The Toff on Fire by John Creasey Page B

you?” Maggie asked.
    â€œOh, no complaints on that score. But can mere money buy loyalty, or will someone—”
    â€œLeo,” said Maggie Jeffson, “if I were you I’d get that nonsense right out of my head. I’ve worked with the Doc for much longer than you, and I’ve heard other people talk like you’re talking now.”
    Leo looked at her levelly, appraisingly.
    â€œAnd they’re now daisy-pushing?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou have a point there,” conceded Leo, grimacing. “But one of these days someone is going to put his nose out of joint. I feel in it my bones. Since Jessie was caught, he’s been a hell of a sight worse than he was before; this man Rollison makes him see red. There’s just one thing that would put the Doc in the hollow of one’s hand, though.”
    â€œIs there?” Maggie asked.
    â€œJust one. Knowing who he is. Do you know, Maggie?”
    â€œNo,” she said, and it was impossible to be sure whether she was telling the truth, “and I don’t think I’d try to find out. You’re very young to die, Leo.”
    He stared at her.
    He shivered.
    â€œYou really mean that, don’t you?”
    â€œI mean it.”
    â€œAll right, I’ll be good,” said Leo, hastily. “I’ll be very, very good.” Then he moved swiftly and, taking her by surprise, gripped her wrists and held them very tightly. He was slim and supple and very strong, an inch or two taller than Maggie, and in a sharp-featured way, good-looking. He had a tight-lipped grin which didn’t seem to reflect amusement as he drew her closer, so that she was squeezed tightly against him.
    â€œMaggie,” he breathed, “you wouldn’t tell him that I had this little tête-à-tête with you, would you? Because if you did I would in turn tell him a thing or two—not all of them true, perhaps, but with plenty to suggest that perhaps you’d worked with him too long. He expects loyalty but he doesn’t give it much, does he? If he suspected you were—”
    â€œI won’t tell him what a fool you are,” Maggie said. She didn’t try to free herself, but stood limp and relaxed, as if a door were pressing against her, not a lean, lithe youth.
    Leo laughed.
    â€œDo you want to know something?” he said, lightly. “You and I could go places.”
    Then, from the next room, from a man who was out of sight, there came a mild chuckle and a gentle question.
    â€œCould you, Leo? Then why don’t you?”
    Leo swung round, and Maggie stared towards the door, unbelieving. No one was in sight, but the echo of that voice seemed to be in their ears, with its hint of mocking laughter.
    â€œCould you, Leo? Then why don’t you?”
    They kept absolutely still. Nothing moved, once the voice had stopped, it was almost as if the words had come out of the air, and had floated away through the open window. The sound of traffic came in, muted and faraway.
    Leo said, abruptly: “Who was—” and then broke off.
    He put his right hand to his pocket, and drew out a gun; one exactly like that which Rollison had taken from Galloway. “You stay here,” he said, and moved swiftly towards the door. He didn’t go into the big room, but stood close to the door, and sidled nearer.
    The unseen man spoke again.
    â€œYou don’t really think that gun will help you, Leo, do you?” he said.
    Leo didn’t answer.
    Maggie Jeffson turned and looked at the sleeping child, then almost wildly at the window. She didn’t pick the child up, but moved to the other side of the bed; here was another telephone, an extension of the one with the direct line. She picked it up, and dialled.
    â€œCalling for help?” inquired the unseen man lightly. “Oh, well, fair’s fair, you fetch the Doc and I’ll fetch the cops. I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. Unless,