Salute the Toff by John Creasey

one of those men who liked to see a happy world, and was not primarily interested in money or profit, although he did not neglect them. He was short and he boasted considerable embonpoint, he wore the small, dark, waxed moustache which hotel and restaurant managers so often consider necessary. His brown eyes were gleaming as the Toff reached him.
    â€œAh, Mr. Roll’son, I was expecting to see you. Everyt’ing is perfeck, yes?”
    â€œI couldn’t ask for more,” said the Toff amiably, “as far as service is concerned. But I am a worried man.”
    â€œM’sieul You a worried man! Oh no, no no, no! I, Frederick, cannot believe it.” He beamed.
    â€œI hope you’ll try,” said the Toff. He explained the matter of the note, and pointed out the sleek waiter who had handed it to him. Frederick frowned, scowled, clicked his teeth, and sent for the waiter. Thereafter it seemed to the Toff that a regular stream of sleek suave men came to Frederick, were questioned, and went away. It was the seventh man to be questioned who had been given the letter; when he had entered the foyer, by a man not in evening dress and who appeared to have arrived only a few seconds before. He had mentioned Rollison by name, explained that it was a joke and that he wanted as many waiters as possible to handle the letter.
    The man had been tall, and very fair.
    The Toff tipped the waiter and thanked Frederick, and returned to his table. He did not know whether to be pleased or disappointed that the card had not come from the table where Phyllis Harvey was sitting. Lorne had come in, and, what was worse, Lorne had followed him or had him followed.
    The Toff disliked the thought that he could be trailed without noticing it. He did not get much opportunity to see the corner party, although in one dance he and Fay saw them clearly, and she told him that the grey-haired, austere-looking man talking to Phyllis was Mortimer Harvey.
    A grey-haired, majestic-looking woman was not Harvey’s wife but his sister. The other man of the party was neither old nor young, nor particularly prepossessing, although in a swarthy way he was handsome. He had a thin dark line of moustache, bold dark eyes, shining, wavy black hair. “That’s Harvey’s secretary, Mr. Ramsey,” Fay said. “You seem to know the family well,” said the Toff.
    â€œJim—Mr. Draycott does some business for Harvey, and Ramsey has been several times to the office. And I had to call at the house one evening with some papers. I saw them all then, and next morning he told me who they were.”
    â€œI see,” said the Toff.
    He was worried by Phyllis Harvey’s presence at the club, for he did not think she was in a mood for gaiety and music. She still gave the impression of being somewhere else; still looked picture-beautiful and did not once dance, although her aunt danced, both with Ramsey, and Harvey. His impression that the girl was under the influence of drugs was strengthened.
    â€œDid you meet Mrs. Harvey?” Rollison asked.
    â€œNo, she wasn’t there,” Fay answered. “They don’t get on too well.”
    Rollison laughed. “I can imagine Harvey is difficult to live with. However, there’s just no reason in the world why they shouldn’t be here. Fay, do you feel like a breath of fresh air?”
    â€œI’d love it,” she said.
    He took her to the foyer, and then into the street. A bright moon showed the people walking past, the occasional private car and taxi, and also a man who was standing on the opposite side of the road and looking very bored. A largish man, with a bowler hat.
    â€œWell,” said Fay, “have you seen what you wanted?”
    â€œYou don’t miss much,” said the Toff. “Yes, I’ve seen what I wanted, and I could be amused.”
    He did not enlarge on that cryptic statement, for he saw no reason why Fay should know that McNab was