Here Comes the Toff by John Creasey Page A

in, then stepped through quickly. Rollison understood why when he saw the young man who was sitting at a desk, writing.
    This, then, was the nephew.
    Rollison saw the frown on young Wrightson’s face as he stood up quickly. Also he covered what he had been writing, and to the Toff it seemed likely that it was a letter to his lady.
    â€œHallo, Uncle.”
    â€œHm. James, meet Mr. Richard Rollison. Rollison, my nephew, James Wrightson.”
    Wrightson nodded, stiffly, and started for the door.
    â€œDon’t let me drive you away, please,” said the Toff quickly. “I’m not staying long.”
    Wrightson hesitated, and glanced towards his uncle. To the Toff it seemed as if he was trying to gauge which the older man would prefer – for him to stay, or to go. Renway did nothing to help him, and Wrightson turned back into the room, taking cigarettes from his pocket and proffering them.
    Renway refused, abruptly.
    The Toff took one, and struck a match. Wrightson lit his cigarette, and as he did so the Toff looked closely at his face.
    â€œThanks,” said Wrightson stiffly, and drew back. “Has Uncle been showing you the collection?”
    â€œYes.” Rollison talked of it enthusiastically, and decided that in spite of a marked lack of response he liked the look of Wrightson. He was a little shorter than the Toff, but broader across the shoulders; and he had a rugged face that could be called attractive, but certainly not handsome. His hair was fair and crisp, and his lips well-shaped and generous. His whole expression at the moment was one of resentful sullenness.
    Yet he did not look the type of man to be habitually bad-tempered.
    That there was an estrangement between the uncle and the nephew would have been obvious even had the Toff not possessed prior information. Both men created the impression that they were finding it an effort to be polite to each other. The Toff chatted for a few minutes, the better to gauge the atmosphere of the house, then made his excuses.
    When he left he was all smiles and thanks, but his smile disappeared as he climbed into his Frazer-Nash.
    â€œThere’s a flare-up coming in that quarter,” he mused. “I wonder if Irma has been fanning the flames?”
    He meditated on the three obvious possibilities as he drove to his flat. One, that Irma was actually contemplating marriage with Renway for the sake of his money. Two, that the new business surprise that Renway had talked about was being ‘nursed’ by Irma and Kohn. That would be one explanation of Renway’s need for secrecy. Three, that there was a plan afoot to steal the art treasures.
    For the first, there was some evidence. Possibly Irma had helped to widen the older man’s breach with his nephew over the association with a girl, hoping to get James Wrightson disinherited. On the other hand, neither this nor the possible art theft was the kind of crime Irma was likely to specialise in. The business angle was the one to concentrate on, as far as Rollison could judge. But while concentrating he would keep an open mind.
    Meanwhile, he doubted whether trouble between Renway and Wrightson would come to a head quickly.
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    The Toff might have revised that opinion – or, at least, suspended it – had he been at the millionaire’s house twenty minutes after he had driven off. Renway returned to the study, and his first words were anything but conciliatory.
    â€œWell, James? I’ve given you until this evening to decide whether you will cease this absurd defiance, or …”
    â€œBe kicked out,” Wrightson finished for him in a low voice. “You know quite well what the answer will be. I’m marrying Phyllis at the first opportunity, and if you can’t approve, I’m sorry.”
    â€œSorry!” Renway barked the words. “You’ll be the biggest fool in creation if you insist. Give the slut up, and …”
    He realised before