John Creasey - The Toff on The Farm
Then they heard the whine of a self-starter.
On the instant, Rollison swung round.
Men had moved swiftly in this cottage today, but none so swiftly as he moved now. M.M.M. was just behind him, and tried hastily to get out of his way, but failed. They collided. M.M.M. fell back, Rollison lost his balance, and the engine of the car outside roared. Rollison regained his balance, and leaped towards the window, which was open a few inches. He flung it open wide and climbed through, before M.M.M. had picked himself up. The sound of the engine became much louder, and reached a high-powered whine as Rollison disappeared.
“That man is greased lightning itself,” said M.M.M. ruefully. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Gill. Never get in his way. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s caught the disappearing johnny up, and jumped over the top of the car by now.”
Gillian didn’t speak.
“Here, I say,” said M.M.M. “You look all in, you’d better take it easy.” He limped towards her, while she stared at the window, listening to the car and the sound of running footsteps.
At that moment, Rollison knew that there was no hope of catching the other car. Before he could turn his own round and reach the main road, the first would be several miles away, and might take any one of four different roads. He watched as the car disappeared, listened as the engine faded, as if he hoped to remember the sound, and then bent down and examined the gravel path. There were several wet places where the gravel had worn away, and only dirt was left. Sharply defined in one of these was a tyre mark. He studied this as the girl came hurrying out of the cottage.
In a moment, everything about him seemed to change.
Except for her pallor, this girl was really lovely. One would have to travel a long way to see her equal, and obviously she did not realise just how lovely she was, or how gracefully she moved. The over-critical might have said that she was a little plump, but that was hardly true, and she had a wondrous small waist and a beauteous bosom. Behind her, limping very badly, was Montagu Montmorency Mome.
“Hallo, Gillian,” Rollison greeted, as if they were lifelong friends, and to prove it, took her hands in his, drew her to him, and kissed her lightly on the lips. She was so astonished that she didn’t back away. He kissed her again, squeezed her, and went on with magnificent ease: “Now don’t worry a bit, we’ll find your brother. That’s if he doesn’t come back of his own accord,” he added cheerfully. “Is there any news at all ?”
“It’s been ludicrous,” Gillian announced, and added with a catch in her breath : “And frightening, too. I’ve never been so scared, and never been so worried.”
“No need to worry now,” declared M.M.M. “I’m here, and if that isn’t enough, the Toff has agreed to give the investigation priority. Beheve it or not, he clipped thirty-five minutes off my pre-amputation time for getting here from London, a hairsbreadth under fifty-nine minutes. I was quite sure that after the inevitable accident, I’d lose my other leg and a pair of arms.”
It was obvious that he was being cheerful and bright for the sake of it. Rollison wasn’t sure that these were the right tactics now, for the girl looked quite as worried as she said she was. The essential thing was to get her to talk, and Rollison did not want to lose any time.
“What’s made it so worrying?” he asked, and his hand was gripping her forearm firmly; encouragingly. “News of Alan?”
“In a way.”
“Bad?”
“A man said,” Gillian began, paused as if she didn’t know how to continue, and then suddenly began to talk as if she would never be able to stop. The whole story poured out of her as they stood there in the sunlight and amid the silence, with M.M.M. leaning against the front door and Rollison looking into Gillian’s beautiful eyes, made radiant by her eagerness to make sure that he understood everything. He did; she even managed to make him understand what a temptation it had been to sign on the dotted line, and accept Lodwin’s offer.
As the story progressed, M.M.M.’s smile faded, and he looked both bewildered and baffled. When she had finished he looked from her to Rollison and back again, as if quite speechless. When he did manage to speak, it was gustily.
“You mean three different people want the farm?” His voice squeaked. “They must be crazy !”
“Three people if the man who telephoned wants it,” agreed Gillian. “He didn’t actually say so, just said that I mustn’t tell anyone that Alan was missing until he’d been to see me. He ought to be here soon,” she added, and looked along the road.
“He’ll come, sooner or later,” said Rollison, “but probably not if Monty and I are still here. He’ll watch the cottage and try to catch you on your own.”
“Sixth-sighted Sammy says so,” said M.M.M., weakly. “What on earth do you make of all this, Roily ?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ve got round to wondering if Mr. Smith of the farm knows anything, and whether his knowledge explains why he doesn’t want to give up possession,” Rollison said thoughtfully. “The puzzling factor about the story you first told me was that old Smith should be so difficult to move. I wondered what his real motive was, and it’s beginning to look as if there is a good one,”
“We’d better tackle him, pronto,” said M.M.M.
