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Authors: John Creasey

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BOOK: The Toff and the Fallen Angels

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A thunderous knocking drowned the last words, and then clearly from the letter box in the front door, a man called out in a rough, uneducated voice: âWe know you're in there, Rollison. Open the door or we'll blow it down.'

Chapter 20
BIG BLAST

âI see what you mean,' said Angela in a small voice.

âRollison!' roared the man outside.

âComing!' called the Toff, as if he hadn't a worry in the world. He whispered to Angela: âThis is tear gas. Go and help Jolly.' Jolly, with some cigarettes in his hand, also taken from the drawer, was heading for the kitchen.

Angela cast a longing look at Rollison, then went after Jolly.

Rollison reached the front door. The men outside were silent now, quite unaware that they could be seen. Above the front door was a kind of periscope mirror, and glancing up Rollison saw the two who had come from the car standing outside - and two others halfway down the stairs. One of them was laying a trail of gunpowder.

The man nearest to the door bent down, and poked a finger at the letter box.

âRollison!' he roared. âThis is your last chance. Open the door!'

âJust about to,' answered Rollison. He poked the muzzle of the gas pistol through the letter box, squeezed the trigger, and heard the hiss and a cry of alarm, then a thud as the man at the box fell. He fired two more capsules of the tear gas, felt a blow back of it bite at his nose and eyes - and he heard another man cry out: âGawd!'

Yet another gave a choking scream.

Rollison unlocked and unchained the door in three swift movements. On the landing two men were reeling, and another was sprawling halfway down the stairs. The one with the dynamite was backing away, a hazy figure through the gas. Rollison closed his eyes and mouth, nipped his nostrils, and rushed downwards. When he opened his eyes again the man hurled the dynamite at him, then turned and rushed down the second flight of stairs. Rollison simply levelled the gun and the pellet hit the stairs and burst in front of the escaping man.

On the next landing was yet another assailant.

And in his hand was a sledge hammer.

He raised it, to throw, alarm showing in his eyes. Rollison ducked. The hammer flew over his head and crashed against the wall. Instead of using the pistol, which contained two more pellets, Rollison hurled himself at the man, both fists clenched; he had never struck a chin with greater force, and the man simply toppled backwards and slid, head first, down the next flight of stairs.

At this point the door of one of the flats opened, and an elderly tenant demanded in a deep and authoritative voice: âWhat the devil is going on here?'

âCall the police,' Rollison said, over his shoulder. âCallâ'

Then the front door burst open and half a dozen men rushed in, enough to have struck terror even into the Toff but for the sight of Bill Ebbutt, leading the way. In Bill's hand was an old-fashioned black leather cosh, once regarded as a deadly weapon but a toy compared with knuckledusters, bicycle chains, iron bars and flick knives. The elderly neighbour withdrew hastily and slammed his door. One of the fallen men crawled to his feet, then backed against the wall, his hands raised.

âAny of your boys at the back?' asked Rollison.

Ebbutt looked up, mouth wide open.

âGorblimey, Mr Ar, I thought you was a goner. You okay?' The broadest of grins nearly split his face in two. âI don't need any telling. I should have known. Strewth, Mr Arâ'

âAre any of your chaps at the back?' interrupted Rollison with greater urgency.

âSix,' answered Ebbutt. âI should've known youâ'

He broke off and lunged past Rollison, who turned round in alarm, but it was only one of the men whom he had gassed, coming down the stairs a step at a time, tears streaming from his eyes. Behind him came Angela, a handkerchief over her nose and mouth, her eyes tear filled. She stopped halfway down the stairs at the sight of Ebbutt, who touched his forehead and said smartly: âGood morning, Miss. Iâ
strewth.
It's Miss Angela, I didn't recognise you for a moment.' He pushed forward and gripped Angela's hand - and as he pumped her arm up and down, Jolly appeared, and asked in a voice hoarsened by the tear gas: âIs everything satisfactory here, sir?'

âYes, Jolly,' Rollison said. âWhat about the back?'

âThe situation is quite under control,' Jolly assured him. âWe need the telephone repaired of course, but apart from that all is well.
Good
morning, Mr Ebbutt.'

