The Toff and the Kidnapped Child (9 page)

 

Dr Welling stood at the front door. He was a smaller man than Rollison, but not so short as the man in the living-room. He was middle-aged, had a brisk manner, and eyes which obviously missed very little. He stepped inside as Eve drew back, and said: “I don't think we've met?”

“No, we haven't. I'm—Mrs Kane.”

Before she could add that she was a friend of Rollison, Welling said: “You don't look exactly on top of the world yourself, Mrs Kane. Are you all right?”

“I—I've a severe headache.”

“Hmm,” said Welling. “I think Mr Rollison's the best doctor for your kind of headache! Assuming that you've brought a problem to him, you couldn't have come to a better man. Now, shall I go into Jolly? I know my way.”

“Yes—please.”

Dr Welling went the longer way round, and not into the living-room; it was almost as if he knew that she did not want him to go in there. Eve hesitated, then went back into the big room. The kidnapper was standing with his back to her, studying the Trophy Wall again, but the moment she appeared, he glanced round; and he whispered: “You're doing all right.”

She crossed to him swiftly.

“Please,” she begged, “where is my daughter?”

“Quite safe.”

“I must know where she is.”

“It will cost you twenty thousand pounds.”

“I don't care what it costs!”

“Are you sure about that?” the man asked, and his eyes lit up. “You know what you're saying?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty—thousand—pounds.”

“I can get it in an hour!”

“Yes, I know you can,” replied the sallow-faced man. “You could get a lot more than that, too, but we aren't thinking of more, are we?” He paused for a moment, and then went on: “Rollison will try to stop you.”

“I won't let him.”

“Sure?”

“Yes! Don't keep wasting time.”

“All right, Mrs Kane,” the man said. “You get twenty thousand pounds in used one pound and five pound notes, and have it ready by—shall we say one o'clock? That will give you two hours. I will telephone you with instructions, and when I meet you, I will exchange Caroline for the money. Is that clearly understood?”

“Yes,” she made herself say.

The man patted her hand, and said: “You're being very sensible. Don't let anyone make you change your mind. Now here are one or two details. The money must be in four separate parcels. Each must be wrapped in brown paper and tied round with red string or tape. Is that clear?”

“Yes, it's quite clear,” Eve said, and clenched her hands as she went on: “You will hand Caroline over in exchange, won't you?”

“That's a promise,” the man assured her. “You needn't have any fears, provided the police aren't told and Rollison isn't told.” He took her hands again, tightly, with a threat of pain. “You should get out of here, you know. Rollison has quite a personality, and he might—””He won't make me change my mind! No one will.”

“You must take the risk and remember that your daughter means more to you than twenty thousand pounds does to me,” the man said. “You aren't going to take my telephone message here, though. If Rollison doesn't know what I've told you to do, he can't interfere, and it will be far safer if you do it my way.” He took a white card from his pocket, and held it in those beautifully kept fingers. “Be at this telephone kiosk at half-past one. It's in the foyer of the Astor Hotel, near Piccadilly, just round the corner from the reception desk. You can't miss it, and the number is on this card, to make sure you don't. I'll telephone you there. Is that all quite clear?”

“Yes,” Eve said, tautly.

“Don't forget that, if you do exactly what I tell you, there'll be no bother, but if anyone follows you there'll be such trouble for Caroline that you'll hate yourself for the rest of your days. How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

“As they say, just awakening to womanhood,” the man said gently. “We don't want it to be a rude awakening, do we?”

Horror welled up in Eve.

“Oh, God! You wouldn't do—”

“We won't hurt Caroline in any way provided you do exactly what I tell you,” the man promised her. “Half- past one, at that number.”

He smiled, squeezed her hand, and turned away.

She wanted to rush after him, she wanted to beg and plead with him, she wanted some definite assurance that Caroline was all right, and would not be harmed. She did not move. The man's back was very broad – absurdly broad – and his trousers were very narrow. He wore light brown suede shoes; in a way, he was a dandy. He went into the lounge hall without looking back; and as he disappeared, Eve found herself impelled to run after him, to stand in the doorway, and cry: “Swear to me that she will be all right.”

He turned and faced her, and said solemnly: “I swear to you that she will not be hurt if you do what I say.” He opened the front door and went out. She did not notice that he had no difficulty with the lock at the door. She heard it close. She leaned against the wall of the lounge hall without realising what she was doing. She heard movements in the flat, and remembered Dr Welling: she had completely forgotten him, even forgotten him when she had called out. He might have heard her. She turned round in alarm, and saw him entering the big room. He looked grave, glanced at her, then stepped to the telephone and lifted it. He dialled a number, looked at her again, and frowned.

