The Toff Goes To Market by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

A Collision And Some Curses

Rollison had the window up again and his revolver ready, but the gunman did not leave by the front door.

Abbott shouted in a high-pitched voice: “Get my letter; get it back!”

“In good time, yes,” said Rollison.

He climbed out of the window and ran along the pavement. Halfway along Braddon Place there was a service alley, and he guessed that his man had gone that way, using the rear entrance of the house. There was a chance of catching him, if a slim one.

He was running by the time he reached the entrance to the alley, but was in time to see the gunman take a running leap into a small open car. At the wheel was David, peering anxiously over his shoulder.

Whatever David’s other qualifications, he knew how to drive. He sent the car zigzagging for the first ten yards, avoiding the two shots Rollison sent towards him. Then the car turned a corner, and was presented broadside-on. Rollison fired again. As he did so he stumbled, for someone cannoned into him and then reeled back against the wall of the corner house.

“Oh, damn you!” cursed Abbott.

“The same to you,” said the Toff, and for a moment was in the grip of a cold fury. Abbott saw the expression in his eyes and tried to back into the wall. They stood quite still for perhaps five seconds, then hurrying footsteps drew near and Rollison turned away abruptly. There was no point in letting his rage get the better of him. A policeman drew up.

“Who did that shooting?” He was breathless, and obviously impartial, since the gun was in Rollison’s hand.

“I did,” said Rollison. “Constable, I want …” He paused and then said hastily: “Come to Number 7, will you, and bring that with you.”

He indicated Abbott with the scathing ‘that’, and before the constable could try to stop him hurried back to the house.

On the threshold stood Angela, by her side Lady Gloria and Patton. Patton was blue with fright, and Glory was saying tartly: “What is the matter with you? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No–n–no,” stuttered Patton. “B–but—”

Rollison went into the drawing-room, lifted the telephone and dialled Whitehall 1212.

While he waited for the connection there were other sounds in the hall and the room. The constable, Abbott, Glory and Angela entered, all coming to a stop when they saw what he was doing.

“Scotland Yard; can I help you?” a voice intoned.

“Superintendent Grice, please,” said Rollison, and gave his name. Grice was at the other end in a few seconds, saying at once that he was glad to hear from Rollison.

“It’s almost accidental,” admitted Rollison. “Will you get a call out at once for a two-seater M.G., number CJ—are you putting this down?”

“Yes,” said Grice.

“CJ21J,” continued the Toff. “Dark blue or black; last seen going from Braddon Place in the Oxford Street direction. Driver a thin man with a big head – turnip-head if you like – fair hair, light-grey suit, answers to ‘David’. Am I going too fast?”

“No.

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