XXI

OFFER

‘Good morning,’ said Rollison pleasantly.

‘So you’ve made it,’ said Rowse. ‘I expected you.’

‘Blessed is he who gets what he expects,’ said Rollison. ‘I hope you’re expecting plenty.’ His right hand was in his pocket; so was Rowse’s. ‘May I come in?’

‘I should hate to let you go,’ said Rowse.

He was not only ten years or so older than Reginald, but he was taller and more powerful – not unlike Woolf, in a way, with a round face and a fair skin and hair which was not so decided a red as Reginald’s. His eyes were greeny-grey, quite nice eyes. He had a square chin, and a nose which was only slightly snub.

He stood aside.

Rollison stepped in.

Men might close in on him from either side; Rowse certainly wouldn’t be alone. No one else moved in the spacious hall, and Rowse closed the door softly. He smiled with his lips compressed as Rollison glanced at several doorways, the wide staircase, and in all the corners.

‘We’ll go in here,’ said Rowse.

He waited for Rollison to go ahead, while he pointed at a room with a partly open door. Rollison went forward, casually – then kicked the door open and stepped in swiftly. He saw a man, standing in a corner, ducking below the top of a screen.

He grinned.

‘Playing hide and seek so early in the morning? What a constitution.’

‘All right, Steve, you can show yourself,’ Rowse said.

There was an edge to his voice, which was otherwise pleasant enough. Woolf had looked a rogue, Rowse didn’t.

The man called Steve straightened up, his face red with embarrassment. He was small, and he didn’t appear to have much intelligence – a dumb type who came forward and rubbed the barrel of a gun with his left hand, as if he wanted to hide it and knew that would be impossible. He had a long, sorrowful face and not much hair.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ said Rollison. ‘Where’s the lady, Rowse?’

‘Which one?’

‘Lizzie’s near double.’

Rowse shrugged.

‘You needn’t worry about her, she was paid for the job, and that’s that. She wouldn’t come forward if the police searched for a year. Don’t kid yourself.’

‘Even I can hope.’

‘You can’t hope much,’ said Rowse, and there was a heavier note in his voice, a hint of menace which might have been borrowed from Woolf. ‘Go and sit down. Steve, go and make some tea – or would you rather have coffee, Rollison?’

‘My dear chap, what hospitality! Tea. Thanks.’

‘Micky, you didn’t ought—’ began Steve.

‘I can handle Rollison,’ Rowse said, and Steve went out.

‘Micky Rowse,’ murmured Rollison. ‘I prefer it to Jim, it sounds like something out of Walt Disney.’

He watched Steve sidle out of the door, and knew that Rowse was watching him closely. He went to an easy-chair, which was wide and capacious, and sat down; he didn’t take his hand from his pocket or from his gun. He leaned forward and helped himself to a cigarette and lit it from a table-lighter.

‘Well, what’s to do?’

‘How much did you take from Woolf ’s place?’

‘Everything that matters.’

Rowse said, ‘I wish I could be sure, but I think you took plenty. If you hadn’t, the police would have been here by now. I took a chance that you’d empty the safe before you left.’

‘That puts you in my debt,’ said Rollison.

‘Where’s the stuff you took?’

‘Nicely cared for, thank you.’

‘Got it with you?’

‘Search me.’

‘I will soon,’ said Rowse. ‘Did it include an address book and a sealed envelope?’

Rollison stretched out his legs and laughed, ignoring the question.

‘Funny how things work out, isn’t it? You’ve a knife with my dabs on, and I’ve some papers which will probably send you down for ten years and might get you hanged. We ought to do a deal.’

‘And that’s why you came?’

‘Isn’t it why you expected me?’

Rowse laughed softly.

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

He walked across to the window and stood with his back to it. There were faint sounds from somewhere else in the house. Rollison doubted if these two men were the only ones here; there were bound to be others. He felt relaxed, and was able to look it. This was the last battle, there would be no more running, no more probing – he’d staked everything, and he thought the odds were even. He didn’t ask for more.

Rowse said, ‘So you’ll exchange the stuff you took from Woolf ’s place for the knife.’

