Read Online Accuse the Toff by John Creasey - Free Book Online Page B

I ought to say nothing about it. No one suspects me of being Rumanian and my work—’
    â€˜We’ll talk about the work later,’ said Rollison. ‘You’re quite sure that you don’t know what’s in the little black case?’
    â€˜I’ve no idea at all.’
    â€˜How many men were in the flat of the man who stole it?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said June sharply. ‘Four or five, anyhow. I heard at least four different voices.’
    â€˜Did you hear any names?’
    â€˜Oh, what do names matter? I wasn’t worrying about names.’
    â€˜Everything considered, you weren’t worrying about enough,’ said Rollison tartly. ‘The names are important. Do you remember any?’
    She drew a deep breath.
    â€˜I know one was called Smith.’ She uttered that challengingly, as if conscious of the fact that such a name might sound a deliberate fake. ‘There was another peculiar one, I don’t really remember it. Something like “gibbet” and the others called him ‘Ibby’ more often than anything else. I don’t remember the others, I’m not even sure that any others were used. I—’ She broke off and stared at him in astonishment. ‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’
    â€˜The matter,’ breathed the Toff. ‘Nothing’s the matter, my sweet, except that you’ve really said something worthwhile. The name was Ibbetson, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜Ibbetson! That’s it.’
    â€˜And Ibbetson is the missing link, although he might not like to know it,’ said Rollison very softly. He felt as elated as he looked, standing up and thrusting his hands deep in his pockets as he regarded her. ‘I think I shall probably be glad that you came, after all. Was “Jameson” mentioned?’
    â€˜I don’t remember it,’ said June.
    â€˜What about “Tom”?’
    â€˜There wasn’t anyone called Tom,’ she assured him. ‘I would remember a short name like that. But—look here, I must be going, I can’t stay away from the office this morning, we’re absolutely rushed off our feet. I promised to be there by eight o’clock.’
    â€˜I think you’ll have to pretend a headache,’ said Rollison, regretfully, ‘and wait for a while.’ Before she interrupted he went on: ‘I’ll telephone a message for you, if you like. Where do you perform the slavery? He did not add: ‘Why do you need to work if you can so casually offer to pay for the damage here?’ but waited for her quick, sharp response.
    â€˜At the Gower Street Red Cross Depot. I—oh, I don’t see why I should beg you to let me go but there’s a big consignment of mail in from German prison camps and another due in from the Far East today and one from Italy expected any time. We can’t let them accumulate; it’s too cruel to keep relatives waiting for mail a minute more than necessary.’
    There was no faking; she was sincere, her plea was heartfelt; its genuine ring was not one which could be forced. For the first time he was tempted to let her go but he steadied himself, for she might be lying so easily.
    â€˜ Will you let me go?’ she demanded.
    â€˜Just a moment,’ said Rollison. ‘Are you understaffed at Gower Street?’
    â€˜Of course we are!’
    â€˜Are there men as well as women working there?’
    â€˜What difference does that make?’
    â€˜Are there?’ persisted Rollison.
    Yes, but—’
    â€˜Then you can go,’ said Rollison, very amiably, ‘and you have a voluntary helper for the day. Or nearly voluntary,’ he added. ‘Jolly. Jolly!’
    â€˜Coming, sir,’ said Jolly. He appeared promptly, his mournful face showing little expression. ‘Can I do anything, sir?’
    â€˜You can join the Red Cross as a temporary helper in Miss Lancing’s