Read Online The Toff and the Fallen Angels by John Creasey - Free Book Online

grounds of the Hall were so placed that the man was almost completely hidden; only the Toff, whose power of observation amounted to a sixth sense, would have noticed him.
    There was a sudden click from the porch, as of a door being opened. The man seemed to square his shoulders, and to raise his right arm. Now at last Rollison could see that he carried something heavy, it looked like a bricklayer’s hammer with its massive steel head.
    The door opened; brighter light shone but did not fall upon the waiting man. Rollison placed a hand on the wall, ready to vault over, quite sure that he could forestall any attack. He saw the shadow of a woman thrown by the light in the hall, then heard the door slam and the light was dim again.
    Naomi Smith stepped from the porch on to the path.
    The waiting man raised the weapon in his hand, and leapt forward.
    And as he leapt and as Naomi cried out in alarm, the Toff vaulted over the wall and called in a sharp voice of command: ‘Keep still! Don’t move!’
    On the instant the assailant spun away from Naomi and towards the Toff, who now saw that there was a stocking drawn over the big face, making it quite unrecognisable. He saw, too, the murderous hammer swinging, not towards Naomi Smith but towards his own bare head.
    Rollison flung up a hand to fend off the blow and swung to one side. He caught the other’s forearm on his own, and it was like a steel bar. Off-balance, he tried to pivot, sensing that his assailant would rush at him, knowing that a man of such strength would be dangerous and could be deadly. He caught a glimpse of the stocking covered face; it looked like the face of an idiot. Too near for a punch to be effective, Rollison gripped the other’s wrist, and twisted in an attempt to heave the man over his shoulder. He failed. He caught a doubled knee, intended for the groin, on the inner side of his thigh.
    He heard shouting: a woman, then a man, then several men.
    He gripped again but the masked assailant pulled himself free, then swung away and leapt the wall, disappearing from sight, as two men rushed down the path towards Naomi Smith, who was standing like a figure carved from stone.
    Voices broke, incoherently.
    â€˜What was it?’
    â€˜Where is he?’
    â€˜Is anyone hurt?’
    There were a dozen useless questions while Rollison moved towards the wall and began to search the ground. There was so little light here. A policeman turned into the gate. As Rollison bent down, a young man joined him.
    â€˜Looking for something?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜I’ve got a torch.’ There was a click, and a pale beam of light wavered over grass and the dark brick wall - and then shone on the heavy-looking head of a bricklayer’s hammer.
    â€˜What’s that?’ the youth darted forward.
    â€˜Don’t touch it!’ exclaimed Rollison, in time to make the other draw back.
    Behind them, Naomi Smith was saying: ‘I’m all right, I am, really.’ On Rollison’s right the policeman was bearing down and a number of other people had gathered in the gateway. Why did people have to stand and gape and watch when others suffered? What sadistic streak lay buried in man?
    â€˜Good evening,’ said the policeman. He was slight but quite tall and had a faintly Scottish accent. ‘What’s happening here?’
    â€˜A man was waiting to attack whoever was coming out of the house, as far as I can tell,’ answered Rollison. ‘I happened to spot him. He dropped this.’ He pointed to the hammer, glad to notice that the policeman bending down, made no attempt to touch it. ‘The assailant got away.’
    â€˜Was anyone hurt?’ asked the constable, practically.
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ said Rollison. ‘Unless he himself was. This is a hostel for young women, and—’
    â€˜I know what it is, sir,’ said the policeman, and lowered his voice. ‘Aren’t you Mr