‘Plus.’

‘Plus what?’

‘A statement, about who killed Keller, how Liz and I were framed, when you stole my knife, what this is all about. Plus—’

‘Plus what else?’

‘Keller’s killer.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Rowse. ‘You haven’t a chance to get him. You won’t get his name, either. In fact, I don’t think you’re going to get much of anything, Mr. Ruddy Toff. Where’s Leah Woolf?’

‘Missing her already?’

‘Where is she?’

‘Comfortable, dumb, and at my disposal. Mine and my friends. I thought perhaps you’d forgotten that Leah is an important witness, too.’

‘You’d never dare let the police get her,’ said Rowse.

‘Why not?’

‘I know Leah. I could tell what she was like on the telephone. She’s as nearly crazy as anything on two legs. She could love and hate Leo in the same breath. She was always breathing fire about him, but if anyone else said a word against him or did him any harm, she would lose her head. I know Leah. She’ll blame you for his death, and she’ll swear black’s white if it’ll send you to the gallows. Don’t count Leah among your trumps, Rollison.’

Steve came in, with tea, and started to pour out.

‘I’ll do that,’ said Rowse. ‘Scram.’

Steve protested, mutely, and went out again. Rowse poured tea, pushed a cup towards Rollison, picked up his own, and went back to the window; and Rollison chuckled.

‘What’s funny?’

‘You and me and tea,’ said Rollison. ‘Things like this ought to go with raw Scotch.’

‘I don’t drink,’ said Rowse. ‘That makes sure I keep my wits about me all the time. I don’t drink and I don’t smoke, and—’

‘All the virtues!’ Rollison mocked.

‘Enough. And I know exactly what I want, and always get it. I want the papers you stole from Woolf ’s safe. I want Leah Woolf. And when I’ve got them, you can have the knife.’

Rollison sipped his tea.

‘Or else,’ said Rowse, ominously.

‘Ah, the snag.’ Rollison looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘In fact, there are several snags. I don’t trust you, Reginald’s brother.’

‘You can leave Reggie out of this.’

‘I wish I thought so. What I can’t be sure is where he comes in.’ So the Rowses were brothers; as if that mattered at all now. ‘I don’t trust you. I’d want my hands on that knife and the full story, before I passed anything over. Shall we have a look at the knife?’

Rowse touched his coat.

Rollison said, ‘Well, well, so you have it in your pocket!’

‘That’s right. And if I get trouble from you, I’ll knock you out, put it in your pocket, and call the police. They’d enjoy finding that.’

‘They’d enjoy finding the papers which name you.’

Rowse said, ‘Listen, Rollison, there are some things you have to get straight. I might be caught by the police, and get a long stretch. That’s always been on the cards, don’t make any mistake about it. But they can’t get me for murder – and they can get you. Don’t make any mistake about that, either. I’ll back my chances against yours, but I’d rather keep clear of trouble. That’s why I’ll give you a break. After I’ve got the papers and Leah, you can have the knife.’

He put his hand to his pocket.

Rollison sat, tensed, ready to spring.

Rowse called, ‘Steve!’ and immediately the man appeared in the doorway. He covered Rollison with his gun, as Rowse took out a flat cardboard box which would just fit into a large pocket. The box was tied round with string. As he handled it, he held out one hand, palm upwards. There were strips of adhesive tape over the tips of his fingers, so he would make no fresh prints.

He took the lid off the box, and then took out a knife – wrapped in tissue paper. He pulled the paper off. It was Rollison’s beyond a shadow of doubt. In the blade and also on the hilt were brown stains; and there was little doubt that they were of human blood: Harry Keller’s.

‘If the police get you and this, you’ve had it,’ said Rowse. ‘Just as surely as Lizzie Lane’s had it, too.’

‘I was coming to Marion-Liz,’ said Rollison, softly.

‘You can forget her.’

Rollison made no answer.

‘You can forget her,’ repeated Rowse. ‘If you get this knife back, you can call yourself lucky. Liz will hang. You’ll just withdraw your story that you were with her, leave that couple of hours in her life blank. Liz is finished, but for her Leo wouldn’t have died. I knew he was getting too reckless because of the Riordon job. Now I liked Leo. And I don’t like Liz.’

