Follow the Toff by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Stratus

Chapter Thirteen

Step Nearer

Rollison saw the big man’s eyes swivel towards the sound, saw the muzzle of the gun waver and droop, felt the momentary relaxation of the smaller man’s grip. He shouted: “ Careful there, armed thieves!” and kicked the smaller man in the shin and leapt at the bigger man. The gun jolted and steadied, and the hand seemed enormous, the forefinger squeezed. Rollison was halfway towards the man, a little towards one side. He felt a tug at his shoulder as a bullet went through the jacket padding, then struck the other bodily. He bellowed: “There are two of them!” and lurched forward as the big man stumbled backwards, gun arm waving, obviously trying desperately to get it under control. Rollison rammed his clenched right fist into the man’s stomach, and as the blond head was jerked forward, placed his hand over the face and hurled the man back. He went staggering, came up against the wall, cracked his head against it, and slumped down.

A man appeared in the doorway carrying a broom.

Rollison stretched out for the automatic, wrenched it free, and swung round towards the little man; but this man was not armed with a gun, all he had was a flick knife. He stood undecided, Rollison with the gun on one side, and the man in the doorway with the broom on the other. The newcomer was small and wiry, too; he wore a cloth cap set at a jaunty angle, a black-and-white choker, and a bright yellow waistcoat but no jacket. He held the broom in front of him like a battering ram, and lunged forward. The man with the knife dodged to one side, but did not dodge fast enough. The broom whacked into his stomach, and he gasped as he went staggering back. He thudded against the wall, and the little man pressed the head of the broom hard against him. Rollison went across without haste, and took the knife from his hand. Then he went across to Jolly.

“Percy, you will never know how glad I was to see you,” he said. “Two minutes later, and you would have found Jolly and me ready for the morgue.”

“Let me knock his bloody block orf,” pleaded the man with the broom. His name was Wrightson, and he was “one of Ebbutt’s men”. Jolly had known that he was due at seven o’clock, of course, and that he had a back door key; hence the wink which had brought the birth of hope.

“Just spoil his breakfast for a few days,” Rollison said, and put the keen blade of the knife to the hempen rope which bound Jolly. The blade was not only razor sharp but had the point of a dagger. Before he began to cut, Jolly started violently, and Rollison backed away.

“Did I hurt you?”

Jolly shook his head and rolled his eyes. Rollison wiped the sweat off his own forehead, and wondered if Jolly was feeling light-headed. He put the knife forward again, and Jolly shook his head even more violently.

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