The Toff In New York (7 page)

She didn't say no.

“I'll put your jewels in a safe deposit box downstairs,” Rollison went on, and gave her back the money which he'd taken from Cadey's pocket.

 

Half an hour later, he went into her suite again, and saw her lying in bed, small and pale and heavy-eyed, as if the shocks and excitements and the fears that lingered had drawn the spirit out of her.

He closed the door, and settled down for the night, quite sure that if anyone tried to get in, he would be alert on the instant.

He had three questions on his mind.

First - where was Val's brother?

Second - could he and Valerie be traced to 48 East 13th Street?

Third - what should he do with the body in his own suite?

He thought of a fourth, too: of the hipless young man who had been so savagely beaten up. He pondered a lot about that, before he dozed off.

When he woke, it was to the urgent ringing of a bell; he didn't know where and he didn't know what bell. It was dark and shadowy, and until he saw the single light burning in the bathroom and sending some light in here, he forgot where he was. As soon as he remembered, he stood up. His mouth was sticky and his eyes heavy; it might be four o'clock or ten. The ringing of the bell seemed to become more and more urgent as it went on. Bells often did. The bedroom door was closed, but if this rang much more Valerie was bound to be disturbed. Rollison stood up, and yawned; but his head was clear, and that told him that the morning was well on.

Brr-brr-brr.

“Stop that damned row,” he said, irritably, and strode to the door. He didn't open it at first. There was no way of being sure that the caller was a friend. There were many awkward possibilities, too: that the body next door had been found, that he and Valerie had been seen in 13th Street and that the dead man had been discovered there. Or . . .

Standing to one side, and thus out of the range of anyone with hostile ideas and a gun, he opened the door.

With a finger poised to ring again, Brian Conway stood outside. Unshaven, unwashed, clothes rumpled, eyes scared.

“Let me in,” he breathed, “let me in!” and he glanced over his shoulder as if frightened out of his wits.

 

 

No one was behind Conway.

Rollison stood aside to let him in, and saw no one in the passage; more, he heard no one. Yet Conway was in a state of jitters which set his teeth a-chatter. Rollison closed the door and turned to look at him long and intently, while Conway fought for self-control, and finally managed to say:

“I - I'm being followed everywhere.”

“Don't you like your friends?”

“Friends?” ejaculated Conway. “They're no friends of mine! I - I wish to heaven I'd never offered to help Val. I'd be a happy man if I'd never heard of her!”

“So you would,” murmured Rollison.

“Look where it's got me,” muttered Conway. “I don't have a minute's peace. Nor does Mike Halloran. He - he takes it better than I do, but I can't help it if I get scared. I tell you I can't help it if I get scared!”

“That's right,” said Rollison. “Who was blaming you?”

“You were! I could see it in the way you looked at me, as if I was a worm. And the way she looked, last night, after I'd shot that man. Anyone would think I was a pariah - but if it hadn't been for her I wouldn't have taken the chance. Sup - sup - supposing I'd missed. What do you think he would have done to me?”

“Let's not even guess,” said Rollison, mercifully.

He glanced towards the bedroom door, and saw that it was opening; but it didn't open wide. It meant that Valerie was not only awake, but interested enough to listen without revealing the fact that she was there. He didn't let her down, but said to Conway:

“Now take it easy. And how about some coffee?”

“Sure, I - I haven't had any breakfast.”

“Then how about some?”

“Oh, I couldn't eat,” said Conway, in a tone of revulsion. He gulped as he dropped into an easy-chair, and took out cigarettes. He lit one without offering to Rollison. “How - how - how's Valerie?”

“Sleeping it off, I hope.”

“I've done more for that girl than I've ever done for anyone in my life,” Conway muttered. “Why, I might even die for her.”

“They won't kill you for that job,” Rollison assured him, “even I could help to prove that it was self-defence. Unless we all get hooked on a complicity charge,” he added thoughtfully. “Then we'd all die. I . . .“

Conway shuddered.

There might be a lot of things that Rollison did not know about him or about anyone else, but one thing seemed certain: Conway was in an acute state of funk. If this was just to fool Rollison, it was his best acting yet. The way he kept glancing at the door, the way he started when there were sharp noises from the street or along the passage, was ample proof of that. He watched as Rollison went to the telephone and ordered breakfast for two and coffee for three, and then said:

“If Valerie wakes up, she'll be ready for some coffee. Now, what's been worrying you? Who's been following you?”

“D-D-D-Dutch Himmy,” Conway blurted.