“Do you know when Mr Rollison will be back?”

“Fairly—fairly soon, I think.”

“Will you be here until he comes?”

“Yes, if—if he isn't too late.”

“Ask him to telephone me as soon as he gets in, will you?” Welling said, and then broke off. “Excuse me . . . Hallo, Bridie—Bridie, I'm not happy about Rollison's man Jolly, not a bit happy. He's running a hundred and three, and it might be peritonitis. Lay on the ambulance and have a bed ready, will you? . . . 22 Gresham Terrace, that's right . . . Twenty minutes will do.” He rang off, and looked straight at Eve, but this time he hardly seemed to notice her. “Rollison is devoted to Jolly. If anything should happen to him—”

He went on talking.

It hardly made sense to Eve, but a kind of sense emerged; that Rolly would be desperately concerned for his man, that he would not be able to concentrate on helping her, that she was on her own; utterly on her own.

“. . . and now I want a look at you,” Dr Welling said, and came towards her.

“No! I'm all right.”

“Don't be silly,” Welling said. “You're anything but all right. How bad is the situation?”

“It's—it's very bad.”

“Is Rollison working on it?”

“Yes.”

“That man can work miracles,” Welling said. “Now, I wonder if you can get some blankets, and . . .”

 

Eve watched the ambulance men take Jolly out. She saw his grey face, and realised how right the doctor was to be worried about him. She closed the door on Dr Welling, who did not waste words on further attempts at reassurance. At least she had been busy for the last half an hour. Now she was really on her own, and she knew exactly what she had to do. She was quite sure that Rollison would try to dissuade her. He would have plenty on his mind, too; far too much.

She hated to run away from him, but must leave before he came back.

That decision had hardly been reached before she began to move, half-running round the flat. She kept glancing out of the window, but there was no sign of Rollison or his car; only a few people were in the street. She could telephone him about Jolly. It would be a shock when he came back and found Jolly gone, but she could telephone in half an hour; he was bound to be back by then.

He might have found out where Caroline was!

The thought seemed to affect her like a physical blow. She stood unmoving, staring in front of her towards the door leading to the domestic quarters. She thought of everything that Rollison had done; how he had said immediately that he would drive her down to Hapley; how he had tried with the police, used his influence with Scotland Yard; gone off this morning after only a few hours' sleep; been ready to drop everything else for her. There was more, too: the way he affected her, the fact that she felt so completely at home with him.

How could she walk out on such a man? But he would want her to ignore the man's orders, and would fight against paying the ransom money.

How did she know?

He might say that it would be wise to pay it; he might say that the first task was to get Caroline safe and, when that was done, go for the men who had kidnapped her and try to get the money back. Dr Welling had said that he could work miracles; she could believe it. His calmness and his common sense must impress anyone. He was an expert, even Scotland Yard acknowledged it. How
could
she walk out on him now?

If it were a question of walking out on him, or taking great risks with Caroline, there was no question of what she should do. She remembered the way the man had talked about Caroline awakening to womanhood. She shivered. Only Caroline mattered, and what Rollison thought or felt about her, Eve, was unimportant. She had to decide which way she could best help Caroline – with Rollison's help, or without it?

She had on her hat and gloves, all ready to go out; she could close the door on everything this flat meant to her. She could go and see her bank manager, arrange for the money to be packed in four parcels, could do exactly what she liked, but if she did the wrong thing, then it might mean horror and death for Caroline.

She said aloud: “He can't stop me from paying!”

She thought: ‘I can't walk out now. I've got to tell him about Jolly, and tell him what I'm going to do. I'll have to stay.'

But he might find a way of stopping her, if he really thought that paying the money was the wrong thing to do.

She must not stand here vacillating! She must decide—

The telephone bell rang, startling her. She turned round in the big room and stared at the telephone. From this angle it was immediately beneath the hangman's noose, that macabre evidence of Rollison's expertness. The bell had a mellow ring, but as it went on and on she hated the sound. Then she told herself that it might be Rollison. She might be able to tell him what had happened and what she was going to do, and leave without feeling that she had betrayed him in any way. She went across and picked up the telephone.

“Hallo.”

A man said: “Is that Mrs Kane?”

“Speaking.”

