if defying the driver of the small car to try to pass on either side. Rollison pushed open his door and started to get out. The headlights went off for a second, and then shone out again. Rollison's feet were on the ground and he was starting towards Jeff and the small car, when, horrified, he realised what the driver intended to do.

“Look out, Jeff!”
Rollison bellowed.

Jeff would know what was coming as well as he did; he was moving forward, obviously at a disadvantage, and unable to fling himself to one side in the split second that he had left. The small car's engine roared.
“Look out!”
Rollison shouted again, but it was useless, there was nothing he could do.

Jeff leapt desperately towards the right.

He showed up vividly in the headlights, but the driver of the car was just a shape.

Rollison felt as if the car were coming at him. He stood quite still and held his breath. He saw Jeff fall. He saw the car strike him, and lurch over him. He heard a choking cry. He saw Jeff's arms rise for a moment, and then flop down. By then, the small car was coming at Rollison as if determined to mow him down, also. Rollison flung himself to one side, and on to the boot of the Bentley. The car swept by, engine still roaring, and he felt the wind of its passing. He scrambled off the back of the big car. The rear light of the other seemed a long way off, and suddenly the headlights swivelled, as it turned a corner to the left; and then the rear lights vanished, and the street seemed very dark.

There was no sound from Jeff.

Rollison felt a fierce urge to rush into the driving seat and hunt the car down, but he forced himself to swing round, and run towards Jeff. Only the distant hum of the vanished car's engine sounded. “
Higgs
!
” he shouted at the top of his voice.
“Higgs!”
A light at the window seemed to mock him; so did the small lamp near the entrance to the school, only a few yards away.
“Higgs!”
he bellowed, and then reached Jeff's side. There was sufficient light for him to see how motionless the detective was. Jeff's face was turned away from him, and he lay on his stomach. Rollison called out for the porter again, his voice pitched high, then shone his tiny torch with its pitifully slender beam. It shone on the crimson of blood, and on Jeff's hand; it shone on a dark stain on Jeff's white shirt, where the coat had been caught up; and it shone on the tyre marks across the shirt and the top of the trousers, the car must have gone right over him.

The murderous swine . . .

A man came, hurrying, not far along.
“Help!”
Rollison called, and saw a uniformed policeman passing beneath a street lamp. At the same time, Higgs limped from the driveway; so the shouting had not been useless. “Ambulance, quickly,” Rollison called. “A man's been run over.”

He saw Higgs hesitate, and then the policeman drew up, gasping for breath but managing to ask: “Is he hurt badly?”

“Very.”

The policeman did a simple thing: he blew his whistle.

 

Now Rollison had to decide how much to tell the men at the police station as well as how much to tell Eve. He could imagine what she would feel if she believed that her daughter had been taken away by people who would act as ruthlessly and cruelly as the driver of the small car. He was still suffering from a kind of shock, and had not really started to ask himself why the driver had been so ruthless and cold-blooded.

Jeff was already on his way to the hospital. The constable had asked the formal questions and Rollison given the formal answers. Miss Ellerby had come out to see what the fuss was about, had been told there had been an ‘accident' and had gone back, with that tight-lipped tension. Rollison had not seen Eve again yet. A car drew up and the policeman he had seen at the railway station got out, with a tall, thin man whose hair showed very silvery in the lamp light.

“Mr Rollison, this is Chief Inspector Dawson,” he introduced.

“Glad to know you, Mr Rollison.” Dawson had a slow speaking voice. “Not going to try to persuade me that this was a coincidence, are you?”

That made Rollison's mind up for him.

“No,” he said. “Will you come into Miss Ellerby's house, and give me a few minutes with the mother of a girl who's missing? Then I'll tell you what I know.”

“Very well,” Dawson said. He made that sound ominous.

Eve was with Miss Abbott and Miss Ellerby in the big room. Her eyes seemed frightened, and she looked at him as if she had some premonition that the news he brought would not be good. The two mistresses went out, and Eve stepped towards Rollison, and said in a taut voice: “She isn't hurt, is she?”