He brought the name out as if he was saying ‘the Devil himself. He was still very pale, and his voice wasn't steady; the cigarette quivered whether it was in his mouth or in his fingers. “You - you wouldn't know about Dutch Himmy, but he - he's terrorised parts of New York. They don't come any worse. He's the man who kidnapped Val's brother, and - and the man I shot was one of his gunmen. He rang me up this morning, and he said - he said I wouldn't live to see the day out.”

“He couldn't have been trying to frighten you, could he?”

“He means it, he always . . .“ Conway broke off.

“How do you know so much about the gentleman?” asked Rollison, mildly. “Aren't you and Mike Halloran such law-abiding types?” Nothing in his manner or his tone suggested that he suspected Conway of complicity in the kidnapping and the ransom.

“I - I get around,” Conway muttered; “and anyway, you've only got to read the papers. They all talk about Dutch Himmy; he - he's a man the cops want but can't trace; they don't even know who he is. He's got them on the run, and - and when he puts his finger on a man, that's the end.”

“It might be the wrong end for Dutch Himmy one day,” said Rollison, brightly. He took out a whisky flask and, without a word, handed it to Conway. Conway grabbed; the whisky gurgled. He gasped as he handed the flask back.

“Now, what else did he say?” asked Rollison, still mildly.

“He - he asked me if I knew who you were,” said Conway, and there was a kind of defiance in his manner; almost a kind of courage. “When I said no, he told me. You should have heard him! He said he wasn't going to stand any argument from a goddam limey; he didn't care if you were the finest private eye in the world, he - he'd cut you into pieces and send you back home by parcel post. That's what he said” cried Conway. “I'm only telling you.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said - I said you were good!”

“Hmm,” said Rollison, sadly; “it would have been much better if you'd persuaded him I was a decadent piece of the English aristocracy and not worth two cents, but never mind.” He couldn't understand Conway, unless the man was genuinely frightened. If this was just a tale to fool him, the Toff, why talk of Dutch Himmy and go into detail? Rollison surveyed Conway long and thoughtfully, as if he was trying to find out what made him tick. Then, abruptly: “What else did Dutch Himmy say?”

Conway gulped.

“It can't be any worse,” said Rollison.

Conway shot an agonised glance towards the door.

“He - he - he said that if he didn't get all those jewels and the money Val had by tonight, he - he'd - he'd cut off Wilf Hall's right hand.”

There it was; the threat with all its starkness, all its brutality; the thing which was in keeping with what had happened, with murder and savagery and ruthlessness. It was threat enough to make Rollison stand very still and quiet; and obviously it had terrified Conway, who looked towards the door again, as if hoping desperately that Val hadn't heard.

The door opened, and Valerie came in.

She was flushed, and her eyes were bright; too bright. She wore a dressing-gown of royal blue, which set off the beauty of her hair and her eyes. She was holding the gown together at the breast, and at the neck. She came in quite slowly and deliberately, and looked from Conway to the Toff and back. At last, she said:

“If it's like that, then I'll have to hand over everything. Everything. Go back and tell this Dutch man, please. Tell him I'll give him what he wants, provided he doesn't hurt Wilf.”

Conway began to get up.

Rollison watched everything about them both with keen interest, weighing one thing against another. The contrast between the unshaven Conway, with his bleary eyes and quivering lips, was startling against Valerie's morning loveliness. She was as calm as he was agitated, and gave the impression that nothing would make her change her mind.

“I don't know where he is; he said he'd telephone me again this afternoon,” Conway said. “I had to leave Mike at the hotel, in case Dutch Himmy wants to give a message before then. Are you - are you serious? You will hand the jewels over?”

“Of course.”

“Even if he doesn't release Wilf first?”

Valerie glanced at Rollison, as if she expected a protest from him; but he kept his peace.

“Yes,” she said; “I don't see how I can help myself. I can't take any risk that Wilf will be mutilated. After all, the diamonds aren't all that valuable.” Then suddenly she clicked her tongue, showing real emotion for the first time. “Oh, what a beastly thing to say! If it meant every penny I'd got, I'd pay it for Wilf's safety.”

“But don't tell Dutch Himmy that,” put in Rollison, as if urgently. “It might give him ideas. Is that everything, Conway?”

“Isn't it enough?” Conway almost shouted.

“One's always looking out for the last straw,” murmured Rollison. “I”

There was a tap at the door.

Rollison went to open it, with just as much caution as he had before, but this time he needed even less, for it was a white-jacketed waiter with a heavily laden trolley. He wheeled it in.

