Free The Toff and the Stolen Tresses by John Creasey Page B

you up. Take your choice.’
    Anger flared in her eyes.
    â€˜If you touch anything here, you’ll be crazy! I tell you you don’t know Tiny, he’s strong enough to break you into little pieces.’
    Rollison chuckled.
    â€˜I can believe it, but I don’t think he will. Tiny is on the way out, Stella, although he probably doesn’t realise it yet. What’s it going to be?’
    He didn’t try to rush her. There was plenty of time; even if Wallis came home unexpectedly early, there was time enough.
    â€˜You’d better lock me up,’ she said at last.
    â€˜All right, wise Stella,’ said Rollison, and grinned. ‘Which cupboard would you like?’
    She was bewildered; then unexpectedly she laughed.
    â€˜I’ve often heard about you,’ she said. ‘I’m beginning to understand what people mean. The larder’s the best place, there’s a ventilator, and it’s quite big.’ She turned towards the kitchen, then stopped abruptly, so that he banged against her. She twisted round, taking his hand, and pressed against him. ‘Listen to me,’ she said urgently. ‘You’re asking for the worst trouble you’ve ever had. You don’t know how strong Tiny is. When he knows you’ve put a hand on me, he’ll go raving mad. He’s so jealous he’s crazy.’
    â€˜Then we mustn’t let him know what we’ve been to each other,’ murmured Rollison. ‘How long have you been married to him?’
    â€˜Fifteen years.’
    â€˜Enjoyed it?’
    She said sharply: ‘I can’t just think about myself, I’ve got the kids to think about.’
    â€˜Kids?’
    â€˜We’re human, aren’t we?’ Stella Wallis flashed. ‘We go to bed like anybody else.’
    â€˜Boys or girls?’
    â€˜One of each.’
    â€˜Where are they now?’
    â€˜At school,’ she said, ‘they’ll be late home tonight, they’re going to sports practice. They’re my first responsibility.’ She led the way across a kitchen which was as spick and span as the kitchen at Gresham Terrace. There was a large refrigerator, the motor humming softly, a stainless steel sink unit, everything a modern kitchen could have. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘he’s not mean.’
    She opened the door of the larder herself.
    Rollison looked round in the kitchen and found several yale keys in a drawer. The back door had a yale lock. He tried three keys, found two which fitted, and slipped one into his pocket. Then he went into the front room. He wasn’t surprised to find a kind of Victorian parlour, a faint smell of furniture polish, a mahogany sideboard, and several sepia portraits on the wall. He drew a blank there, and tried a small room next to it. Here was a kind of living room, with a television in one corner, comfortable armchairs, one wall fitted with shelves and loaded with books, mostly war stories, records of the ring, and tales of adventure – and with them a few romances by well-known authors. Dream world for two. Tiny Wallis could escape into a world of vicarious excitements and tales of epic courage and great physical strength and endurance; his wife, into the romance which might have been. In a corner opposite the television was a writing bureau. Rollison found it locked, and took a pen knife out of his pocket; it had one blade of which the police strongly disapproved, for it was a skeleton key. In less than a minute he forced the lock of the writing bureau, and pulled down the top, ready for writing. Inside were opened letters, notepaper, envelopes, everything one would expect to find in neat array.
    There was also a cash box, which was locked.
    There were a few newspaper cuttings.
    And there was a little pile of leaflets like those which had been at Donny’s cashier’s cubicle, announcing the Most Beautiful Hair Competition.
    â€˜Well, well,’ murmured