“All in good time,” demurred Rollison. “We’ve a number of other things to do first. This man who ran away, Gillian —what did he say his name was?”
“Lodwin.”
“I don’t think I know anyone named Lodwin,” Rollison mused, and slid an arm round Gillian’s waist and led the way to the door. M.M.M. went ahead of them, now moving more uprightly, as if his leg hurt less. “Yet he must have run away because he was afraid of too many people seeing him. What was he like ?”
They entered the front room,
“Well, medium height, and rather pale, with sharp features, I suppose.” Gillian frowned. “It’s rather difficult to describe him, he was really rather neutral. He had pale grey eyes and I suppose they impressed me most, he looked as if he was so used to getting his own way that if I refused, he’d cheerfully kill me.”
She shuddered.
“He won’t,” declared M.M.M.
“He won’t even have a chance,” said Rollison, and hoped that wouldn’t prove an empty boast. “Did he have any distinguishing mark—a mole, scar, moustache, anything like that?”
“I can’t think of any.”
“Kind of face that gets lost in a crowd,” put in IM.M.M. with obvious regret, “Dark clothes and a bowler could mean that he was really a solicitor, but would a solicitor behave like that?”
“Shouldn’t think so,” said Rollison. “All we really know about him is his height, his taste in clothes, and the fact that his Austin car was a Black saloon and had new Everlast tyres.”
‘‘What?” M.M.M. sounded incredulous.
“They made a clear mark on the drive,” said Rollison offhandedly. “They’re not the most common tyres and would be easier to trace than most. Anyone with him, Gillian?”
“No.”
“What about this other chap, Tex the Texan?”
“All I know is that I liked him, and that for some reason he suddenly decided to go off on his own. I didn’t understand it at the time, unless he knew that he hadn’t enough money to outbid Lodwin, and wanted to go and try to arrange to get more.”
“Nice head on those pretty shoulders,” M.M.M. said. “What did I tell you? But don’t you go falling in love at first sight with a handsome young Yank. I’m leader in the field.” Gillian was almost tart.
“Don’t talk nonsense about falling in love with a stranger.”
“Sorry, pet.” She flared up.
“You might show that you’re a little worried about Alan! No one has given a thought to him yet.”
“Oh, yes, many thoughts,” Rollison assured her, “and among them the fact that the telephone threatener said that he would be here soon, and that he probably won’t come if he thinks you have company. Think you could bear to be left alone for a while ?”
Gillian said dubiously : “If I have to be.”
“Not the slightest reason why she should,” said M.M.M. “We could hide.”
“If this chap is watching the cottage, he’ll know we’re here, and will wait until we go away before coming to tell Gillian what he wants,” reasoned Rollison, “and we want to know. We’ll leave, Monty, but we won’t go far. There’s a pub in the village. We’ll arrive as if for lunch, and go inside. Then I’ll nip out the back way, and cut across country to the cottage. It won’t take half an hour, and the chap probably won’t come until he feels sure that we’re safely tucking into our luncheon. All right, Gillian?”
Obviously she was eager, even anxious, to trust Rollison.
“Yes, of course. What am I to say to him, when he does come?”
“At first, you must refuse to listen to anything he has to say, whether it’s a threat or bribery, or whatever he thinks up. Just say you won’t agree to anything until your brother’s returned, and if this man of the telephone really knows where he is, then you’re going to tell the police. Take your time leading up to that,” Rollison went on, “and take it from me that I’ll be back within twenty-five minutes of leaving here. That’ll be at twelve forty-nine,” he declared, looking at his watch. “Don’t worry, Gillian.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Fine. And put that money in a safe place, he might find it a big temptation.”
Rollison squeezed her arm, and turned as if to go, with obvious reluctance. M.M.M. was frowning, which was most unusual for him.
Then Rollison turned from the door, and asked swiftly:
“Have you any idea at all why old Smith won’t move out of the farmhouse?”
“None at all,” said Gillian.
“Any idea why these people want the farm so desperately?”
“Of course I haven’t.”
“Not calling the lassie a liar, Roily, are you?” asked M.M.M. in a tarter voice than usual.
“She could know the reason without realising it,” said Rollison. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
But he had been testing the girl, and trying to make sure that she was telling the truth. He believed that she was, and also believed that she was badly frightened.
