Free The Toff on Fire by John Creasey Page B

clock, the guns and knives, the poisons, the nylon stocking and the other trophies of the hunt, there was only the bare wall and a few fittings which looked bare and woebegone; as if the wall was aware that life had been stripped from it. In places the cream coloured wall-paper had faded. Here and there nails stuck out. The wooden back of a small box which had held three tubes of poison, used by a doctor who had killed three wives, had been broken. A litter of odd bits and pieces of fittings were on the floor. That was all.
    To Rollison, it was a kind of sacrilege, so stunning and unexpected that at first he could only stand and stare. Last night – this very morning – he had stood here and talked about so many of the trophies, touching them with the pride and fondness which one felt in old friends.
    He said in a strangled voice: “One day I’ll put his skull up there.”
    He kept staring. It was a great physical effort to move round, turning his back on the bare wall, and to go into the lounge hall. He saw the contraption which had been put just above the door, saw how delicately the trip-arm was poised – when the door opened a foot, it would push the arm, and—
    What?
    He took three long strides towards it as if, in his rage, he would wrench the booby trap down. A yard away, he stopped abruptly. He moistened his lips, and then moved much more slowly and cautiously, fetched a chair, and stood on it. Now he could look down on the booby trap. The incendiary shell was about the size of an egg, and was actually egg-shaped; the shell itself looked fragile. He didn’t know what was in it, but felt quite sure that the man outside was right, and that if this fell and struck him, or the floor, it would explode. And it would spread fire and death; no man would have pretended to be so frightened as the man outside.
    He lifted the ‘egg’ down, held it in the palm of his hand, and then stepped off the chair. At the last moment, the chair wobbled. He drew in a sharp hissing breath. The ‘egg’ rolled a little in his palm, but didn’t fall; he kept his head, and did not grip it tightly. When he reached the floor, he was in a cold sweat again, and stood staring at the thing for fully ten seconds. Then he looked round, trying to decide the safest place to put it. There was nowhere in here. He went into the bedroom, took a pillow off his bed and tossed the pillow on top of the wardrobe, using his left hand for all this. Then he climbed up on another chair and deposited the ‘egg’ on the pillow. At least it wouldn’t fall by accident, or topple over if anyone pushed the wardrobe.
    He went back into the big room, glanced at the wall, and smoothed his forehead. When he opened the door, he was half prepared for trouble, and his hand was about the gun in his pocket, but there was only the man on the floor; wriggling. He was very close to the edge of the staircase.
    Rollison pulled him in by the collar of his coat, dragged him across the hall and into the big room. Then he shut the front door, went back, undid the tie and pulled the man to his feet. He stood swaying.
    â€œDid you take those things?”
    â€œYe-ye-yes.”
    â€œDoctor’s orders?”
    Gulp. “Yes.”
    â€œPassed on by Maggie?”
    â€œYes, I—Rollison—”
    â€œWhy take them if you were getting ready to burn the place down?”
    â€œFirst—first we were told to take everything off the wall; it wasn’t until afterwards that—that we had to lay the egg, we—” the man couldn’t go on.
    â€œHow did you get the second order?”
    â€œOne of—one of the Doc’s runners brought it; you—you don’t seem to know a thing about the Doc.”
    â€œTell me,” Rollison invited.
    He was feeling a little less tense; but very little. He hadn’t slept for nearly thirty-two hours, and there had been the succession of shocks, none