Kill The Toff

hours of the morning, bent over Mellor. “Has it set him back far?”

“He’ll need careful nursing.”

“Dangerous to move him?”

“Not if he’s warm and comfortable. You’ll have to get him away from here, Roily; I can’t risk any further trouble. Either that or send for the police. Are you still sure that you’re right?”

“Yes. Snub, go and get that van you’ve been boasting about and keep your eyes open. Our pals might have withdrawn to regroup their forces. Better have this.” He handed Snub an automatic. “Carry one until this show’s over or I’ll be attending your last rites. Doc, I’m really sorry.”

“So you should be,” said Mrs Willerby. She was more jumpy now than she had been when the fight was going on. “I always said that it’s never safe to help Mr Rollison, Tim; you mustn’t do it again. I can’t stand any more of it. Especially for Mellor.” She looked angrily at the sleeping man—Willerby had given him a narcotic injection—and then at Rollison. “We have enough to do without looking after swine.”

“That’s enough, Peggy,” Willerby said gently.

Rollison smiled. “I know, Mrs Willerby. I’ll make amends and I’ll have Mellor out of here in half an hour.”

“It’s all very well to talk.” Mrs Willerby clutched her dressing-gown tightly, glared at the bed again and gulped. “But—but ought he to be moved, Tim?”

The doctor laughed . . .

Mrs Willerby had three rubber hot-water bottles ready by the time the van arrived. Snub backed it into the clinic grounds, then came hurrying in to say that no one was about. No alarm had been raised in a district where strange noises were often heard at night and the wise course was to pretend not to have heard them.

The doors of the van were open.

They carried Mellor in and put him on the divan bed where Mrs Willerby tucked him in with the hot-water bottles. There was something furtive about the operation, carried out in the darkness and in a hush which was somehow ominous. The purring of the engine seemed very loud; the roar as Snub revved it up was shattering.

Rollison sat in the back with the doors closed.

Through a circular hole at the back of the driver’s cabin he could see the shape of Snub’s head. Now that he was inside and they had started off, he wondered whether it would have been wiser to sit next to Snub. He would go there as soon as they were safely away from the clinic; but this was the danger area. There were no windows at the sides so he couldn’t look out except through two small windows in the doors. He stood up, held on to the side of the van and watched the mean, dark streets and the gas-lamps disappearing, only to be replaced by others. Snub drove fast on the straight and slowed down carefully as he approached the corners.

Rollison thought: “We should be all right now.”

He actually moved to speak to Snub when he saw a car swing out of a side turning and come in their wake. Brilliant headlights shone out, dazzling him. He backed quickly away and dropped his hand to his pocket—but he probably wouldn’t need a gun; this was more likely a police car than one of Waleski’s.

Snub called: “What’s up? Trailed?”

“Yes.”

“Is Mellor snug and tight?”

“Yes. I’ll keep him steady; you shake ‘em off if you can.”

“Right.”

Rollison knelt down by the side of the unconscious man, putting his arms across the divan to make sure that Mellor couldn’t roll off. Snub swung round a corner and the divan shifted; another and it swayed the other way.

Mellor didn’t stir beneath the bedclothes.

The bright light still shone into the back of the van. It disappeared as they swung round another corner then appeared again, casting grotesque shadows.

“They’re clinging,” Snub said. “Police?”

“Afraid so.”

“Have to see it through now. Hold tight.”

They swung right, then sharp left. The divan skidded and would have tilted badly had Rollison not been holding it. He wished he could stand up, to judge the distance between van and car. It wasn’t easy to think and he’d never needed to think faster. If this were a police car, it was probably equipped with radio. Radio patrol cars throughout London and the Home Counties might soon be on the look-out for the van; the call had probably gone out. The chances of escaping were negligible, unless they went to earth somewhere near, stranded the van and hid Mellor.

With anyone else that would have been easy: Ebbutt’s flat, the gymnasium, one of a dozen pubs or Bert’s garage would all have offered sanctuary. But no one would willingly help Mellor against the police.

He heard a splintering sound and glanced round. The glass of the left side window crashed in.

Snub whistled. “That’s Waleski! Hold tight!”

A second shot struck the wing of the van as they turned another corner.

Rollison called: “Get on to a straight road and keep there for a bit.”

“Aye, aye, cappen—we’re on one now.”