XIII

CRUSHED BEAUTY

Rollison couldn’t look at both the girl and the man.

He backed farther away, taking swift glances at Marion-Liz. She wore a pair of green French knickers and a brassiere; nothing else, except for a narrow leather belt round her waist. There were other burns on her body. Rollison felt rage blazing up inside him, a murderous fury, and his right arm flexed, he had to fight to keep his hand out of his pocket.

He had to choose between studying the girl and watching the man.

The man wanted the keys and that information desperately, here was living, livid proof. He thought Rollison could make the girl talk, and so wasn’t likely to take drastic action – yet. He’d take that, once Rollison got what he wanted. So Rollison turned to look at Marion-Liz.

Her face wasn’t touched.

There she lay in all her slender beauty, pale as a cream rose, limp, her spirit crushed – but her eyes wide open. Dread showed in them. The leather belt was tied by rope to the sides of the bed; the rope disappeared beneath the mattress. She could move a little but not get up. She didn’t look as if she had the spirit to try to get up. Her hair had lost its glossy sheen, but was still attractive as it lay on the pillow, spread out like a dark halo. She closed her eyes when she recognised him, and shivered.

‘Hallo, Liz,’ said Rollison softly. ‘I told you that you chose the wrong kind of friends.’

‘Cut the talk,’ the man said.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Rollison, and turned to face him. He closed his eyes, actually swayed on his feet. ‘Not a pretty sight. If she won’t talk after this, how do you expect me to make her?’

He looked at the man through his lashes; and he gulped, as if he felt sick.

‘She said she wouldn’t talk because you’d see her through, and now she knows you can’t. What the hell’s the matter with you? Can’t you take it?’

‘Never was good at this,’ mumbled Rollison. ‘I can take it when it comes quickly, but not like this.’

He actually staggered and put a hand on the bed, as if to steady himself, and the man took a step forward.

Rollison leapt at him, a darting fury. His fists worked liked pistons – smashing into the nose, the chin, the stomach. The man gasped and made strangled noises, tried to cover up, but hadn’t a chance. Rollison smashed a swing to the side of his jaw and sent him reeling against the wall, followed it with a blow to the stomach that had every ounce of a hundred and seventy pounds behind it. The man with light-grey eyes gave a whining groan, doubled up, and lay in a heap.

Rollison drew back, but didn’t speak.

He clenched his teeth as he bent down, took the gun away, ran through the other’s pockets and found a second gun and a knife. He put them into his own pocket. He took keys and a wallet, too, and with these in his hands, backed away from his victim.

He was sweating.

He turned to Marion-Liz, and a smile broke through the bleak mask of his face as he spread a sheet over her.

‘All right, Liz, don’t worry any more.’

The dread had gone; hope blazed.

‘Just take it easy,’ he said.

He used the man’s knife to cut the ropes, had two long pieces, and went to his victim and pulled at him until he lay on his back, then tied his wrists and ankles. The man wasn’t unconscious, but the power to resist had been hammered out of him. His lips were swollen, and there was a trickle of blood at one corner of his mouth. Rollison stood back, went to a hand-basin, ran cold water and rinsed his face and hands. He soaked a sponge, squeezed most of the water out, and went across to Liz. He bathed her eyes and face, then her hands; they were hot and clammy.

‘Like to sit up?’

‘I—can’t.’

‘Can’t?’

‘He did something to my back.’

Rollison didn’t speak, but eased the girl up and turned the pillows over. He fetched water in a tooth-glass, raised her head and watched the eagerness with which she drank.

‘Had anything to eat and drink?’

‘No.’

‘Just take it easy, Liz. Who is he?’

‘His name is Woolf. He—’ She broke off. ‘I once worked with him.’

‘All right,’ said Rollison.

He went out of the room. He found other doors, and one led to a kitchen, but he didn’t want to put on the light, that would probably be seen outside. He found the windows; a blind was drawn. He shone his torch, and saw that the single lamp had been covered with a piece of green cloth, there was no risk of the light shining out. He opened the larder door and found an open tin of unsweetened condensed milk, put on a kettle, brewed strong tea, poured in plenty of the milk and stirred in a lot of sugar. This took him five or six minutes. He went back with a cup of tea, and the man stared up at him, but didn’t try to speak.

Rollison put an arm round the girl’s neck, raised her head, and held the cup for her. She sipped eagerly, but before she had finished half the tea, she shook her head. He put the cup on the bedside table, and then inspected the contents of the wallet. There were several visiting-cards, reading:

Leo Woolf,

27 Mayrick Court,

Williton Street,

London, W.l.

He slipped these into his pocket and went through the rest of the contents. A driving-licence, an identity card, other oddments all bearing the same name and address, he put back. There were six five-pound notes and several one-pound notes. Stamps and two unused railway tickets to Exeter made up the rest. He went back to the man, felt in his pockets again, turned him over so that he could get at his hip pockets. He found nothing else of any use or value, nothing else with a name on.