“I still haven't the faintest idea where she is,” Rollison told her. “But we're going to have to tell the police some of the truth, in spite of that note.”

Eve didn't speak.

“I don't think year husband is responsible,” Rollison went on. “I can't believe that this has anything to do with your married life, either.”

Eve caught her breath. “Why?”

“A policeman has been run down and badly injured, trying to talk to one of the men we think are concerned,” Rollison said, hating the need to give greater cause for fear. “The driver of the car got away. He may not have intended murder, but it was a murderous assault.” He was watching her all the time, sharing her distress, admiring how she fought against breaking down. “I'll have to tell the police and ask them to keep it from the newspapers. I think they will, so I don't think the people who have taken Caroline need know that the authorities have been told, but there's no certainty.”

“I see,” Eve said stonily. “You must do what you think best.”

“Have you thought of anything that might explain what has happened?”

“Only – ransom.”

“Have you the slightest idea who might be behind it?”

“No,” Eve said. “No idea at all.”

“Would they be likely to try to get ransom from your husband as well?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He isn't rich,” she answered, and her eyes closed for a moment; Rollison thought that she would faint. “He has a good income, that's all.”

“Is he a private consultant?”

“No,” she told him. “He's a consultant with Colfax World Advertising. He travels for them, he—” She broke off. “Are you—are you sure that talking to the police wouldn't make things worse for Caroline?”

“Eve,” Rollison said, “we can't be positive about anything, except that the police will help all they can. You needn't be present when I tell them.”

“I'd rather know everything that's going on,” she said.

Dawson, the policeman whose name was Moss, and the three women were all back in the big, square room while the whole story was related. Once he knew that he was being told everything, Dawson became prosily cooperative, and there must have been some measure of reassurance for Eve in his words. A widespread search was already on for the Super Snipe as a result of the Yard's request. He, Dawson, had been in touch with the police of all the neighbouring counties. Rollison's description of the Hillman which had run Jeff down had already been telegraphed to all nearby police stations, and all small cars on the road would be searched and all Hillmans examined.

“We can deal with this simply as a hunt for a man who ran down one of our men,” explained Dawson carefully. “It need not be connected with your daughter's disappearance, yet, Mrs Kane. Except in case of dire emergency, it never will be.” He seemed a little ill-at-ease when he looked across at her. “Mr Rollison, I've had that envelope tested for prints, and there are only three sets – Miss Ellerby's, Mrs Higgs's and Miss Abbott's. The address must have been written by someone wearing gloves. From what I've seen of this card, the same can be said of that.”

“You mean they don't help?” Eve asked.

“We cannot assume that by a long way,” Dawson said didactically. “There are a dozen ways that it can be of assistance, and—” He paused momentarily, for the telephone bell rang, an unexpected thing so late at night. Miss Ellerby stepped across and lifted the receiver with obvious impatience.

“Miss Ellerby speaking . . . Yes, he is,” she said at once, and looked at Rollison. “It's a London call, Mr Rollison, for you.”

That could only be the Yard.

“Thanks,” Rollison said, and took the receiver while everyone in the room stared expectantly. “Rollison speaking . . . Oh, yes, Nick?”

Superintendent Marshall said sharply: “Is your inquiry about a Super Snipe connected with the running down of that policeman at Hapley?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want to know exactly what's on.” Marshall was even sharper.

“The local police will brief you. I told them directly their man was run down,” Rollison assured him. “Keep it right away from the Press, Nick, until I see you.”

“Sure I should?”

“I think you'll be making a grave mistake if you don't,” Rollison answered carefully. “Have you found any trace of the car?”

“I think so.”

Rollison asked: “What, exactly?” and tried not to show by the inflection in his voice that there was news of any kind, since nothing in Marshall's manner suggested that it was good.

