Free The Toff In New York by John Creasey Page B

picked up a roll of dollars which were held together with a rubber band. He didn’t trouble to take the band off when he tucked them away.
    There was nothing else of value in the bag.
    The man looked at Valerie’s ears.
    The ear-rings looked like a thousand dollars.
    â€œOkay,” he said, “take ‘em off.”
    Valerie was now sitting upright on the couch, with her knees close together, and her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying to hold back her fury. Her eyes glittered as brightly and as hard and dazzling as the diamonds.
    â€œIf you want these,” she said defiantly, “come and get them.”
    â€œVal, don’t” squeaked Conway.
    She showed no sign that she had heard him, but glared at the narrow-faced man. He stood with one hand at his hip for a moment, the other in his pocket. He grinned. He had a small mouth, and when he smiled it opened just enough to show even teeth set in a small jaw.
    â€œThe pocket Venus wants to mix it, does she?” he said nastily, and stretched out his hand. “Don’t argue, gimme.”
    She didn’t move.
    â€œVal!” came from Conway as a muted shriek.
    The narrow-faced man stopped grinning; obviously there was an end to his admiration for feminine courage. He went forward, hands thrust out and fingers claw-shaped; as if he were going to choke her before wrenching the ear-rings away. She hadn’t room to get up, just sat there with her hands clenched now, fury keeping fear away.
    Then, Conway cried:
    â€œStay where you are. Don’t move!”
    The man with the narrow face stopped, as if a current had been switched off. He looked round, at the mouse turned lion - and Conway had a gun in his hand, and was covering him. Conway’s face was working, but his hand kept steady.
    The man with the narrow face spun round.
    â€œKeep back!” cried Conway, and there was sweat on his forehead and a wild look in his eyes. “Keep back, or . . .“
    The other made as if to jump at him; and Conway fired.
    And on that instant, the door opened.
    Â 
    Rollison had the door open, making hardly a sound, when he heard the shot from Conway’s gun. Until then he had heard two or three shouts, and sensed the frightening tension; so the shot didn’t really surprise him. As he went in, as if lightning carried him, he felt a sharp and agonising fear: that Valerie Hall had been hurt. Then, he saw her.
    She was on a couch, rearing away from the narrow-faced man who was staggering with his hands held chest high, and an awful expression on his face. It wasn’t just pain; it wasn’t just rage. It was the look of a man who was passing out of this life into another; and the next world seemed so full of horror that he could not bear to go.
    He clawed at his chest.
    He crumpled up.
    Brian Conway stood staring at him, the smoking gun still in his hand. He didn’t speak. He licked his lips, and the sweat was like beads on his forehead and on his upper lip.
    Valerie stared down at the narrow-faced man.
    â€œYou killed him,” she said chokily, “you’ve killed him.”
    There was a short, sickening pause; and then Conway gasped: “If I hadn’t he would have killed you. I had to do it, I had to!” He took a step towards Valerie, hands stretched out pleadingly. “Val, you know that, he would have killed you; look at the rest of the things he did. He would have killed you; I tell you, I had to kill him. Val! Don’t look at me like that; I was only trying to protect you.”
    Valerie didn’t speak.
    Rollison watched all this from the arched doorway; nothing that either of the others did or said suggested that he had been noticed.
    â€œVal,” Conway said, moistening his lips again, “we’ve got to get away from here. Don’t just sit there; we must move. No one need know we’ve been here, if we hurry. Let -