The Toff In Town

“Allen took it?” interpolated Rollison.

“Yes—so that he had the upper hand of Merino,” said Lundy. He talked eagerly, as if he were glad to get it off his mind. “Merino knew that one or the other—Allen or Pauline—had taken it There was only one, Merino wouldn’t have copies made, he didn’t want to be double-crossed. He plumped for Allen, that’s what started the violence. And Allen had been scared stiff of Merino all the time. Merino had Allen kidnapped and beat him up himself, then sent him back for the list, but Allen had lost it.”

“That scrap of paper!” cried Barbara.

“Yes,” said Lundy. “Merino sent Max and Stevie to the Aliens’ flat to look for that list. Only it wasn’t there to find, because Mrs. Allen had destroyed it by accident.”

“Well, that’s how it began,” Lundy went on wearily. “Allen fighting Merino, and Pauline standing by, on Merino’s side. And she saw that if they went on fighting, no one would get anything out of it. So she went to see Allen, and suggested they should murder Merino, collect all they could and get away from England. Allen fell for it. He—he’d come to hate his wife, he was just a savage brute by then. All he worried about was getting out of danger. He did kill Merino. I—I know, because I was there.”

A hush fell over them all.

“I couldn’t break away, they had me where they wanted me,” Lundy said hoarsely.

“You mean you didn’t break away,” Rollison said, and waved his hand impatiently when Lundy began to interrupt. “It want to know one more thing. What was the real point in getting Allen into In Town To- night !”

Lundy gave a mirthless laugh.

“That started as a joke. We used to listen to that programme when we were in Burma—listened to plenty, but that was the favourite—people in London while we were out there, get me? And I used to say that if we had to split up, I’d arrange to broadcast on the programme. They didn’t believe I could fix it, and used to chip me about it every time the show was on. Well, when the list was lost, we had to get in touch with the others who’d got so many of the jewels. Merino first suggested the way. It had been arranged that Allen or Merino would dispose of the jewels, you see, they would all be prepared to part. But we had to get in touch with them. And I was pretty sure that most of them would listen to the programme. Fixing it was easy, I didn’t even have to do that myself, Pauline did. Allen thought up his idea of fooling you with the altered script. After Merino was dead, you were the only danger. Once the broadcast was over, he thought there wouldn’t be any more trouble. He and Pauline were O.K., he didn’t see what you could do, because you would want to save your friend’s life. He was going to get out of the country with Pauline, when he’d collected all the jewels. He wasn’t going to share out the proceeds with anyone else. He had it fixed in his mind after Merino’s death, that he only had to stall until Saturday, get the message over, and arrange a meeting with the others before he walked out on them. The truth is——”

He broke off.

“Yes, let’s have the truth,” said Rollison.

“He’s crazy!” cried Lundy. “Living in a village drove him out of his mind. While he was there he just had one fixed idea, getting away with the jewels. When he got back, he wouldn’t think far beyond it. I knew he’d bring us to this.”

Lundy’s voice trailed off.

Rollison said slowly: “I think you’re right about Allen. His mind was turned.”

Lundy lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers, but the story had slackened the tension of the others. McMahon slipped away towards the telephone box, doubtless to reserve space in the Sunday Cry. Barbara looked dreary, and Ebbutt stretched out for a chair and pushed it behind her. She sat down. Allen stood quite still, looking into Rollison’s eyes.

“You’re quite a boy, aren’t you?” asked Rollison.

Allen said: “Maybe I am. So is your precious Snub. And Lundy doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know where Pauline is either. I saw to that, I wasn’t taking any chances. What would you rather have? A rope for me and a bullet for Snub, or both of us alive and kicking?”

The only sound in the gymnasium was the heavy breathing of some of the men and, in the distance, McMahon’s voice on the telephone. The tension had suddenly leapt to a high pitch again, and obviously Allen believed that he had a chance to win on this last desperate throw. His eyes met Rollison’s in a challenge and defiance.

Then Ebbutt said wheezily:

“S’like that, is it? I bet ‘e knows where Mr. ‘Igginbottom is, though.” He took Allen’s arm, and although Allen tried to pull himself free, Ebbutt gripped his arms and dragged him towards the dressing-rooms.

Five minutes were enough to make Allen talk.

Pauline and Max, with one other man and Snub, were in a cottage on the borders of Epping Forest, near the Meritor Studios. Rollison had telephoned Grice, who had been in constant touch with the local police; they made the arrests. It was over in a few minutes. Pauline was caught completely unawares— rejoicing in the success of the broadcast. She hardly said a word, not even to Rollison, who was with the police. She had felt so sure that the alliance with Allen would succeed, believed that Rollison had been afraid to go to the police.

Snub looked a wreck, but the merry gleam in his eyes showed in spite of bruised cheeks and a swollen nose.

McMahon was near the cottage when the prisoners were brought out—and later, when Rollison passed a lighted telephone kiosk, he saw the reporter inside.

Rollison opened one eye and saw Jolly with his morning tea and the newspapers which did not usually arrive so early on Sundays. Jolly said that he had been out, and handed Rollison a copy of the Sunday Cry. McMahon had been allotted a huge headline and a great part of the front page. Rollison sipped his tea and read . . .