“It was one of the staff cars belonging to the Colfax Advertising Agency,” Marshall told him. “It was taken out eight days ago by a Captain Ralph Kane, an advertising consultant of the Colfax. Kane hasn't kept any appointments since. I don't know much about it because very few of the Colfax people can be found at this hour, but I did get the company's secretary out of bed. The car was found parked inside London Airport, and arrived about the time you'd expect if it was driven from Hapley. No others did, and there's a copy of a Worcester newspaper in it, so it came from there. I've got the airport police trying to trace whoever was in it, and where they went. There was one thing found in the car which I don't like the sound of.”

“What?”

“The broken needle of a hypodermic syringe,” Marshall said. “It's being tested to see if we can find out what it was used for, and whether it was used recently. Is this a kidnapping or an abduction case?”

 

 

“So it is Ralph,” Eve said in a flat voice.

“It begins to look as if your husband is involved,” agreed Dawson. “There is at least one great reassurance in that, Mrs Kane.”

“I can't think of one.”

“In your husband's care, your daughter is not likely to come to any harm. The use of the hypodermic syringe suggests that she was put to sleep quickly, probably in order to avoid frightening her more than necessary.”

“I suppose so.”

“You can be absolutely sure that everything possible will be done,” Dawson assured Eve earnestly. “Apart from your daughter, we want to get the man who ran Jeff down, and we do not intend to lose any time. The Yard will feel just as strongly, and the best available men will be working on this case until we've solved it.”

“Thank you,” Eve said woodenly.

Rollison, watching first one and then another, saw how unimpressed Eve was, and how impatient Miss Ellerby was getting. Miss Abbott looked ghostly pale, and her eyes were large and glassy; she was not used to being up in the early hours of the morning. Dawson, with his grim earnestness, also had an impatient look as he went on: “I'm sure that Mr Rollison will cooperate in every way, and you have my absolute assurance that nothing will be done that is not in the interests of your daughter.”

“Thank you,” Eve said mechanically.

“I think it's time we all had some rest,” Miss Ellerby interpolated, energetically. “It won't do any good if we stay up all night. Is there anything more we can do for you, Mr Dawson?”

“I would like to look through the young pupil's desk and belongings,” answered Dawson. “There is a possibility that we shall find some indication there—”

“Oh, nonsense,” Miss Ellerby exclaimed.

“It is essential not to leave any stone unturned,” insisted Dawson, and Miss Ellerby threw up her arms and looked almost furiously at Miss Abbott. “Miss Abbott, I'm sorry it's so late, but will you please take Mr Dawson wherever he wants to go? Try not to wake the girls, won't you? If they get any idea of the gravity of this situation they'll talk about nothing else tomorrow.” She was still brisk, still held herself under rigid self-control. “Mrs Kane, I think you ought to go to bed with a hot drink and a sedative. My spare room—”

“Rolly, are we going to help at all by staying here?” Eve asked, and Rollison, noticing how easily and naturally she used the ‘Rolly', had a moment of real satisfaction.

“I don't see how we could help,” he answered.

“Have you enough energy to drive me back to London?”

“Of course.”

“I think it is ridiculous to return,” declared Miss Ellerby, “but I suppose you'll do what you want.” She glanced at the door, and then jumped up as if in alarm. A girl who looked very young appeared, and by her side was Miss Abbott. The child was dressed in washed-out pink pyjamas and a cotton dressing-gown of the same colour. Her eyes looked huge, and her face was pale.

“What on earth are you doing up at this hour?” demanded Miss Ellerby.

“She woke, and discovered that Caroline was missing, and I found her outside,” Miss Abbott said. “I thought you'd better have a word with her.”

“Yes,” agreed Miss Ellerby quietly. “Yes. Patricia, you are not to say a word about this, do you understand? Not a word.”

“I—I won't, Miss Ellerby,” the girl promised, “but—but is Caroline going to be all right?”

“Of course she is,” the headmistress replied, and became quite mellow while reassuring the girl, before Miss Abbott took her off.

Twenty minutes later, Dawson was back, admitting that he had found nothing to help. Rollison took Eve out to the car. Miss Abbott had gone, yawning, to bed; there was no sign of Higgs, but outside there were at least a dozen men, half of them in uniform, and a lamp had been rigged up to light up the spot where Jeff had been run down. Dawson came out with Rollison, and asked a man: “Any news from the hospital?”

