Read Online Salute the Toff by John Creasey - Free Book Online

cosh. He had walked into as carefully prepared a trap as he was likely to encounter, but even then the most surprising thing was the speed with which it had all been arranged. He was less afraid than puzzled, because it seemed as if Lorne had expected him here.
    Lorne must have flown from London.
    The Toff went forward a pace as Harrison was lowered to the floor and dragged into the room. Then the door was closed by a chunky, broad-shouldered man dressed in an ill-fitting blue suit.
    â€œI’m sure you won’t make the same mistake as your friend, Rollison,” said Lorne almost jovially. “Quite an unexpected meeting, isn’t it?”
    â€œUp to a point, yes.”
    â€œAnd such a pity that you did not herald your call with one of those interesting little cards,” added Lucius Lorne. “You are a peculiar man, Rollison, with quite a reputation, and yet interested in such puerilities.”
    The Toff, who was some twelve inches from the wall, went back and leaned against it. He looked a little tired, and his eyes were half-covered by lids that dropped more than he often allowed them, but his poise was a thing to marvel at. His manner gave no idea that there was an armed thug at his side – Harrison was on the floor and still unconscious – and another man in front of him, while he regarded Lorne with no more than polite curiosity.
    In fact, the Toff looked bored.
    â€œâ€˜Puerilities’,” he said reflectively. “Quite a big word for you, isn’t it? Or did Myra tell you about it when she jumped at seeing the card?”
    Lorne’s eyes lost their humour.
    â€œKeep that mouth of yours shut.”
    â€œAnd now we sink to a lower stratum,” murmured the Toff. “I hardly expected you to keep it up for long. But about those cards of mine. It’s always interesting to get the other man’s point of view, and if they could be improved—”
    â€œGuv’nor, do we ’ave to listen to this?”
    The Toff regarded the man with a fresh interest. The accent was Cockney, which was hardly surprising, for it was not to be expected that Lorne would have natives of Manchester to help him. A short, broad-shouldered, coarse-faced man, with a scar from an old burn under his right eye which did not improve his looks. His eyes were brown and small.
    â€œPlease yourself,” answered the Toff, “but if you don’t want to listen, go away.” He smiled at Lorne. “Don’t you get tired, holding that gun?”
    Lorne’s lips tightened.
    The Toff was satisfied with one thing: he had Lorne guessing, and it was good when the other side was unsure. Lorne had expected him to crack when he was faced with the gun and the knowledge that he had been tricked, but it was not the Toff’s habit to crack, although there were times when he pretended to. His chief interest was to undermine Lorne’s confidence, and he was succeeding, for as Lorne grew angry so his confidence ebbed.
    â€œRollison,” Lorne’s voice grew high-pitched, “I warned you last night, and you took no notice. I can’t afford to have you around.”
    â€œOh, I don’t charge much,” said the Toff.
    It was then that the little thug hit him.
    The punch was delivered with force towards the small of the Toff’s back, and landed heavily. But the Toff had seen it start, and held himself slack. The blow hurt, but not excessively, and as it landed he turned, ignoring Lorne and the gun, and took a chance which he knew might prove fatal.
    His right fist went like a piledriver for the man’s chin, taking him so much by surprise that he watched the blow coming but did not dodge. It struck him with a crack ! that echoed through the room, lifted him from his feet and landed him on the floor two yards away. His eyes rolled, and he did not move.
    The Toff said: “I don’t want to lose my temper, Lorne, but your roughnecks aren’t helpful.