face, gripped her so tightly that the breath actually hissed out of her body. For a split-second his lips were close to hers and he whispered:

“Keep this up. I need half an hour.”

For a scarcely perceptible moment she went still; then suddenly she became a screaming, writhing shrew of a woman, kicking, kneeing, clawing, scratching, until at last Derek Hindle pulled and flung her away.

Rollison dabbed a cut in his cheek, watching Derek frogmarch the girl to a cupboard under the stairs and the father force young Brown to the same place. There was a vicious streak in Derek Hindle; he slammed the door to try to catch young Brown’s fingers, but Brown snatched them away in time. All the men now in the hall were breathing hard — except Brown senior, who lay so still. Rollison went down on one knee and felt his pulse.

“Forget the old fool,” Derek rasped. “He hasn’t long to live, anyhow.”

“Someone ought to tell your son Derek that you can buy silence, you don’t have to kill,” Rollison said.

“You couldn’t buy the Browns,” retorted Hindle.

“They’d keep quiet if their daughter was married to Thomas G. Loman of Tucson, Arizona, heir to a million- plus-pounds, not dollars.” Rollison infused some light-ness into his tone. “Everyone involved will keep quiet. You two have to get out of the country soon — presum-ably you have false passports?”

“We’ve got it all arranged,” said Hindle.

“How much do the Browns know?”

“Nothing that matters, except that we took their house over, and what’s happened today,” Hindle answered.

“What made you come here?” asked Rollison.

“We didn’t know how much Pamela Brown knew and had to find out. And knowing you, we thought you would probably come to see her in your great hero act.” Hindle gave a cackle of laughter.

“What about —?” began Rollison.

“To hell with your questions!” rasped Derek Hindle. “Pop, I say he’s lying.”

“I shouldn’t put it to the test,” Rollison warned.

They stood in silence for a few moments which seemed to drag out into minutes, and when a sound came it surprised Rollison but did not trouble the others. It was a woman’s voice, from upstairs. Rollison glanced up to see Hindle’s wife at one side of the landing leading to the staircase. She looked as meek and frail now as she had at Rubicon House, but what puzzled Rollison was the pair of field-glasses which dangled from her neck on to her flat chest.

“Arthur,” she called, “I’ve finished.”

“Have you seen anyone,” called Hindle.

“No, dear. I’m absolutely sure no one’s hiding any-where within sight of the house. I’m sure I would have seen them. I’ve focused on every car and every tree, and if the house was surrounded I’d see some of the watchers, wouldn’t I ?”

“Yes, you’d see some of them,” Hindle agreed, with deep satisfaction. “So you didn’t bring the police, Rollison.”

“I wouldn’t want the police to know how deeply and in what way I was involved,” Rollison pointed out.

Hindle cackled again, and even Derek grinned; and for the first time, both men lowered their guns. The woman looked down over the balustrade, the field-glasses dangling.

“What’s been happening down there?” she called.

“Rollison’s come to make a deal,” explained Hindle. “Don’t worry your head about it, Lou, just keep an eye on those windows.”

“Where’s the girl?” demanded Hindle’s wife. “She picked the lock with a hairpin, the pin’s still in the door. I couldn’t help it,” she added querulously. “I was making sure the house wasn’t watched.”

“It certainly wasn’t your fault, Lou,” said Hindle, soothingly. “You don’t need to worry any more.”

She said: “That’s good, Arthur,” and turned away.

Rollison continued to look upwards until he saw that she was no longer on the landing or the passages, so she must be in one of the rooms. The two Hindles were more relaxed than Rollison had yet seen them, Derek the more wary; Hindle himself gave the impression that he had rid himself of a great burden.

“I’ll make a deal with you at seventy-five to us, twenty-five to you,” he said; and sneered: “So this is how you make your money!”

“It’s one way,” Rollison answered. “I’ll settle for one-third.”

Derek said angrily : “There are three of us, as well as Ma.”

“Derek,” said his father, “the Toff can help us a great deal. He can smooth away a lot of difficulties, and I don’t want any more argument. I’ll settle for two-thirds, Rollison.”

“That’s good,” Rollison said softly.

“How can we be sure he’ll keep his word?” demanded Derek. “It will be a long time before Alec —” he nearly choked —”a long time before Tommy gets his money. How do we know we’ll get our share?”

“That’s just what I mean,” said his father. “We’ll have an agreement made out between us, and we’ll have a tape recorder record, too. We’ll have the Toff as tight as he’s got us. He’ll vouch for Alec being Tommy Loman, he’ll help to get everything settled quickly with probate. How about that — a man with an unassailable reputation like the Toff won’t have anything to worry about. It couldn’t be better, Derek.”

Вы читаете The Toff and The Sleepy Cowboy
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