“No, sir.”

“Terrible business,” Dawson said. “Terrible.” He stepped with Rollison and Eve to the car, and shook hands and said sententiously: “I meant every word I said, Mrs Kane. We will protect your and your daughter's interests in every way we can.”

“I'm sure you will,” Eve said.

The clock on the instrument panel said ten minutes to four when Rollison moved off. The bright light behind him fell away, and he turned the corner which the small Hillman had turned a few hours ago. Almost immediately beyond it was a set of road signs, and he did not need Eve's directions. He turned left, for the London road, and soon they were in the starlit countryside, with the car moving very fast.

“If it were left to that awful man Dawson, I don't think I'd feel there was any hope at all,” Eve said.

“I shouldn't underrate the Dawsons or the police in general,” Rollison advised.

“They'll be so anxious to catch that driver that they'll tell the newspapers everything.”

“They can handle the running down job simply as a case of hit-and-run,” Rollison answered, “and they probably will. Eve, did you and the others recall anything which might help to tell what is behind all this?”

“No.”

“Have you any idea at all where we might find your husband?”

“No. I would have told you.”

“Do you know of anyone else who might know? This Leah, with whom he had trouble, for instance.”

“I haven't any idea who he might be with or where he might be, but it looks as if he's taken Caroline out of the country, doesn't it?” Dread sounded in every word.

“Not on your life!” Rollison startled her by his vehemence.

“But, surely, the car at the airport—”

“That was the obvious place to leave it if anyone wanted to create the impression that Ralph had taken Caroline out of the country. Think of all the arguments against doing that. It's just possible, but extremely difficult, to get a drugged person on to an aircraft, and there aren't many drugs injected into the blood stream which put you out for a short period – usually they keep you under for hours. If you were really going to leave the country, would you make it so obvious? If your husband were going to kidnap Caroline, would he use a Colfax car and make it so clear that everyone would jump to the conclusion that he was responsible? The man you've told me about would have more sense than that.”

There was new eagerness in Eve's voice.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I still don't think the evidence implicates your husband,” Rollison said. “When you first came to see me it was to look for him, now it's to look for them both. We might find them together, too. If they're not in this country, I'll be astonished. Eve, do you know this Leah's address?”

“Why do you keep harping on her?”

“She's the only name I've got of anyone who might know where Ralph's gone, if he's in hiding.”

“You just said that you didn't think he was involved, and that if we find one we might find both. You're not consistent. It isn't any use
guessing.”

“Tell me what else we can do,” said Rollison grimly. “Tell me any other line we could follow, and I'll follow it. The police will cover all the obvious channels; we need to get on to something they're not likely to find. Leah, for instance, or any other of Ralph's girl friends.”

“How do you think I know where to find them?” Eve demanded bitterly. “They weren't exactly social acquaintances.”

“None of them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, didn't you know any of them socially? Or, at least, don't you know where to find a single one of them?” When Eve didn't answer, he went on: “The police will work on the Colfax angle, they'll be after the people in the Super Snipe and the driver of the Hillman, so it will be wasting time for us to cover the same ground. Is there anyone who knew or knows Ralph who might be able to help?”

“I've thought about it until my head goes round and round, and I can't think of anyone,” Eve answered, almost desperately.

“What about his men friends?”

“He had no real friends, just a lot of acquaintances.”

“Surely someone knew him well?”

“Richard,” Eve said, and it was the first time that she had used his Christian name, “not long after we were married Ralph told me that he would probably never have married me but for my money. He said that at the time he honestly thought that he was in love, but that it had been a mistake to tie himself down – he simply hadn't the right temperament. He told me he liked new faces, new people, and constant change. His work helped him – travelling as a top-line advertising consultant, and meeting big business men from all parts of the world. In a way I felt almost sorry for him. He was never in one place for long; he seemed to be always chasing happiness. It didn't hurt any the less because I could see that he was driven to it by some inner compulsion, that he didn't live the way he did only for the sake of it. I honestly believe he tried in the first few years of our marriage; the years when Caroline was young, and when I was deeply in love with him. He just won't make close friends or permanent associations. He lives by himself and for himself. That's why I couldn't believe at first that he knew anything about this. I was sure he wouldn't want to saddle himself with Caroline. He was beginning to enjoy taking her out to dinner or luncheon, because she was becoming less of a schoolgirl and more of a young woman, but I can't believe he would want her with him all the time. I tell you that there's no one I can think of who might help, except possibly people at Colfax's, and I'm not even sure about them.”