“Mrs Kane, I have a very important message for Rollison,” the man said, and now she recognised the voice, with its slight accent; a hated voice and a hated, smiling face. “He is on his way home, and has my brother with him. I want you to tell him that unless he releases my brother immediately – and I mean immediately, not in half an hour's time – then nothing will save your daughter. Tell Rollison exactly what I say.”

He rang off.

She felt a more awful fear than ever before.

One decision had been made for her; she had to stay. But if Rollison had caught this man's brother, if he could so alarm the other man that he could make him give this warning, what else could Rollison do? The awful indecision was even worse. She had never known seconds drag as they did; the hands of her wrist-watch hardly seemed to go round at all. She kept going to the window and looking out; and as she turned away, ten minutes or so after the call had been made, she saw the pearl-grey Rolls-Bentley turn the corner. She pressed her face against the window to make sure; she could not see Rollison or a passenger, but when the car stopped Rollison jumped out on the far side, came round, unlocked the near side door, and stood aside for a man to step out.

For a moment she felt almost wild with relief, for she thought it was the man who had called on her. He had broad shoulders, he had black hair, he was short, he had narrow trousers . . . and then she saw that he had leather shoes, not the light brown suede. She saw, too, that he was smaller than the man who had been here. She was losing her mind – this was the brother.

Rollison looked up, saw her, waved, grinned broadly, and pointed at the man with him, a man whose wrist he held as if determined not to let him go. Then, they disappeared.

Rollison was coming back in triumph, not dreaming what lay in store for him.

 

 

Rollison saw Eve at the window, waved, and pushed Max towards the front door, holding his arm behind him. If the man were going to make an attempt to escape, it would be now. There were several people in the street, and Rollison kept close to the other, so that no one should see the grip that he had on his wrist. He was prepared for a swift back-heel, but there was no pause in Max's movements. He seemed completely subdued – until they reached the porch of the house.

He back-heeled viciously.

Rollison first felt the tension at his arms, guessed what was coming, let him go and skipped to one side. Then, he pushed him in the small of the back. Max, taken completely by surprise, staggered forward against the front door; it boomed. Rollison thrust a key in the lock, turned the handle and pushed the door open, pushed again and, by the time Max regained his balance, they were standing inside the hall with the door closed.

“You left it too late,” he remarked.

There was no smile on Max's face now, only a look of viciousness.

“You'll suffer for this, Rollison,”

“Don't disappoint me,” Rollison pleaded. “So far it's been refreshing to talk to you, you haven't the customary thug's spiel. Go straight up to the top floor.”

Max turned and went ahead of him. If he were going to make another attempt to get free it would almost certainly be at one of the landings. He made none. Soon they were at the door of Rollison's flat. Had Jolly been well, he would have been at the open door by now, and Rollison had half expected Eve to be. He was disappointed that she wasn't, but the disappointment faded when he heard a sound on the other side of the door, and a moment later, the door opened.

He smiled at her, absurdly pleased to display his prisoner. Then he saw her expression, and on that instance all the pleasure and satisfaction dropped away. She looked terribly distressed. Her face had no colour at all, and her wide set eyes were shadowed as if with great fear. He shouldn't have left her alone. He saw her step back; and he saw the way Max glanced at her, as if he knew that this woman would give very little trouble.

Max said: “What's the matter? Do you miss your darling daughter?”

Eve winced.

Rollison felt a surge of anger, greater than the moment warranted, caused almost entirely by the fact that the man had hurt Eve. He dropped a hand to Max's shoulder, spun him round, and then slapped him across the face, once, twice, thrice. Max backed away, hands up trying to defend himself, eyes glinting with fear. Rollison spoke as savagely as he had acted.

“Don't be so clever again.” He closed the door, and it clicked sharply. “Eve, what's the matter?”

“I—I must see you alone,” she said.

Max was standing, sullen, and red-faced where Rollison had struck him, near the door leading to the living-room. Usually Jolly would be on call, and would look after the man; but as far as Rollison knew, Jolly was in his bedroom. There was no doubt that Eve meant exactly what she said; so there had been fresh trouble.

He turned to Max.

“This way, and look slippy.” His tone made the man obey; and now Max seemed to have recovered, for he was smiling a little, and his body was less tense. “Straight ahead,” Rollison ordered, and Max went into the passage leading to the back of the flat. “First door on the left,” he ordered again after a moment; it was the lavatory. “Get inside.” He took the key out of the inside of the door and, when Max went in, put it on the outside.