Marion-Liz muttered something, and Rollison didn’t catch the words. He went across to her; if he stood near Woolf much longer, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off the man. He felt as if he were suspended in mid-air, it was so utterly unlike what he had expected that he’d no plans to meet the situation – except the obvious. He could call the police in, show them the burns, let them force the truth out of Leo Woolf. But would that work?

‘What is it, Liz?’ He was very gentle.

‘Be—careful,’ she said. The fear was back in her eyes, the hope was fading. ‘He’ll have a man who’ll—swear—you and I killed Keller.’

‘A liar’s no witness.’

‘He will be. Can you—get us away?’ Liz asked hoarsely.

There was something the matter with her back, which meant she couldn’t walk. Woolf certainly wouldn’t walk where he was told to go. The only way out of here was through the flat upstairs and the skylight.

Woolf sneered, ‘Why don’t you go and call the police in, Rollison? They’re your friends, aren’t they? Try it – and see what happens.’

Rollison sat on the side of the bed.

‘You’ll get seven years at least for this. Looking forward to it?’

‘I shan’t hang.’

He was sure of himself, and probably had cause to be.

‘Listen, Rollison, I left word about what was to be done if the police caught up with me. Maybe I’ll take a rap for what I’ve done to her, but she killed Keller, and you stood by and watched. Don’t make any mistake about it, you’re tight in that vice. Keller’s throat was cut, first, with a knife. Your knife. I’ve got it in a safe place, with Keller’s blood and your dabs on the handle.’

It was like hearing the sentence of death.

‘Maybe I’ll go to the police,’ Woolf sneered. ‘It would be worth seven years to know you went for the long drop.’

Rollison took out cigarettes, lit two, put one to the girl’s lips, drew on the other and stood up – and startled them both, for he was smiling as if amiably.

‘So that’s where my knife went. You’ve chosen the wrong man for the drop, Leo, I’ve booked that for you. What’s all this about?’

‘As if you didn’t know.’

‘Just tell me.’

Woolf said, ‘She knows where the Riordon stuff is, half a million pounds’ worth. She knows where the keys are, too. I worked with her father. He got the stuff away – but she double-crossed me.’

Rollison didn’t look round.

‘True, Liz?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Is it true, Liz?’

She drew a deep breath.

‘Not—not the way he puts it. He was blackmailing my father, made him get the Riordon jewels. I discovered it at the last minute. I’d learned that he was going to betray father to the police. I don’t know where the stuff ’s hidden or where the keys are. I’m looking for the keys. I want to get everything and have the money waiting when my father comes out. That’s—the truth.’

‘Half a million pounds’ worth,’ mused Rollison. ‘And one of your big mistakes, Liz, the law is hard to cheat. Forget the Riordon stuff. I think the simple thing is to have the police in, and force a showdown.’

‘No!’ cried Liz.

Woolf sneered, but wasn’t happy.

‘Try it,’ he said. ‘Just see what happens. Can’t you understand plain English, Rollison? If the police get me, a witness will volunteer a statement about Keller. A friend of Keller’s who was at the village by appointment. Don’t make any mistake about it – his evidence will stand. He’ll have good reasons for not coming forward before. I didn’t take any chances when I was dealing with you, I knew this frame-up couldn’t fail. And it won’t. Do it the easy way. Make her tell you where the Riordon stuff is, and where the keys are. Then the witness won’t show up.’

‘And what about the other evidence you planted? Where’s the girl who passed for Liz? How did you get the fingerprints on the spanner?’

Woolf chuckled, throatily, but more at ease – as if he sensed that Rollison was beginning to wilt.

‘She handled it, before we used it. Never mind who the girl was. She wore Liz’s shoes and Liz’s dress, and she answered to the same description. You could tell them apart all right, but that doesn’t matter. Forget her. There’s one way out for you, and I’ve told you all about it. Cut these ropes off me, and get busy.’

Rollison didn’t speak.

Liz said, ‘Rolly.’ The word sounded like a sigh, and her eyes were closed. ‘He’s too much for us, he’s too thorough.’

‘She’s dead right,’ sneered Woolf.

When he stopped, there was silence – and into the silence there came sounds, a long way off, but from inside the house. A man was hurrying up the stairs, and reached the landing outside. All three stared towards the door, and the girl was holding her breath. Woolf ’s eyes reflected fear again, and his teeth were bared.

A bell rang shrilly, and a man whispered at the front door – words which weren’t distinguishable in here.

Rollison moved swiftly, into the dining-room and then into the tiny hall. The bell rang again. The police had seen whoever had come, might use this as a signal to close in.

The man whispered urgently, ‘Elizabeth, open the door, let me in. I must see you – let me in.’

It was Reginald Rowse.