Rollison shrugged.

‘So get it straight. You might squeeze out yourself, and the knife would help you. Take a good look at it. With that as an exhibit, the Public Prosecutor could send you to the gallows. Without it, you’d squeeze out. Forget Liz – just remember where those papers are and where Leah is, and fix it so that I get them both. I want them soon. Tell me how you’re going to do it, too.’

Rollison said, ‘We’ve a lot to discuss, yet. I don’t like the terms.’

‘Don’t you?’ asked Rowse softly, and he raised his voice again. ‘Tommy!’

Another man appeared, who must have been waiting outside for this signal. He was hefty, and had a face which would have put Bill Ebbutt’s to shame. There was a vicious glint in small, dark eyes, and he had once had a nasty wound in his face, which gave him a perpetual leer. He came forward heavily – but went behind Rollison.

‘Where can I get Leah and those papers, Rollison?’ Rowse’s voice was soft again.

Rollison relaxed, and put down his empty cup.

‘Okay, Tommy,’ said Rowse.

A blow on the side of the head made Rollison’s ears ring. Another, on the other side, seemed to split his head in two. Then great hands fastened round his neck and began to choke him. There wasn’t a thing he could do. The pressure of those powerful fingers was like death itself. Rollison felt his head whirling, and the room went dark. There was a tight band round his chest, he heaved in the terrible effort to breathe, but couldn’t draw a breath. The darkness became blackness, and he seemed to lose the power of thought.

The pressure relaxed.

It seemed an age before he saw Rowse clearly – and even then the man seemed to be moving up and down and round and about. The room was unsteady, and two great lumps seemed to press against Rollison’s wind-pipe.

Rowse said: ‘Like it? That’s just the beginning, Rollison. Tommy will do what I tell him. He’s had a lot of experience in making people uncomfortable? Where’s Leah? Where are those papers?’

Tommy rapped hard knuckles against Rollison’s temples.

‘Painful?’ asked Rowse. ‘Perhaps you’d rather have the police, and that knife in your pocket. Look.’ He held the knife close to Rollison’s eyes, point forward; the dulled blade was sharp, there was only a little of the bright steel still untouched by blood. ‘Look! You can have it back, if you’ll tell me where Leah and those papers are. If not …’

He stabbed forward with it.

The point seemed to enter Rollison’s eyes. There was a spasm of dreadful pain – but it wasn’t physical, the knife didn’t touch the eye.

Rowse drew back.

‘He won’t last long,’ he said confidently. ‘He hasn’t been used to real rough stuff. Ease off for a few minutes, Tommy.’

The man stood back.

‘Take a rest and do some serious thinking,’ said Rowse. ‘And remember you wouldn’t have a chance in hell if you hadn’t taken Leah and the papers. Just talk.’

If he talked, what? Death? Or a mocking laugh and a blow which would knock him out, the knife in his pocket, and the police on the way? That was the probable end; there would be no honour in Rowse’s promise. The man knew exactly what he wanted, and would stop at nothing to get it. The thoughts passed laboriously through Rollison’s mind; he was almost past thinking.

Then he heard a cry.

‘Micky!’

It was a woman’s voice. He heard running footsteps down the stairs, and the call came again.

‘Micky, look out of the window!’

A girl swung into the room. She was young and attractive, and she might have been taken for Marion-Liz. She had the same colouring, the same kind of figure. Rollison’s gaze was hazy, he couldn’t really see her clearly. He knew she hadn’t Marion-Liz’s ravishing beauty, but she would do. She rushed across the room to Rowse, as he turned towards the window and looked out.

He stood rigid.

Rollison’s thought, ‘Police?’ And it hardly seemed to matter.

Rowse swung round – and laughed. Laughed on a loud and triumphant note, making Steve grin broadly. The girl hung on to Rowse’s arm, he put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her.

He moved in front of Rollison.

‘You make a lot of mistakes, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Leah’s coming up the drive. Steve! Go and open the door.’