The Toff on Fire by John Creasey Page B

when looking at their own children, but to few when they are looking at the children of others. In the room were photographs of her own three boys and the family – John, twenty-seven when the first child had been born, forty-one when the last had been, forty-nine now. And there were her own pictures also showing the passing years.
    There was Grice, talking to three C.I.D. men about the Rose Cottage murder; the Chief Constable of Surrey had called the Yard in.
    There was a little, insignificant-looking man sitting in the corner of a third-class carriage on the way from Birmingham to London. He looked for all the world like a gentleman’s gentleman, and that was not surprising, for that was what he was. He wore a black coat and striped trousers, and a bowler hat and furled umbrella were in the rack above his head. His once brown hair, grey now except for streaks here and there, was brushed as if lovingly across his high forehead, his face was lined and wrinkled, like that of an elderly man who had once been fat, and had lost weight. In losing weight, he appeared to have acquired a quality of sadness, which showed in his doleful, soulful brown eyes.
    This was Jolly, who served the Toff, on his way to Gresham Terrace.
    During the three hours while Rollison slept, all of these people thought a great deal about him. So did the Doc. So did men who served the Doc. So did Maggie, who had been warned that the Toff was likely to come to see her.
    The child did not think at all, of course, but lay sleeping.
    Jane Wylie, at three o’clock that afternoon, had a bridge party, and was out of the Throgmorton Square house, but among the staff was a children’s nurse-turned-cook, who was probably even more capable than Wylie’s wife.
    It was the parlourmaid at the house who opened the door, just after three o’clock, to a good-looking young man who said that he had come to give the television its quarterly servicing. This was done regularly, and there were two television sets, one in the drawing-room on the first floor – across the landing from the nursery – and one in the servants’ quarters.
    â€œBetter fix madame’s set first,” the maid said, “then you can come down to the kitchen and have a cup of tea while you’re doing ours.”
    â€œSuits me fine,” the young man said, “or it would do, if I had time.” He grinned – and as the maid opened her mouth to scream, he dropped a cloth over her head and pulled it tight.
    She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled.
    Then, she struggled.
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Chapter Nine
Double Snatch
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    The young man who claimed to have come to service the television felt the maid’s body relax against his, then took the cloth away. The girl was a dead weight. He eased her from him, put an arm beneath her knees and another round her shoulders, and lifted her. Her head lolled back, and her red, ripe mouth was slack, showing her teeth. The man grinned, as if she could see him, and said lightly: “You and I ought to get together sometime, sweetie.” He kicked open the door of the nursery, and carried the maid inside.
    The child slept, without stirring, in the carved oak cot which had served the Wylies for so long.
    The man carried the girl to an old rocking chair by the window, lowered her into it, and then took a cloth from his pocket and tied it round her mouth; next he took out cord, secured her wrists, then tied her legs to the chair. He did all this swiftly and expertly. Finished, he stood up, grinned at the girl again, and kicked the chair so that it started to rock to and fro, going back so far that it threatened to tip right over.
    Then, he crossed to the cot.
    He lifted the child out, without adjusting the blue shawl in which it was now wrapped. He went out. His big tool case was still on the landing, and he put the baby on the floor, and opened the case; it was empty. It was quite large enough for the child, and he put it