Rollison went to the corner of the passage, and made sure that no one was watching. The daytime Floor Clerk sat near the elevators, and everything was quite normal. Rollison went in the other direction. Near his room there was a narrow service staircase, and a service elevator alongside it. He went back to Valerie's room, where the waiter was setting out the breakfast, and said:

“I'll be back in five minutes.”

He went out again, hurried for one of two big laundry baskets on the landing, and pushed it into his own suite - his first visit since he'd left here looking like a Texas colonel. The body of the man who had died in Valerie's arms was still in the wardrobe where he had put it; wrapped in the plastic water-and-blood-proof coat, sheets and blankets. A little blood had come through. He put on his gloves, lifted the heavy body into the big laundry basket, covered it with dirty linen, and then wheeled it back into the passage. The waiter was at the door of Valerie's room; Rollison left the basket where it was, and slipped back out of sight. The waiter came past with his trolley, but seemed to think nothing of the laundry basket as he went into the service elevator. After he'd gone down, Rollison pushed the basket to the elevator, waited until a lighted sign said: Ground Floor, and pressed; the elevator came up at once. There was ample room for the basket. Rollison pushed it in, and closed the door. He'd hardly moved away before the basket rose slowly out of sight with its grisly burden, summoned by some hapless member of the
staff. If the body were found quickly . . .

It might not be.

Rollison went back, took off his gloves, washed his hands, and made sure that there were no obvious signs of blood anywhere; the room wouldn't stand up to a “thorough police search, but there was no reason why the search should start on this floor.

He went back to the next room.

Valerie and Conway sat at a square table, eating. It was immediately apparent that they were at the stage of repletion. One piece of toast was left. The two bacon-and-egg plates were so clean that they might have been wiped round with a piece of toast. The conserve dish was empty. Rollison observed all this, and then very slowly shook his head.

“I'm glad no one's been put off food,” he said, earnestly; “it shows a reasonable state of health. Couldn't spare a cup of coffee, could you?”

“Oh, what pigs we are!” exclaimed Valerie. “We just ate without thinking. After all, I didn't have a bite to eat last night.” That was by way of explanation, not excuse. “We can soon send for more, and . . .“

“I'll go down to the coffee-shop for some,” said Rollison, “after Conway's gone. You lock your door, Val; and don't let anyone in except me or the police.”

Conway jumped, spilling his coffee.

“Police?”

“Well, they might find us,” observed Rollison, reasonably. “You can't go spilling blood and bodies all over New York without some kind of a protest. Finished eating?” He stood over Conway until he finished his coffee, and then escorted him to the door. Whether Conway was bluffing or not, he was jittery; was perhaps in danger from this Dutch Himmy for falling down on his job.

“Will - will you stay here?” he asked, at the door.

“Tell your pal Dutch that I'll be here, there and everywhere,” said the Toff, brightly; “he may not have known much of me before, but that's no reason why he should stay in that state of blissful ignorance. After all, he started it.” He paused, and as Conway moved away, went on very softly: “And tell him not to hurt Wilf Hall. Tell him that if Wilf is hurt, I will personally break his, Himmy's, neck. Make sure he knows I mean it.”

He went in, and closed the door.

He turned, to see an unexpected picture. Valerie, standing by the table, was in that moment positively dewy-eyed. Rollison had seen the look in the eyes of many young and impressionable damsels, and it never failed to give him pleasure; in these later days it seldom failed to surprise him, either. Here was a girl looking at him in a way which mingled adoration with admiration; and Valerie Hall knew exactly how to mingle them both. She was a natural.

“It's time you got dressed,” Rollison said, firmly.

“Yes, I will,” said Valerie, but didn't move. “You really meant that, didn't you?”

“What?”

“If this man Himmy hurts Wilf, you'll break his neck.”

“I'll have a damned good try.”

“In spite of his reputation, and using gunmen, and - things like that.”

“You can be so careful that every time you go downstairs you count the steps,” said Rollison, “and break your neck when looking out of a window. Don't get ideas, Val. Get dressed, and be ready to do anything I ask - quickly. If we have to stall with those diamonds, we have to stall, but we needn't ask for trouble, and you're leaving the Arden-Astoria for somewhere Dutch Himmy doesn't know about. Lock yourself in until I come back, won't you?”

“Yes,” said Valerie, and added with a stubborn note that he couldn't fail to hear: “But nothing is going to stop me from trying to buy Wilf's safety. I know all the arguments, that the more you pay the more the kidnappers ask, but I can't help it. If you go to the police, or if you do anything that makes Dutch Himmy hurt Wilf, I'll never forgive you.”

“You know,” observed the Toff, sadly, “you ought to have been born a boy.”