âHallo, Jolly me old cock,' wheezed Ebbutt, squeezing Jolly's hand in turn. âI might have guessed. Mr Ar had torn a strip off them before we got here. Came the minute we learnedâ' He broke off, as the others stared at Rollison and Rollison looked as if he was appalled. âWhat's up, Mr Ar? What's the matter?'

âYou were to have been at Smith Hall,' Rollison said in a hoarse voice. âThose girlsâ'

âOh, don't you worry about those little angels,' said Ebbutt, bluffly. âOld Bill Grice isn't so bad when you get used to him. There was a demolition charge under the house, all set to go off at seven
ack emma,
but Grice had the place combed. Found the charge underneath the kitchen, the whole place would have been wrecked. Gawd knows what we could have done to help the little loves. But it's okay. Caught a couple of chaps, too. They say it was done by Guy Slatter or whatever his name is. Was, I mean. But one of them had a sledge hammer in his sack, and the hammer was the one used to crown Guy. Grice will sew it all up now, Mr Ar, don't you worry.'

âWhat brought you here?' asked Rollison.

âWell as a matter of fact, Mr Ar, we caught one of the slickers when he was sneaking away.' Ebbutt raised and clenched his first, and it looked like a small ham. âI persuaded him to talk a bit, and he said they was going to blow
your
place up. Said something about you finding out who was behind it and they were going to shut your trap. Mr Grice and the cops were busy, so we got a move on here. But I should've known,' he went on with that enormous grin. âYou didn't need us.'

âI never needed you so much,' said Rollison. He gripped Bill Ebbutt's shoulder for what seemed a long time, and then turned to Angela. âWhy don't you stay and help Jolly clear up?' he suggested. âI've got to see Grice but I don't think you'll find it very interesting.'

âRolly,' said Angela, in a small voice, âI don't want to be a detective any more. But youâyou were
wonderful.

Youâ' She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. âYou really were!'

âWhat I don't understand,' said Grice, half an hour later, âis why you were so sure there was to be an attack on Smith Hall.'

âI didn't see how it could be avoided,' Rollison replied. He was standing in the cellar of the house, where the charge of dynamite had been discovered. âSavage murders galore, and millions obviously at stake. They had done their absolute damnedest to get everyone out of the house, and they weren't going to stop at anything. When they had reason to believe that Slatter would relent, they had to make a final grand slam, and we knew life didn't mean anything to them - other people's, that is. I didn't know what they would do but I was sure it would be something disastrous and final.'

Grice, looking saturnine in the dimly-lit cellar, nodded for him to continue.

âIt was pretty clear that they would need a scapegoat, a man who would take the blame,' Rollison went on. âGuy Slatter was the obvious one. He had been involved: he may or may not have committed the murders, but they could certainly be traced to him.'

âAnd what motive could he have?' asked Grice. âIt would have to be a big one, to be convincing.'

âOh, that was simple enough,' said Rollison. âHe was the heir to Sir Douglas Slatter, who was holding out on the sale of this house and the one next door. Bensoni and Tilford had bought every other piece of property on this block. Once they had the lot, they could sell it for millions - but Sir Douglas had enough millions and didn't want any more.'

âVery interesting,' said Grice. âBut if Guy were going to inherit his uncle's millions anyway, why should he help Bensoni and Tilford - or whoever was involved?'

âSir Douglas had strong views about young people who had children without first getting married,' answered Rollison. âGuy's view was far less rigid - so much so that the evidence of it could have caused his uncle to leave his money elsewhere. One of Guy's girls was Winifred de Vaux, and I don't doubt she'd told Webberson. I can only guess that Webberson tried to make Guy influence his uncle. I imagine that was how Webberson and gentle Dr Brown became involved, and thus, a danger to Guy, who feared disinheritance if the truth came out. Remember how Naomi Smith was so sure their troubles were over - before the murders. Keith may well have told her he could and would bring pressure to bear on Sir Douglas Slatter.'

âYes,' agreed Grice, hesitantly. âYes, I suppose it all fits in. You can fill in gaps with your imagination which I can't fill in without evidence. But there is one piece of evidence which you'll find very interesting.'

âWhat is it?' asked Rollison.

