The Toff In Town

Allen tossed the stick on to the bed, and limped across to the chair. He sank into it. Perspiration beaded his forehead and his eyes looked glassy. The blood on his face had coagulated and was a dark-brown colour except in one place, where it still welled up a bright crimson. He leaned back, resting his head on the top of the chair, but didn’t close his eyes.

He looked at Rollison.

“Bob——” began Barbara.

“For pity’s sake, shut up!” muttered Allen. He winced, and pressed a hand against his stomach. He couldn’t breathe through his nose. As he looked at Rollison, he seemed to sag, and couldn’t meet that unnerving gaze. There was a moment of almost unbearable tension—then Rollison broke it

“Mrs. Allen, get a bowl of water and a towel.”

“But——”

“Please hurry,” said Rollison.

Barbara shot a glance at her husband, who did not look at her, then went out. Rollison stood a few feet in front of Allen, who looked towards the ceiling, wincing every now and again. Rollison kept silent until Allen cried:

“Who the devil are you?”

“A friend of Snub Higginbottom,” said Rollison promptly.

“Snub’s? Did she—send for you?” “For him, but he’s away. She’s had a rough time.”

“She’s had a rough time,” gasped Allen. It was nearly a sneer. “What do you think I’ve had?”

Rollison said slowly:

“You’ve had a beating-up, and from what I can see of things, you asked for it, and you’ve just asked for another.”

Allen said: “Okay, give me one. I can’t stop you.”

Defiance and challenge showed in his eyes, in spite of his plight; no one could question his courage. But Rollison’s manner changed, the pity faded, contempt replaced it

They heard water running in the bath-room; something clattered in the bath, loud enough to make Allen jump. Barbara had dropped the bowl.

“Well?” muttered Allen. “Get your damned questions out.”

“When you let Blane go, you invited another beating-up because he and his friends will come after you again,” said Rollison. “The police——”

“Keep your damned nose out of my business !” shouted Allen. “If you go to the police——”

“It might save your wife’s life,” said Rollison.

That broke Allen’s defiance and made him silent.

“It might even save yours,” went on Rollison, “but I don’t think that matters so much. At this rate, you’ll continue to make a little hell on earth both for her and for yourself. “Why were you beaten up to-night?”

That’s my business.”

“Did Blane do it?”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t.”

Rollison said gently: “All right, Allen, have it your own way. The police——”

“You mustn’t call the police!” Allen cried. He tried to sit up. “I’ll tell you what I can. It was Blane and two other men. I’d been to the B.B.C.; they were waiting for me when I came out, and made me get into a cab. They—they wanted to know something I couldn’t tell them and—and they beat me up. They blind-folded me and took me to a house, and beat me up again, but I convinced them that I couldn’t help them——”

He stopped, leaving the sentence in the air.

“And couldn’t you?” asked Rollison softly.

“No!”

Barbara came in with the bowl of water and towel.

Rollison took a sheet from the bed and put it round Allen’s shoulders. Barbara went out again and returned with a bottle of antiseptic, another towel, some lint and adhesive plaster.

Together, they worked on Allen’s face in silence, cleansing and bathing the cuts. The only serious one was that on the forehead, but Rollison did not think it needed stitching. In a box which Barbara had brought was a tube of zinc ointment, and Rollison spread some on a piece of lint, placed it gently on the long cut, then kept it in place with plaster.

At last the task was done.

Rollison said: “Now what’s the matter with your stomach, Allen.”

Allen muttered: “A kick, that’s all.”

“Better let’s have a look at it,” said Rollison.

He helped Allen to undress and lie down on the bed. There were red marks on the skin— “a kick” probably meant several. There were bruises at his waist, too, where the skin was broken in places. Rollison washed the