“Rollison,” Max said, “don't forget that you're taking a lot of risks with that Kane girl, will you? How would you like to have her on your conscience?” The words were very clearly uttered, and obviously meant to carry to Eve.

Rollison made no comment, closed and locked the door, and turned round. Eve was standing near the end of the passage, and she must have heard. She looked – ill. Rollison felt an overwhelming desire to help, to comfort and to reassure her. He wanted to put his arms round her, and lead her into the big room, and tell her that there was not a thing to worry about; but words would be empty.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

“I've had—a visitor,” she said, and then told him in a husky voice, obviously making a great effort to be dispassionate. “This—this man's brother. He says . . .”

Listening and watching, Rollison knew that this was not everything. He knew something else; he would have to let Max go. There were moments to fight and moments to be refused to be pushed, but this was not one of either. At least Eve had kept her head well enough to make sure that Max did not know the position yet; it might be possible to get more out of Max.

When she had finished, he asked: “What else, Eve?”

“Rolly,” she said, and hesitated, and then burst out: “I can't help it, I've got to get Caroline back! I've got to pay the ransom.”

He didn't speak.

“Don't you understand, I've got to,” Eve said, desperately. “I can't help what happens after that. If you'd talked to that man, if you'd heard what he said, what he threatened to do to Caroline if I didn't pay the money, you would know what I mean. I've got to pay him.”

“Keep your voice low,” Rollison said, and led her across the room to his desk. “Sit down, Eve, and—”

“I can't keep still.” She moved towards the window, and stood for a moment with her back to it. “I know what you'll say, but I can't help it. I've got to pay.”

“Twenty thousand pounds . . .”

“Twenty, forty, sixty, I don't care how much it costs, I've got to get Caroline back,” Eve cried. “I'm terribly sorry, I should never have come to you. I've wasted your time. I must save Caroline.”

Rollison said: “Supposing they take the money and then ask for more?”

It was as if he had slapped her.

“They won't do that!”

“It's been done before.”

“You're only saying it because you don't want me to pay the ransom, because it would mean that you'd lost a case. You have lost cases, haven't you? People who have come to you for help
have
died, haven't they?”

Very slowly, Rollison admitted: “Yes.” He knew that it would be useless to reason with her; whatever else he had to do, it would be on his own. She might be right, too. Max had insisted that all they wanted was twenty thousand pounds, and this might be one of the cases where it would be a fair exchange; if ‘fair' was the word. “Listen, Eve,” he went on, “the important thing is to get Caroline back. If you think the only way is to pay the ransom, then you'll have to pay it. I want to make sure that it's not wasted, that's all.”

“There isn't anything you can do,” Eve insisted. “I—I'm terribly sorry, but—this man said that I wasn't to tell you anything about how I was to pay the money, how he was to get in touch with me. I have to handle this by myself. And you—you've plenty to worry about without me, anyhow.”

He didn't understand that remark.

“Eve, all I want to do is help you. Surely you know that.” He never meant it more deeply.

“Then let that man go, and let me go,” Eve said. “It's the only way.”

“We could make a fatal mistake,” he warned her. “They have Caroline, and the way this man talked to you proves how much he wants to make sure his brother isn't hurt. An exchange of the brother for Caroline—”

“I daren't risk it,” Eve said, almost shrill with desperation. “You can't possibly understand, Rolly. You haven't any children of your own. Caroline is part of me. She's part of my life. If anything like this were to happen to her, it would send me mad. Don't you understand what he threatened to do?”

“Yes,” said Rollison. “I understand it perfectly. I still think that I could handle this situation better than you. No, don't interrupt. I could send this brother out with a message: that I'll act for you, I'll take the twenty thousand pounds, I'll hand it over in exchange for Caroline. He's less likely to cheat me.”

“What makes you so sure that he'll cheat me?”
she cried.

Rollison looked at her for a long time, and then said very quietly: “All right, Eve. You must do what you think best. I'll go and get Max.” He left her alone, seeing the way her hands fell by her side and her expression changed, as if now that she had her own way, she wondered whether it was wise. She did not move. He unlocked the door on Max, and Max stepped out, smiling tautly, obviously determined to demonstrate his self-control. “Go the way you came,” Rollison ordered, “and don't try to run.” They reached the big room, where Eve was standing with her handbag and her gloves in hand, ready to go; and Max looked astonished but delighted. “Max,” Rollison said, “your brother has been here.”

“I wondered when you'd find out about Felix,” Max said.

