Introducing The Toff by John Creasey Page B

now.’
    ‘Good!’ snapped the Toff, hurtling the car between the kerb and a moving tram. A hundred yards ahead lay the turning which he would take to get to the ‘Red Lion’. More than anything else, he wanted to be in at the death.
    Then Warrender spoke again.
    ‘There’s been shooting,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘The “Red Lion’s” barricaded. McNab’s drawn away.’
    The Toff said nothing, but his eyes were very hard. Those terse sentences carried a picture to his mind with startling clarity. He could almost see the dingy building of Harry the Pug’s public house. He could see the police approaching the closed doors, the sudden revolver-fire from the barricaded windows – and machine-gun fire, more than likely.
    He did not need telling that Dragoli and his satellites were making a desperate effort to keep the police at bay while they made their escape through an unknown exit. That part of the East End was a regular rabbit-warren of alleys, little-known passages, short cuts to the river and the main road. More than likely there was an underground chamber at the ‘Red Lion’, like that of the ‘Steam Packet’s’, where the dope had been stored.
    The Toff swung the police car round a corner, and it lurched violently as the near-side wheels bumped up on the pavement and then sped over the uneven cobbles of the narrow road. Warrender grunted, but he knew that the Toff had complete control of the car. And speed was vital.
    The car swerved again – into a second, longer turning. The road was empty, and the Toff looked at the Assistant Commissioner for a second.
    ‘We’re getting near,’ he said. ‘And I’ve an idea how to break through the barricade. It’ll mean smashing the car up.’
    Warrender looked at him. The Toff’s lips were set very tight, and his eyes were like agate.
    The Assistant Commissioner knew what the other meant, and was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
    ‘Do what you like,’ he said.
    Thanks!’ snapped the Toff. ‘You’d better climb into the back seat, Sir Ian.’
    ‘I’ll stay with you,’ returned the Assistant Commissioner.
    The Toff said nothing. One more turning, and they would see the ‘Red Lion’ in front of them.
    As the car swerved round the corner the Toff saw three police cars drawn up on the opposite side of the road to the ‘Red Lion’, which was built on a corner site, with a cobbled parking-place in front of it, and a drive for cars.
    Farther up the road was an ambulance. At one spot a little crowd of men bent over a prostrate form on the ground. Dotted along the pavement opposite the pub were a dozen or more detectives, all crouching behind the cover of their cars.
    An occasional bark of a revolver-shot coughed through the air on top of a little yellow stab of flame. And as the car raced nearer the scene the Toff saw a policeman’s helmet lying in the courtyard – obviously belonging to one of the men who had been shot when McNab had started the raid.
    The Toff set his lips very tightly. He was less than twenty yards away now, and in a few seconds he would succeed – or fail. And failure would be too fearful to contemplate.
    They reached the first of the police cars lined up opposite the ‘Red Lion’. A man stood up, waving his arms wildly, and the Toff recognized McNab.
    Warrender shouted something, but McNab probably never heard it. He was dumbfounded at the Toff’s sudden manœuvre.
    For as the big car reached the drive leading to the courtyard the Toff swung the wheel round fiercely. The car slithered round madly, its tyres squealing, its brakes grating as the Toff applied them to prevent the car from overturning. Then, crouching slightly forward, with his eyes glinting like steel, the Toff set the radiator towards the big saloon doors of the ‘Red Lion’.
    From a window above came the bark of shots, and from the rear of the police car a detective gasped as a bullet seared like a red-hot dagger through his shoulder. Another pierced the