Was it safe to leave her, even for half an hour ?
5
SPEED THE TOFF
Obviously, M.M.M. did not think it a good idea to leave Gillian alone, but he did not say so. As obviously, Gillian was reluctant to stay by herself, but saw the force of Rollison’s plan, and almost bustled them out of the front door. She showed no sign that she had been annoyed by Rollison’s questions; but M.M.M. still seemed resentful. Rollison went ahead to the scarlet car, opened one door for M.M.M., and then took the driving wheel. Gillian stood in the doorway for a moment, and Rollison looked at her, seeing the background of the old red brick building with its huge oak beams, and the background of trees, meadows, and a corner of Selby Farm, just visible from here.
The girl waved, and went inside. M.M.M. levered himself into the car. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “If anything happens to her while we’re gone, I’ll have your head for it.”
“And welcome,” said Rollison, as if it did not occur to him that the other man was ruffled. “You don’t often come across ‘em as brave as they’re beautiful. But she’s as safe as houses.”
“You seemed to argue by guesswork.”
“Just simple logic,” declared Rollison. “At least two people want this farm badly and only she can sell it to them. If she were to die, there would be a lot of fending and proving and probating, and it would take months before anyone could buy the farm. So Gillian isn’t in physical danger at the moment, although she might come under a lot of pressure. And it looks,” went on Rollison, shooting the car forward so that a crash seemed inevitable, “as if one of the pressures is through brother Alan.”
“How?”
“When this mysterious man of the telephone visits Gillian, I expect him to offer Alan’s living corpus in exchange for the deeds of the farm.”
“Good lord !” gasped M.M.M.
“Which seems to make three people all very anxious to get it, as we said before, and if we add old Smith, who’s in splendid bargaining position, we have four people to tackle. Any one ought to be able to tell us the reason for it all.” Rollison drove the car along the narrow road at bewildering speed, yet came to a standstill smoothly at the road junction. Then he swung into the main road and tore off again. M.M.M. sat looking at him and occasionally glancing nervously at the road. They passed a farmhouse, a mile from the cottage, then came in sight of the tiny village, with the pub, the Wheatsheaf, in the middle of it. At the thirty-mile-an-hour sign, Rollison slowed down, and no timid woman driver could have turned more gently towards the pub’s parking place.
By now, M.M.M. was smiling.
“Three minutes seventeen seconds,” he commented. “You’re the only man I know faster than I used to drive.”
“When you’ve learned to use your piece of automation, you’ll be passing me in the first lap,” Rollison said. He was already out of the car. “I’m going to grab half a pint and a pork pie, but you’d better have a leisurely lunch, and make it look as if you’re staying.” He glanced at three other cars in the drive-in, and added thoughtfully : “Incidentally, the telephone chap might own one of these. If anyone leaves within a few minutes of us going inside, that may be the man we’re after,”
“Could be,” conceded M.M.M. “I’m glad I brought you, after all.”
He grinned.
They went in. The saloon bar was low-ceilinged and old fashioned, with uneven wooden flooring covered with sawdust, oak beams, brasses round the walls. The bar itself was higher than most, and a man and a woman stood behind it. Two men, obviously local, were standing at one end, one man by himself stood at the other, eating a pork pie and drinking from a pewter tankard.
He looked a city type, with his immaculate suit and his snow-white shirt and neat grey tie. He took no outward notice of the newcomers, and Rollison did no more than glance at him as he led the way to the bar. It wasn’t surprising that the woman, youngish and buxom and with a pleasant face, greeted Montagu Montmorency Mome with a delighted smile and a warm handshake.
“Why, Mr. Mome, we haven’t seen you for months, not since that awful accident you had, we were ever so sorry to hear about it, weren’t we, Bert ?”
Bert, who was twice her age, agreed with : “Ah.”
“And I said from the beginning, nothing was going to keep you on your back for long, didn’t I, Bert ?”
“Ah,” said Bert.
“And when I heard you’d lost a leg I said you’d learn to use a n’artificial one quicker than most people learned with real ones after a long illness. Didn’t I, Bert?”
“What’s it to be?” asked Bert, who looked as if he had grown from seed in one of the nearby fields, his face was so darkly weathered and his hair so much like wind-withered com.
“Two pints of your 3 XXX,” said M.M.M., “and how’s lunch today? Got any steak and kidney pudding?”