“Do you know this Leah's surname?”

Eve cried:
“Don't keep on about Leah!”

“Eve—”'

“Talk, talk, talk, that's all I hear, that's all that ever happens. I just can't stand it, I simply can't stand it!”

Rollison said: “I know, Eve.” He drove for a few minutes, saw a lay-by sign, and pulled off the road. Eve was crying. He did not speak or touch her, and after a while she quietened. He heard her moving, saw that she was pushing her fingers through her hair. There was just the light of the dashboard to show her face when she looked at him.

“I'm sorry.”

“I don't know how you kept up so long.”

“It's not fair to start shouting at you.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You must have some reason for keeping on about Leah.”

“She's the only person I've heard about who hated Ralph and might want to harm and to injure him, the only one with a possible motive. Is there anything at all you can tell me about her?”

Eve said slowly: “I don't know.” He didn't ask her to explain the cryptic comment, and after a while she went on: “She once left a telephone number for him to call her back. It seemed to burn itself into my mind then, but I can't think of it now. It was Kensington 33412 or 44312 – a number something like that. I'm sure there was a 3 and a 4 and a 1 in it, I'm sure it was Kensington. I wrote it down on a scrap of paper, and afterwards when I realised who it was, I threw it away.”

Rollison said: “We can dial all likely permutations of 4, 3, 2, and 1, and we may strike lucky.”

“It's such a slight chance. I didn't expect you to clutch at straws.”

“You'd be surprised how many bricks a little straw will make,” Rollison said mildly. He touched his pocket, and the ransom note, which he had not shown to anyone else. He would have taken it out then, but he did not want to add to Eve's tension. He started off again, and as dawn was breaking, reached the outskirts of London. The city seemed to stir itself from the stillness of the night.

At a little after half-past five he pulled up outside 22 Gresham Terrace, helped Eve out into the grey morning, and went upstairs. He opened the door and tiptoed in quietly, not wanting to disturb Jolly. He switched on the light, and it showed Eve looking washed-out and red-eyed; she would hate to think that he had seen her looking like this. He took her to the spare bedroom, said: “I keep this ready for out-of-town relations. You'll find everything you need, and the bathroom's next door. I'll bring in some tea and biscuits in ten minutes.” He went back to the big room and stood looking at the Trophy Wall and the hangman's noose which was the most macabre of the exhibits. Then he took out the ransom note. It was in pencilled block lettering, and he already knew it off by heart.

 

“
GET £20,000 READY IN CASH. THEY MUST BE OLD NOTES.
”

 

Was this simply a case of ransom?

How rich was Eve? Could she find such a huge sum? Would anyone make a demand unless they felt sure that she could? He picked up a magnifying glass, once used to catch the sun's rays to start a fire which had burned down a barn with two people in it, and went over the note for prints: there was none. Gloved hands had held this, the envelope, and the other card which he had in his pocket. A clever amateur would think of it; and a professional would not be careless enough to make a present of his prints to the police.

He turned round – and saw an envelope addressed to him in Jolly's clear handwriting, which as yet showed little trace of
anno Domini.
So Jolly had been up; and he should have been allowed to sleep the clock round. Rollison opened the envelope and the fact that it was sealed told him that Jolly had meant to impress him with its seriousness. It read:

 

“There was a telephone call at 3.45, sir.

“The caller, a man with a slightly coarse voice, said that he now realises that the police will have to be told something of what has happened, but that if they are told of the cash request, the child will not be returned. He said that he would be sending Mrs K. further instructions.