âThe firm of Bensoni and Tilford is on the rocks,' said Grice. âLabour troubles and the loss of some big contracts led to it. They needed the Bloomdale site desperately. They've borrowed to the hilt on the other properties, and Sir Douglas Slatter's refusal to sell was likely to ruin them. I can tell you another thing,' Grice went on, after a pause. âGuy's telephone call last night wasn't from Bensoni. It was from the foreman of the gang which raided your place. Guy, knowing of the impending raid, told him to ring him at the club if it were successful. The man gave Bensoni's name rather than risk his own. No doubt he invented some inducement to get Guy back to the house, where he intended to murder him. It is possible that it was he who committed one or more of the earlier murders, and Guy knew of it.'

âIt could be,' conceded Rollison. âThe fatal flaw in criminality, that each must trust the other. Do youâerâ do you want me for anything else?'

âNo,' said Grice. âNot for a while. Naomi Smith would like to see you.'

âI'd like a word with her, too,' said Rollison. âWhat about Anne Miller?'

âShe'll be remanded for a week,' Grice said, âand then be bound over as a first offender. She's lucky, in a way.'

âYes,' said Rollison. âI suppose she is.'

He went up to the ground floor, a little surprised to see no one about, tapped at the door of Naomi Smith's room, went in on her call, and stood aghast on the threshold. For every single one of the girls was there, and every single one rose spontaneously, and began to cheer. Then they rushed forward to surround him, each in turn giving him a demonstrative hug. When at last Naomi had called them off, and they were gone, he was quite breathless.

âI've never known them so happy,' Naomi said. âNever known them so eager to work, either. And they're
quite
sure that you'll get them out of their troubles one way or another. So am I,' she added. âSo am I.'

âNaomi,' said Rollison, firmly, âyou have always known more than you've admitted.'

âNothing that I believed could affect the case,' Naomi said. âBut yesâI did, Richard.' She had never used his Christian name before. âI guessed for instance that Guy Slatter was the father of Anne Miller's child. She never disclosed that, though she hated him and hated Sir Douglas. I guessed, too, that she had intercepted the letter, and was at my wits end to know how to shield her.
Can
you help her?'

âYes,' said Rollison, and told her what Grice had said.

âI'm so very glad,' said Naomi. âSo deeply grateful, too. When it began, of course, Keith and George Brown knew Guy was a profligate, and could prove it. They believed that to avoid disclosure, Guy could use his influence with his uncle to renew the lease. Afterwardsâ'

âYou should have told the police,' said Rollison sternly.

âOh, I did,' said Naomi unhappily. âAnd it was in the letter I wrote to you that Anne intercepted.'

âI see,' Rollison said heavily, and stood up. As he looked down at her, his gaze was kindly and understanding. âHow is Douglas this morning? Do you know?'

âI'm told he's recovered from the shock, and I'm going to see him soon,' Naomi said. âI can only hope that this new shock won't cause a serious relapse.'

Naomi telephoned Rollison, later, to say that Sir Douglas had taken the blow well.

And Grice telephoned, also, to say that Iris Jay had been found, safe but in hiding, and that Bensoni had confessed complicity but blamed the murders on to Guy and the foreman ganger: sorting the details out was only a matter of time.

And in time, Bensoni was tried and found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. So was the foreman, whom Rollison saw for the first time at the trial.

And a little later, Rollison went to a very different ceremony, with Angela and Gwendoline Fell, with twenty-five girls including Anne Miller, and with Naomi Smith - who, on that day, married Sir Douglas Slatter. She had solved the problem of the noise and his studies very simply indeed.

Sir Douglas now had his study on the other side of the house, where no children cried.

Series Information

Published or to be published by

House of Stratus

Dates given are those of first publication

Alternative titles in brackets

'The Baron' (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)

'Department 'Z'' (28 titles)

'Dr. Palfrey Novels' (34 titles)

'Gideon of Scotland Yard' (22 titles)

'Inspector West' (43 titles)

'Sexton Blake' (5 titles)

'The Toff' (59 titles)

along with:

The Masters of Bow Street
This epic novel embraces the story of the Bow Street Runners and the Marine Police, forerunners of the modern police force, who were founded by novelist Henry Fielding in 1748. They were the earliest detective force operating from the courts to enforce the decisions of magistrates. John Creasey's account also gives a fascinating insight into family life of the time and the struggle between crime and justice, and ends with the establishment of the Metropolitan Police after the passing of Peel's Act in 1829.

'The Baron' Series