The Toff and the Kidnapped Child by John Creasey Read Free Book Online Page A

demanded Miss Ellerby.
    â€œHas Caroline been watched? Has she had anything to do with anyone in Hapley, outside the school? Has anyone shown any special interest in Caroline or in you, Eve? Has anyone asked for or expected money from you that they haven’t received? Has any friend of yours a Super Snipe of this colour and year? Has Ralph shown any sign that he would like possession of Caroline? Has—”
    â€œI’ve told you that, he hasn’t.”
    â€œThink harder,” urged Rollison. “Has he said or done anything lately to suggest that he might take some kind of violent or unexpected step? Have you had any special quarrel lately? If he has been screwing himself up to do this, he might have acted out of character by employing other people; we can’t rule that out. Ask each other questions, to be as searching as you can.”
    â€œWe will, indeed,” Miss Ellerby assured him, with a grim note in her voice.
    Rollison finished his coffee and went out, finding that there was a spit of rain in the air as he reached the car. He had plenty of room to turn round, and drove back the way he had come, remembering a sign pointing to the station. Now he saw a finger-post pointing at what seemed a blank wall; that was probably Station Alley. He pulled up just past it, took out his pencil torch, stepped into the unlit alley and shone the torch towards the cobbles. Almost at once he saw a sixpence, leaning between two cobblestones, and picked it up. At the far end of the alley there was a glow of light, and he thought he heard voices, but he could not be sure. There were no footsteps. He shone the beam from side to side, wishing that it were brighter, wishing still more that it was daylight. He found a screwed-up cigarette packet, the shaggy ends of several cigarettes, a crushed ice-cream carton and several spent matches. Then he reached the end of the alley, and two men loomed up, big and threatening.
    So there had been voices.
    â€œWould you mind telling me what you are doing, sir?” one of them asked.
    â€œThe same as you, I think,” Rollison said. “Looking for two people who were here in a Humber Snipe earlier this evening.”
    â€œHow did you know about that, sir?”
    â€œI asked the Yard to look out for it,” answered Rollison. “Have you chaps spoken to the porter, Smart?”
    The man on the right said: “Yes. He saw the car. May I have your name and address, sir?”
    â€œRichard Rollison, of 22 Gresham Terrace, Mayfair,” answered Rollison promptly, and took a card out of his pocket with a movement that was almost sleight of hand. “Are you C.I.D. or uniformed branch?”
    â€œC.I.D., sir.”
    The other man was looking at the card in the poor light.
    â€œTurn that over,” Rollison said, “and—”
    The man obeyed, and saw a little sign on the other side: a top hat, a monocle, a cigarette in a holder, and a bow tie; a man, in fact, without a face. Immediately the officer flashed a look at him, his manner changed subtly, and there was a touch of eagerness in his voice: “It’s Mr Rollison, Jeff – the Toff.”
    â€œGood God!” gasped the C.I.D. man.
    Rollison said: “What I’d very much like is to have a word with Smart, on my own, and you to take this along to your headquarters and have the contents tested for fingerprints.” He handed over the envelope in which the lock of hair had come, but kept the card. “I don’t really know what this is all about yet, but I’ll come over to headquarters as soon as I’ve finished with Smart. What’s he like, by the way? Reliable?”
    â€œHe’s a bit too cocky, otherwise he’s all right,” the officer told him. “Do you know how to get to our place, sir?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œJeff, you bring Mr Rollison along, I’ll go and get this fixed.” The spokesman was obviously determined to show that