Salute The Toff

Waikato Times, Volume 127, Issue 21185, 7 August 1940, Page 5

Salute The Toff

| OUR SERIAL STORY

BY JOHN CREASEY

CHAPTER XXl—(Continued) “It’s no use—barricade the doors, you fools! We’ll use the prisoners!” Trouble! Delray made a tremendous effort, but he could not reach his feet. Now, however, he could hear the cracking of shots, from inside and outside the house, and he knew the place was being attacked. But what had she meant by using the prisoners? He heard her light footsteps outside the door. It opened, and the woman stood there with the gun in her hand. The rage that she had possessed a few minutes before seemed to have disappeared completely, and she was cool—devilishly cool. Two men were with her. “One to each room,” she snapped, and still Delray did not know what she was doing. But he was picked up in the arms of a man who was big enough to have squashed him, and flung over the fellow’s shoulder. He was taken into the drawingroom—the scene of his near triumph, and bound as he was, he gasped with amazement. For behind couches and chairs three or four men were crouching and firing through the open windows towards a thin line of police who .appearing, it seemed from nowhere, were advancing slowly, taking cover behind what bushes and shrubs there were.

One of two of the policemen were armed, but they were firing very little. They were getting closer—closer.

Delray found himself pushed to the window. A strap or piece of rope was looped round his neck and fastened to a window fitting, so that he hung there, on his feet but swaying helplessly. And then Irma Cardew’s voice rang out. It seemed to pierce high above all other sounds, and the shooting from the room stopped. “Rollison —I want ten minutes to get away. Otherwise ” She turned the small automatic in her hand towards Pete, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He knew she would do it, unless Rollison agreed. Pete Becomes Desperate Pete’s desperate eyes searched the line of men who had stopped dead still. He recognised Chief Inspector McNab, but there was no sign of Rollison. McNab’s voice answered. “Ye’ll hang. Cardew!” “You fool! You’ve got enough on me to hang me a dozen times, and cne more won't Mart. It’s a chance to escape—or I’ll kill them all. Selsom—Jolly—Delray. Think it over, McNab!” Delray could see that the police were nonplussed. He knew that they were desperately anxious to catch the gunmen; and yet to know that three men were to be murdered in cold blood would have made the most hardened man stop. Even the Toff.

Where was the Toff? “I’ll tell •ye in five minutes,” yelied McNab. She did not answer. McNab drew back, probably to consult with others in the roadway. Pete could see five or six cars now, and he knew that what he had thought was a trap for the Toff and himself had worked wonders as a trap against Irma Cardew. If that man hadn’t appeared at the door Irma was standing in full view of the garden. She did not move, and although she was looking towards the road, her eyes held a glazed expression, as though she was in another world. Pete was cramped, and pins and needles were shooting up his arms and legs. When he leaned a little to one side the strap tightened about his neck, making the blood thud in his ears, threatening to strangle him. He knew that he had never been closer to death, and he could see three things in his mind’s eye.

The woman who must surely be the most hardened criminal in the world, standing and seta ring—small, perfectly formed, beautiful beyond words. The Toff—laughing, debonair, always in the thick of the fray and escaping serious hurt. And Rene Wellward.

He had known her only a few hours, but she seemed to mean everything—everything!—to him. He had already told himself he was a fool to think about her, that with her money and his poverty nothing could ever come of a love that he had forced himself to recognise. And yet

Her blue eyes, her fair hair, the determined angle of her small square chin. It seemed to float in front of his eyes. He hardly realised he was hanging there, that any moment —il the police refused to give the woman the respite she wanted—he might be shot.

And then a gunman’s hand brush- | ; ed his legs. He felt the cords ol : ; his ankles loosen. Something was ! ; against his wrists, the cord loosened, j the pain was excrutiating. And then j the gunman nearest him, the gunman i who had moved, muttered: “Drop behind the couch, Pete, : ■ when I speak.” Pete Delray felt every muscle of | I his body tighten, and then relax. It j was Rollison. The Toff! He was ! lounging next to him, nursing a gun | ‘ —and the Toff would never have : been recognised. The Toff—one of j Irma’s bodyguard! And then the Toff seemed to | straighten out, and he looked towards Irma, speaking in a voice that j was full of all the old mockery. | “Upset, my dear? You look wor- i ried.” Pete Delray dropped as the Toff had told him, and he crashed behind ! the couch. At the same time the Toff leapt towards Irma. The gun : in her hand went flying, and his i voice whipped out, harsher now: “The first man who moves kills Irma. Jolly!” The servant’s voice floated into the room. "Yes, sir.” “Release, Selsom, and keep ’em covered. Mac. Mac!” (To be continued)