Here Comes the Toff by John Creasey Page B

he had finished the sentence that he had gone too far. Wrightson’s cheeks flamed, and he stood up, pushing his chair behind him sharply. It crashed to the floor, but neither man heeded it as their gaze met stormily.
    â€œThat’s more than enough,” Wrightson said, and his voice shook with suppressed anger. “I’ve stood a lot too much from you, and I’m through, do understand? Through. I’ve done my best to serve you, and I’ve tried to save you from making a fool of yourself over the Curtis woman. Now the quicker I’m away the better for us both.”
    Renway’s lips tightened, but the Toff, had he been present, would have seen the anxiety in his eyes.
    Outwardly, only his anger showed.
    â€œAn inheritance of a million isn’t to be thrown away for nothing,” he said stiffly.
    â€œNothing? I’d rather have Phyllis than all your filthy money!” The younger man’s voice was harsh, strident. “Spend it on that doll who’s following you around! Put your precious million into any crazy scheme you like, I don’t want it!”
    â€œNo,” said Renway, more slowly than before, “and certainly you won’t get it. Before I leave you a penny piece I …”
    He stopped suddenly, and as the younger man glared at him his face seemed to change colour.
    Wrightson stepped forward quickly, putting an arm out to support his uncle; without it Renway would have fallen. For a moment they stood very still, with Renway breathing stertorously.
    There was a bluish tinge to his lips that worried Wrightson. He knew his uncle’s heart was not as strong as it might be, and, before the quarrel which had now been going on for weeks, he had been fond of the old man.
    He led Renway to a chair, and poured out a little brandy. Renway gulped it down, still breathing hard. After a few seconds his colour grew more normal.
    â€œThat’s—better! I–I thought I was going.” The eyes of the two men met, and, surprisingly, Renway’s thin hand went out and his fingers pulled Wrightson’s sleeve. “James, don’t make a hasty decision. I’m sorry if I said anything to offend you; temper is an ugly thing. Think things over well, my boy.”
    Wrightson’s eyes were troubled, but unrelenting. He had no desire for the break, but he knew the choice had to be made eventually, doubted whether his uncle’s attitude would alter; but the issue could be postponed.
    â€œAll right,” he said. “We’ll forget it for now, Uncle.”
    â€œGood!” said Renway. “Good! Now help me upstairs, there’s a good fellow. I must go out tonight, and if I don’t get a rest I’ll be like nothing on earth. Old before my time, eh, Jimmy, and that won’t do.”
    Wrightson did not say that the rest of the world believed his uncle to be ten years older than his age.
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Chapter Nine
Of Phyllis
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    James Wrightson had a blank evening before him, and he did not feel like spending it at the St. John’s Wood house. There had been times when he had been quite contented to browse among the classics, evenings which he had spent with his uncle and had enjoyed. The days for that were past, he knew, and he wondered how long it would be before the final break came.
    Renway was with the Curtis woman, of course.
    Wrightson, possessed of a sense of humour which had been sadly repressed of late, smiled crookedly at the thought of his uncle condemning Phyllis while being condemned for the Curtis woman. Irma had a beauty that Wrightson thoroughly disliked. The hot-house type, the siren-type; as different from Phyllis as the proverbial chalk from cheese.
    It did not occur to him that he might be wrong. It did occur to him that Irma had been responsible in a large measure for the change which had come over his uncle, a change he did not consider was for the better.
    There seemed nothing he could do to alter it.
    He