“Felix has come to terms with Mrs Kane,” Rollison went on. “The exchange of her daughter for twenty thousand pounds.” The deliberate way in which he spoke seemed to worry Max, and stop him from smiling so broadly. “That's how it's to be. An exchange. Don't double-cross Mrs Kane. Make sure that Caroline isn't hurt. I want Mrs Kane and her daughter back here by six o'clock this evening. If they're not—”

Max said swiftly: “Rollison, they will be!” His eyes were glistening, and he looked as if he were really delighted. “Felix and I won't double-cross anyone; twenty thousand pounds is all we asked for and all we want. You've got more good sense than I expected!” He was trying to restrain his excitement. “Did Felix fix the details?”

“With Mrs Kane.”

“That's the way it should be,” Max enthused. “Rollison, so long as you don't try to follow, so long as you don't warn the police, that girl will be delivered safe and sound.”

“I can't prevent the police from working it out for themselves,” Rollison said.

Max gave his broadest, brightest smile.

“If you really want to help Mrs Kane, I'd find a way of preventing them,” he said.

“Yes.”

“So this is the great Toff,” marvelled Max. “He doesn't even fight.”

“I don't fight at the cost of the life of a girl of sixteen.”

“That's your trouble, you're too much of a gentleman,” Max said, but it wasn't really a sneer. “Mrs Kane, remind me to tell you about the way he turned his back on—”

He stopped abruptly, did not mention the name Leah, and then went to the door; he had an air of incredulity, as if he could not really believe that he was going to walk out. He reached the door leading to the lounge hall, and Rollison called: “Max.”

“Well?” Max turned his head.

“Six o'clock this evening, unhurt.”

“Only a few hairs of her head,” Max said. He put a hand to his forehead and flicked a salute, then went to the front door; Rollison heard it open and close. He did not go towards it, but stood looking at Eve, trying not to show what he felt, knowing that she was anxious to say something else, hoping that she would not.

“I think it was worth taking the chance,” he said. “If not, then we'll try again. Are you sure you can get the money?”

“Yes,” she declared, almost breathlessly. “I can go and see my bank manager at once, he's very near – at Dover Court,” she added, not realising that he knew that there was only one bank in that tiny square off Piccadilly.

“And we'll take this off until the show's really over.” He removed the lock of hair, and put it on his desk.

He did not tell Eve that the moment she went out he would be at the telephone, talking to an old friend in the East End, making sure that at least two men were ready to follow her to her bank when she got the cash. If she suspected that for a moment, she would find some other way of getting the twenty thousand pounds.

“You've been—wonderful,” she said. She stepped forward swiftly, took his hands, and kissed him full on the lips. There was a sheen of tears in her eyes. “I'll never forget you.” She turned away and reached the door, and he wished she would go quickly, hoped she would not speak again; but suddenly she turned round, and now there was a different expression in her eyes: a kind of alarm.

“Rolly!” she exclaimed. “I didn't tell you—”

“Forget it, Eve.”

“It's Jolly! Dr Welling has sent him to hospital. He thinks there may have to be an emergency operation.”

Rollison drew in a sharp breath.

“Where is he?”

“The Central London Hospital.”

“Thanks,” Rollison said slowly. “Thanks, Eve.” For the first time he felt glad that he would not have to follow her himself; for the first time he forgot her, her Caroline and her husband, in this new, frightening anxiety. Caroline was part of her life; in a different way, Jolly was part of his. “Eve—”

“Yes?”

“If there's anything you want, now or at any time, come and see me.”

“I will,” she promised huskily.

He went after her to the door, but she had opened it and was outside before he reached it, and she did not look round. He waited until she was at the first landing, then swung round and almost ran into the living-room, snatched up the receiver, and dialled the Whitechapel number. The ringing sound went on and on, and every moment was an agony of waiting. He kept seeing Jolly's face in his mind's eye.

The ringing sound stopped.

“Ebbutt's Gym,” a man with a wheezy voice answered.

“Bill,” said Rollison, “I haven't a second to waste. Listen . . .”

He described Eve and the clothes she was wearing; he described Max; and he gave the address of the Midpro Bank in Dover Court.

“I've got that—I'll fix it,” Ebbutt promised. “Mustn't let the woman out of our sight—that right?”

“Send two men and watch the woman and anyone with her,” Rollison urged. “Thanks, Bill, I'll be ringing you.” He rang off, then dialled Dr Welling's number, feeling a sense of guilt for having put Eve before Jolly even for a few minutes.